The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) (8 page)

Raef held Lorcan’s gaze and said nothing, though he itched to taunt the warrior about Finnoul. It would not do to arouse suspicion. Lorcan strode away and Raef was handed a bowl of clear, sweet-smelling broth.

“This will clean your blood,” the warrior said. The taste was cloying and Raef found it hard to swallow, but the warriors watched him closely to be sure the bowl was emptied.

“And fill my belly?”

“You have no need for a full belly, Midgardian.”

When it was time to exit the clearing, Raef made a show of struggling, of clutching at the Thor hammer that hung from his neck and begging so he would not appear eager to go to his slaughter. A few sharp blows descended and he fell in line, hoping it was enough to convince them of his reluctance. Lorcan reappeared at the head of a large group of warriors, the most Raef had seen in Alfheim. He could not count them all. The Guardians were among them, stone-faced in the morning air and dressed in white. They did not glance at Raef, did not even speak to their own people but for a brief, murmured conversation between the First and Lorcan. Not long after, Lorcan and many of his warriors took to the skies and the progression set off to the south just as the first rays of sunlight slipped through the trees to warm Raef’s face.

The path was gentle and easy and the trees seemed to hum around them, greeting the day with a quiet song. Raef would have liked to think the trees would sing a different tune if they knew what the day would bring, but he let the song bring him external peace. Inside, he thrummed with anticipation, eager to do away with the pretense he had created for himself, eager to clash swords and spill blood, to show the Guardians how mistaken they were.

The day grew hot and Raef was soon slick with sweat despite the tree cover. The Guardians in their long robes seemed unaffected, but Raef, noting that their pale eyes were too bright and their pupils large, wondered if this was an unnatural thing brought on by something they had eaten or drunk in preparation for the sacrifice.

They stopped at midday in a small glen that offered cooler air and shade from the hot sun. Water trickled from the rocks and came to rest in a shallow pool. The Guardians took their fill of the water and then one by one the warriors did the same, scooping the liquid to their mouths with a dipper that was passed from one to the next. Raef kept his eyes on the sky, but of Lorcan and his winged warriors, there was no sign and he knew they were likely patrolling far afield. He was not offered the dipper and the rest was short.

The underbrush grew thick and tangled and their pace slowed to accommodate this as warriors hacked at vines and bushes to clear something that might resemble a path. It grew hotter. Sweat trickled down Raef’s nose and he tried not to think of the water he had been denied.

It was difficult to determine distance. The flight to the barren land with Finnoul had been short and Raef, deep within the trees, had little way of comparing the terrain they were covering with what he had seen from above. He knew not if the ambush would come at any moment or if they had far yet to travel.

When a dragon-kin swooped out of the sky, Raef felt a twinge of unease in his chest. The rider dismounted and spoke quietly to the First, who nodded, said something in return, and then continued on. They did not stop, they did nothing, and the kin left as quickly as it had come. It could have been meaningless, but Raef gave silent thanks to Odin that Lorcan had left his hands unbound. There were weapons all around him. He need only get his hands on one.

When the trees thinned and the ground grew dry beneath their feet, Raef knew something had gone wrong. Finnoul had said they would attack before the progression left the shelter of the trees and Raef could see the desolate waste ahead of them. He kept his eyes forward and plodded on.

With the trees behind them, the relentless sun beat down, baking the ground until it cracked. Before they descended into the maze of rock, Raef could see the plateau in the distance. There was no easy path. They wound among sharp spires and bottomless clefts, the shadows of dragon-kin passing over as their sentries kept watch from above. Raef risked a glance up into the blue. It was enough to tell him that there were fewer warriors above them than there should have been. Others must be engaged elsewhere and that could only mean Finnoul had been discovered.

