Land of Fury, page 23
“They are growing bolder, attacking one of the queen’s supply settlements,” Rom says behind us.
“They attacked in the storm’s cover, knowing there was little these people could do to protect themselves,” I add. “They intended on a massacre.” My blood boils at the Blood Riders’ brazen actions.
Everyone’s eyes drift to me as if they forgot I was sitting here.
“The Blood Riders went east,” Zander offers the group. His eyes shift among his horsemen. “Their tracks are maybe four dozen strong.”
“Then we need to get to Talon Bay,” Gunhild says. “We need to hurry. We need to let them know that the Blood Riders are close. Talon Bay might be their next stop.”
Zander turns his horse without a word, and everyone straightens in their saddle. We fall into step behind him, the horses’ legs sinking deep into the freshly fallen snow as we make our way through the village.
There are bodies littered everywhere, mangled and contorted. Decapitated and ghost-eyed. There are women and children. Old people. Dogs and horses. It’s not a battle at all, but a slaughter. It is no wonder the people who survived fled this place. There is nothing left here but death. This is what Karra’s village must have looked like. And I am grateful she is not with us to see this.
My eyes well and my heart aches. I don’t understand how my mother has an army of thousands of men yet she cannot find these riders. That she cannot protect her own people.
I’m about to close my eyes, shielding myself from the horrors I know will keep me up for nights to come, when I see a lifeless form in the snow.
“Is that them?” I say, taking in the cross burned into the man’s temple. His dead black eyes bore into me as if he’s delivering a final message, promising me that these cretins will never cease. Like they are doing the bidding of the devil himself.
“Yes, my lady,” Gunhild says. “They attack villages and cities that support the gods—”
“Wait!” I call, gripping her furs. Blaze halts abruptly, tugging his reins out of her grasp as I scramble down.
“Thora,” Zander warns, but I ignore him as my eyes fix on the crucifix hanging around the man’s neck, just barely poking out of his collar.
The horsemen hastily dismount behind me as I force myself closer to the dead man with black eyes, hating him and everything he stands for. I want to kill him myself, and I find I am angry he is already dead.
Steadying my nerve, I reach for his crucifix.
Zander grabs my arm. “What are you doing?”
“Let go,” I growl, glaring back at him.
I know Zander wants to argue with me, but even as his jaw sets, he listens, reluctantly letting go of my arm.
Crouching down, I stare at the Blood Rider’s neck, trying not to look at his eyes as I lean forward and tear the crucifix free. Standing, I turn the cross over in my hand, dread filling every inch of me—hate and rage immediately following. “Zander,” I breathe.
When I look at him, his expression is grave, and dare I say alarmed, as he waits for me to speak. “Remember I told you the abbess used to make me carve the crosses for the monks’ rosaries at the almshouses?” I hold up the necklace. “It was exactly like this.” I hand it to him, the crude wood suddenly menacing to look at.
Zander studies it as I scan everyone’s scowling expressions. I lick my cold, dry lips. “Do they ride for the abbess?”
Elof dismounts his horse and stalks to another body, snatching the crucifix from the woman’s neck. He marches to a man a dozen paces away, wearing the same hood, and tears the necklace from him as well. “They are all the same wood cross,” he confirms.
My eyes burn with tears and my stomach knots with revulsion. To think that I was in the abbey making these the whole time—that I was part of Abbess Blanca’s schemes. Part of so many murders. I turn for a nearby tree.
“Princess,” Reider says, grabbing hold of me as my legs give way.
I fall to my knees. “Does my mother know about this?” I rasp, my voice cracking as I look up at Reider’s concerned expression. Then, I look at Zander who stands behind me, his eyes enlivened with . . . I’m not sure what. “This is not your mother’s doing,” Zander promises. “If this is Abbess Blanca’s doing, she has been working against your mother all this time. Of that, I am certain.”
“And I have helped her—”
“No,” Reider says, squeezing my arm. “You did not know. You were a child.”