Two steps and Raef could have a sword in his hands. And another six at his throat. It was tempting, the blade that hung on the hip of the warrior just ahead of him, just out of reach. If he drew it, the odds would be impossible but he suspected the Guardians would demand he live long enough to complete the sacrifice. Resistance on Raef’s part could give Finnoul time. Or ensure Raef’s death. He thought of his father, of his promise of vengeance, and tried to imagine what Einarr would do. He did not know, and in his uncertainty, he waited.

Soon the plateau came into sight again, taller than all else, smooth and flat in a ragged, scarred landscape. They began the ascent, winding up a steep path that had been walked before. Raef was only steps from the top when the screams reached his ears. In an instant, all eyes were on the sky and at last Raef knew what had happened to Finnoul and her warriors.

Far in the distance, a battle raged amid the brilliant blue. The dragon-kin were tiny shapes, diving, clawing, killing. The sound of their screaming was the only noise of battle that reached the plateau and for a moment they all watched in silence. Then the kin that hovered above them answered the calls and the quiet was broken.

Hands seized Raef and dragged him to the top of the plateau. Some kin tried to fly to join the fight, but were held back as orders were shouted for the warriors to remain in place and protect the Guardians. Raef was shoved to his knees, his head forced down so he could see nothing but the cracked, dusty ground, but a warrior strayed too close and Raef’s hands found the hilt of a sword. Swinging wildly, Raef came to his feet. The warriors jumped back to avoid Raef’s blade, but one was too slow and the edge ripped open his chest. Frozen, he swayed, his eyes wide, then fell on his face. The others overcame their surprise and drew their weapons. They came at him with speed. One, two, Raef evaded, and buried his sword in the third, but then, as Raef could hear the First screaming to keep him alive, they fell on him from all sides. Immobilized and forced to the ground, the sword was wrenched from him as his face was shoved into the dead warrior’s pooling blood. Spitting, Raef tried to rise, but it was no use.

When he lay still, the First came to stand by his head. The Guardian bent over and laid a cool hand on Raef’s cheek. The fingers ran over the blood that covered Raef’s jaw and then came to rest under his chin, forcing Raef to look up at him. The First’s colorless eyes were calm.

“You should not resist, Midgardian,” the First said. “You should be honored.” Taking his hand from Raef’s chin, he wiped the blood in Raef’s hair and then stood straight, his face disappearing from Raef’s view. “Get him up. It is time.”

Hands tugged Raef to his knees and he was dragged across the plateau. Then he was lifted and laid flat on a raised rock. The rock’s surface was smooth but for a narrow channel that extended from the middle, right at the height of Raef’s neck, to the edge. Twisting but held down by strong arms, Raef could only watch as the Guardians gathered. A dish was held to the edge of the rock where the channel dropped off and Raef knew it was meant to catch the blood that would pour from his throat. The First drew a knife from within the folds of his robes. The blade gleamed in the sun and he held it aloft.

“Freyr, best of all the gods, long have you waited for a gift. Take it and take joy of it.” The knife descended and Raef, straining against the hands that held him, let loose a roar of useless defiance.

As his scream rose to the sky, a new sound followed in its wake, terrible and fierce, and the First hesitated, the knife suspended over Raef’s exposed throat.

The dragon-kin dove out of the sky, a streak of smoke in the blue, and slammed into the First. The knife spun out of his hand as he hit the ground and the kin twisted in the air and landed on the smooth rock next to Raef, who had scrambled to his feet the moment the grips of the warriors had relaxed.

The smoke-colored kin screamed again, daring any to approach, but Raef saw only shock on the faces of the alfar. The First lay flat, gasping for air, but Raef could see he would never stand again. His back was broken. The kin swung her neck around and looked at Raef, her sunset eyes boring into his, and though it was but an instant, it seemed like a lifetime. She blinked and Raef climbed onto her back. The ground dropped away beneath them and he was free.

For a moment, there was peace. Raef closed his eyes and took a deep breath, letting the wind pull at every part of him as though it could wash away the coating of dust and blood. The great expanse of blue called to him but it would have to wait. Finnoul needed his help.

The dragon-kin did not need to be asked to join the fight. Angling back to the north and the edge of the forest, her wings took them to the fray with all speed. It was a battle of both land and sky, Raef saw. Kin and their riders dueled in the air while the ground below heaved with warriors intent on savagery. Among them Raef could see Finnoul. Spiraling to the ground, the kin found a place to land and Raef, though unarmed, leaped from her back.

His presence in the chaos did not go unnoticed for long and Raef had just enough time to snatch a long, slender knife from the grip of a fallen warrior before he was set upon by one of Lorcan’s followers. The alf was severely wounded, his left arm hanging useless at his side, and his movement was clumsy. Raef evaded a wild swing and answered with a quick stab that found soft flesh. Twisting the blade, Raef wrenched it from his opponent’s chest and moved on, his eyes searching for Finnoul or Lorcan even as a new attacker approached. This one Raef recognized from his capture the day before. The warrior’s blade was long and his face spattered with blood.

“You would deny the gods, Midgardian?”

“No, only you.”

The alf lunged, his long sword eating up the distance between them. Raef ducked at the last moment and lashed out with his knife, slicing at the back of the elf’s thigh as he went by. Unfazed, the warrior attacked again, forcing Raef to retreat and deflect with his shorter blade until Raef was pinned up against a boulder. The sword bore down on Raef, barely kept at bay by the knife, until the alf’s free hand drew a small knife and made to stab down into Raef’s shoulder, but not before Raef thrust the fingers of his right hand into the alf’s eyes, causing him to scream and loosen his grip on the knife just as the tip of the blade pierced skin. Raef wrapped his own hand around both the little knife’s hilt and the warrior’s fingers, then rammed it home in the side of the warrior’s neck.

Gurgling, the warrior stumbled back, clutching his neck, but his body gave out and he fell to the ground, still trying to curse Raef. Raef leaned over and retrieved the small knife, silencing the bloody mouth.

He had found Finnoul. Armed now with two blades, Raef darted through a gap in the fighting to reach her only to come face to face with Aerath. For a moment he did not know Raef. His eyes were bright with battle, his blade streaked with gore, and Raef could not tell if he was friend or foe.

“Aerath.”

He blinked, his blade still raised, but came no closer. “You live.”

“For now.”

His gaze drifted from Raef to his sword and the blood that covered his hand and dripped down his forearm. “I came to save her.” He seemed unsure, on the verge of breaking down.

“And we will.”

Together they surged into the wall around Finnoul, who, along with Annun and Thannor, was pressed on all sides by Lorcan and four warriors. Raef quickly dispatched one from behind and then he was in the thick of it, knives flashing. Aerath went down but found his feet. Thannor, bleeding heavily from more than one wound, lunged for Lorcan. He was cut down with ease, but this left Raef an opening and he threw the smaller blade into the chest of the warrior on Lorcan’s right. Though Thannor was down and dying, Lorcan was now outnumbered and he and his final companion hesitated, taking stock of their situation.

Lorcan moved first, his sword arcing toward Finnoul, but Raef anticipated this and threw himself in Lorcan’s path. His long knife shivered off the larger sword, but it was enough to deflect Lorcan’s momentum away from Finnoul. Instead, the blade bit into Raef’s upper arm, but it was the last blood it would draw. Finnoul seized Lorcan by the throat and hacked down on his sword hand, severing it at the wrist. Screaming, Lorcan fell to his knees and the sound of their captain’s pain brought his remaining warriors to a halt.

Finnoul circled Lorcan, the tip of her sword tracing across the alf’s broad shoulders and chest. She leaned close and whispered something in her rival’s ear. Whatever it was, it caused Lorcan to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the crystal one flashing in the sun, he did not look away from Finnoul’s gaze, his single, green-flecked eye staring to the last as Finnoul slid her sword between his ribs.