I shake my head, thinking about the smirks of satisfaction on the abbess’s face I could never quite understand. “She is the devil,” I breathe. “How is she getting away with this?” I glare at Zander.
“She has dozens of churches throughout the kingdom that have been protected from search and seizure for decades, maybe longer. They offer sanctuary—who knows to who.”
I laugh, a bit hysterically. “The almshouses,” I say, my shoulders slumping. “The people she would help. They weren’t the poor caught in the wake of feuds, but injured Blood Riders.” It’s a sick realization, and everyone seems to comprehend what’s been happening under our own noses this whole time. Even Zander’s face pales a little.
Another thought strikes me, nearly knocking the air from my lungs. “What if it was the abbess behind the rebellion on Remembrance Day?” I remember how keenly she wanted me to keep moving. To stay on task and get to the church.
Everyone seems to come to the same realization as I do. “We have to tell my mother,” I urge.
Zander shakes his head.
“What?” I gape at him. “We have to—”
“The abbess has been coordinating this for years,” he says, his eyes hard on mine. “Running back to tell your mother will only fuel the fire. We need to come up with a plan first. And we need to get to Talon Bay.”
“Screw the ship,” I blurt. “Zander, there are innocent people dying—”
“There always have been, Thora. Do you not see? We do not need another one of your mother’s irate frenzies right now. This kingdom has been through enough.” That Zander used my actual name doesn’t go unnoticed. “We go to Talon Bay,” he says, his tone unwavering. “They have been waiting for us.”
“Wait—waiting for us?”
Zander ignores me. “We ride,” he commands, craning his horse around.
The horsemen glance at me, then at Zander, but in the end, they listen to him, of course. A part of me knows Zander is right, that whatever the abbess’s plan is, it has been in motion for years. I can only imagine how nefarious it truly is.
But the truth remains. I always hated the abbess, but now I don’t just hate her, I realize how terrifying she truly is. And for the first time, I fear for my mother and for my kingdom.
35
THORA
Gunhild was right. Traveling through Alpta was the only way to the Southern Pass, and after riding another few hours, we finally arrive in the bog lands beyond the mountains, where winter doesn’t feel as grueling, and despite the recent storm, the sun seems to shine just a little brighter.
Everyone is somber after our discovery, but still we ride toward Talon Bay. While I am anxious to uncover more about the abbess, I want to learn about the freedom ship and who has been waiting for Zander to arrive.
“The bog lands mark the beginning of the Moaning Marsh,” Gunhild explains, interrupting my thoughts. “It is flatland from here to the peninsula.”
I nod, the legends I’ve read about this place resurfacing. “There were many battles fought here before the Great Turning,” I recall. “But is it true that the land used to be like quicksand?”
Gunhild shrugs. “So they say. It has swallowed nearly all that was here from before. It was the very reason battles were fought here—the ground was unpredictable and far more dangerous than any blade.”
“But if the land was so unstable, both sides would be at risk—there would be mass casualties from the land alone.”
Gunhild snorts a laugh. “It seems you and I are smarter than the rest, princess.” She cranes her neck, glancing at me with a smirk. “It is hard to picture this place thawed and anything other than white,” she continues, and her eyes drift over the frozen ponds dispersed amidst the snowbanks.
“I cannot imagine it,” I confess. “Do armies still fight here, then?”
Gunhild shakes her head. “The marshes may be frozen, but even ice breaks. Only now, danger is far more difficult to see.” Rotted wood and rusted metal protrude from the iced-over ponds, old structures frozen in time.
“Then it is for the best,” I say, and Gunhild hums in agreement.
It’s exhausting to consider how long this kingdom has been fighting itself. My mind still reels from all I learned and saw in Alpta, and my worries have only compounded since leaving Winterwood. It’s not about my marriage anymore, or being my mother’s pawn. It’s far more urgent and terrifying than that.
And yet, riding through the patchwork of gleaming snowbanks, sparsely wooded islands, and frozen ponds, it’s easy to forget what toils around us.
“It is eerily beautiful in its own way, isn’t it?” I whisper.
“It is,” Gunhild agrees. “But it is not without its human dangers either. This is one of the few roads to Talon Bay. So it is commonly used. We must be vigilant.”
“I will keep my head down,” I promise, adjusting my hood to ensure I’m fully covered. While I see no sign of anyone, we would be easily spotted out here, winding our way along the snowbanks.
We pass a thawed pond, and a muskrat waddles from his sunbathing, back into his den in the wooden carcass of an old structure. I smile, relieved to see there is life here, at least.
“Too bad we have no time to hunt,” Dane grouses, two horses in front of us. “It has been a while since I had any musk—”
The flap of wings echoes from a wooded snowbank up ahead, and a flock of ravens scatter from the trees.
Zander stops in his tracks as my fear ticks up far too many notches for my liking.
The horsemen, Gunhild included, reach for their shields, holding steady as they survey the landscape. That I know who might be in the woods—that I have seen what the Blood Riders can do—sours my stomach. I don’t want any of these warriors to die, let alone on my behalf.
My heart must be pounding too loud in my ears because I hear Zander issue no command as everyone dismounts their horses. I climb down as well, lifting my bow off my back as the horsemen hold their shields closer, soundless and alert.
“Blood Riders?” I whisper.
“Something spooked them,” Gunhild whispers, and I realize Dane’s hand hovers over his shoulder, prepared to pull his bow from his back strap should he need his as well.
I don’t know what’s worse, dismounting our horses for more cover, or being without them, should they spook and flee, like Lightning did.
The longer we wait for something to happen, the less likely it seems. The horses’ bridles clank in the crisp air as they anxiously tug. Everybody braces, our grips white-knuckled around our weapons as we wait for what feels like a hundred heartbeats.
Eventually, the men ahead continue onward, though the tone of our procession is even more apprehensive than before, charged with a hair-raising unease. The horses crunch through the snow. Twigs on the ground continue to snap under our feet. The melted water in some ponds ripples as critters move away from our shadows. But we remain wordless.
I scan the copse of trees sprinkled around us, wondering what happens when we get to the next stretch of snow with no woods to use for cover.
The men must think the same thing because everyone’s pace quickens, horse reins in one hand, shields and axes and swords in the other.
We’re nearly to the next patch of trees when I hear a familiar swoosh, only registering what it is as Gunhild lifts her shield.
Rom lifts his shield an instant too late and an arrow clips him in the shoulder.
“Rom!” I shout.
“Shield wall!” Zander’s voice booms through the air.
Dane, Rom, Alik, and Elof cluster around me and Gunhild, and I crouch down.
The horses spook.
Arrows hiss, hitting the snow and splashing into the water in front of us.
I hear the thwack of two more arrows lodging in someone’s shield over the grunts and heavy breath of everyone crowded around me, but most of the arrows hit the snow with a muffled thud.
Swoosh. Swoosh.
Thud. Thud.
Silence rings while the enemy archers nock their arrows again, then more whistle through the air. Four more lodge in the snow close to our feet. Another thwacks into someone’s shield.
“They’re out of range,” I shout, wishing we could take even three steps back without stepping into the frozen ponds of unknown. “They can barely hit us!”
“We hold!” Zander commands. “Do not risk the princess.”
Rom laughs through the pain in his shoulder, his wince turning into a wink as I gape at him. “Just another day, princess,” he jests, but as I huddle closer to Gunhild, I bump another arrow in her leg. “You’re hit!” I try to move away from her thigh.
With a growl, Gunhild snaps the end of the arrow off, ignoring my concern.
Thud.
Swoosh. Swoosh.
Thud. Thud.
Most of the arrows hit the snow in front of us, but a wayward arrow is all it would take to kill someone.
These people would—could—actually die for me.
“Do not look so worried, princess,” Gunhild rasps. “We have been in worse scrapes than this.”
There is another wave of arrows, though there can’t be more than four or five bowmen at the rate they are shooting, and as the next lull crests, snorting horses and galloping footsteps meet my ears.
I peer through the shield wall that has tightened around me in time to see Reider, Fiske, and Alik riding away from us, leaving a snow cloud behind them. They ride for the woods, I realize.
“It is not the Blood Riders,” Dane says in a rush, the sound of wood shields clacking against one another as the remaining five horsemen hold the shield wall tight around me. “There is no way they would risk giving their position away when they are not even in range.”
“Aye,” Elof huffs. “Their aim is off and they know little of battle. I am sure as shit not wasting any of my arrows in their direction.”
“We will find out soon enough,” Gunhild grumbles.
When my shoulder bumps into Zander’s, his wide eyes meet mine, and I don’t see fear in them so much as determination. Anger. Though at who, I don’t know. “Hold!” Zander reiterates, his nostrils flaring.
Shouting and battle cries emanate from the woods, and the clink of metal and swords ricochets over the frozen bog. The arrows, I realize, have stopped falling.
“They’ve taken the archers!” Zander shouts. The shield wall comes down, save for Zander’s as he covers me.
Everyone runs to gather their horses, all of which have dispersed. I crouch beside Zander as we meet Elof down the road. He hands Baldr’s reins to Zander as Gunhild roars in determination, flinging her injured leg over her saddle. Like the other warriors, she doesn’t skip a beat before she and Blaze are galloping into the forest with her brothers.
“I need you to keep the shield up, princess,” Zander says as he takes my bow. He hooks it over my shoulder and offloads his shield to me. “Hold it up as long as you can and keep it close. I will not risk you getting hit.”
He helps me onto Baldr’s back while I lift his thick wooden shield that weighs far more than I thought it would. I hold it against my side and cower behind it as best I can, my muscles already trembling with adrenaline. Zander ensures my hair is tucked under my hood, and once he is mounted in front of me, Baldr lurches forward, and we gallop for the thicket with the others.
It feels like only seconds pass before we’re barreling into the trees. Zander practically leaps from Baldr as he stops near a toppled fir, using its massive trunk and foliage for cover. Taking his shield in one hand, Zander helps me down with the other. “Shoot anyone who rounds these trees that isn’t one of us.” Zander hands me my quiver as he holds my gaze, begging me to do as he says.
“Okay,” I breathe, nodding. “I will.”
“Zander!” Reider’s voice resounds through the woods.
Zander bounds around the felled evergreen, out of sight. My eyes burn from the icy wind, and my throat and chest feel like they are on fire as my lungs beg for air I can’t seem to find. I try not to falter, not to waver in my resolve as I hold up my bow, glancing furtively around the woods to ensure I’m still alone with Baldr at my side. A few lifeless bodies lie in the bloodstained snow, and for the first time in my life, I find I’m grateful to see dead people.
But when I spot a child running away from the battle, I grip onto the nearest tree to steady myself. I hear the sounds around me for the first time—the pleas and screeches. The crying. They don’t sound like the battle cries of enemies. As I stare at the bodies in the snow more closely, I see a boy, and whatever ease I had in seeing the dead turns rancid in my stomach.
“Zander,” I whisper, trying to tear my gaze away from the dead boy.
“Please—” an older man begs somewhere through the trees, and my blood runs cold as his desperation rings through the crisp afternoon air. “We meant you no harm.”
Raising my bow, arrow already nocked, I inch my way around the fir, leaving Baldr somewhere behind me.
“No harm?” Zander booms, and drawing closer, I spot the outline of a makeshift camp through the trees. “You attacked us. You could have let us pass.” Zander’s scythes are in hand, and I see how white his knuckles are around the grips.
“Please,” a woman cries. “We have children.” By looking at their tattered canvas tents, their bruised and dirty faces, and lack of fire, it’s clear these people are terrified—that they are hiding in here. And I realize who they must be. All the horsemen have their blades at someone’s neck, waiting for them to make the slightest move.
