Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 150(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Ravens scream overhead, but the trees are too thick for them to be much use here. I don't think that'll be a problem for long. Judging by the sounds raging around us, there are plenty more where these five came from.
Too many.
I whip my ímun-laukr down hard against the back of the varulv who knocked me to the ground, momentarily distracting him. It's just long enough for Krandriel to slice his lyststål across the thing's throat. The sickly-sweet smell of infection spills out, immediately burned away by Light.
The varulv stumbles as the hole in his throat bursts into flame, spreading rapidly. He doesn't go down, though. He continues lumbering forward, snapping at the air. Unlike the varulv we fought in Eitr, these don't die easily. We've fought like hell for every death, every inch of Valhalla we've reclaimed.
"Faen!" Krandriel shouts, slashing at him again.
It takes three more strikes before the soulless beast finally crashes to the ground, most of his body on fire. Furious, dying screams sound around us as the Fae dispatch the other four in a similar fashion, fighting like hell to bring them down.
By the time the last falls, we're all breathing hard. But we don't stop. We simply jolt into movement again, rushing forward.
"Stick to the edge of the forest," Damrion commands. "Stay out of sight until we're at the Portal. We'll attack from behind."
No one says a word as we advance, the screams of dying varulv sending tension humming through our group. But we don't come across another group of varulv until we see the flickering glow of the Bifröst and the blazing Light that is the Valkyrie.
"Gods," Dax breathes then. "They're magnificent."
He isn't wrong. The Valkyrie burn like a supernova, their Light rippling out to bring down one varulv after another. But the warriors are falling. They're failing.
And more varulv still advance.
"Where the fuck did they all come from?" Rhistel growls.
"The Portal," Damrion breathes, nodding his head in that direction as waves of the hellhounds pour out of it. "The Forsaken sent them to take the Portal."
"Not today," Malachi says grimly. "We aren't giving it up."
No, we're not. Not today or any other day.
"Beskytt Valkyrie," Damrion murmurs to the Fae. "Beskytt portalen. Even if it costs every last Fae life."
"Beskytt Valkyrie," the Fae repeat.
We advance as one, slashing and hacking, killing everything we can. The wolves run at our heels, protecting our backs, keeping the varulv from circling around behind us. Krandriel falls to a varulv beside me. He tries to fight his way back to his feet, but another varulv launches at him.
He plunges his lyststål into its throat, nearly severing the thing's head from its body before the poison overwhelms him. He crumbles with a groan.
"Krandriel!" I shout.
"Leave me," he groans. "Get to your Valkyrie. Protect her."
Fuck. This isn't how the day was supposed to go.
I kneel beside him, preparing to say a prayer, but before I can even reach for him, his body lights up. He chokes out a gasp, going rigid.
Tori.
I glance ahead to see the Valkyrie advancing toward us in an unbroken line, ropes of Light spilling from Tori's hands. Every fallen warrior it touches goes rigid as she burns the poison from their veins with brutal efficiency. To her right, Marion directs flows of Light toward the varulv. Like the warriors, they light up. But the Light doesn't Heal the varulv. It burns them from existence.
They die with pained screams that bounce back from the trees in eerie distortions. Dozens surge toward the fiery nimbus around the Valkyrie, trying like hell to bring them down, but as soon as they touch their Light, they burn too. As if they never stood at all.
And yet more pour through the Portal, a never-ending flood of them, sent to bring us down and take the Bifröst. Gods. How many are there? An entire army of Darkness, sent to deliver Valhalla and the Bifröst into the hands of the Forsaken.
The Light around Krandriel fades. He falls back, gasping and shivering.
"Good Gods," he gasps, choking on a groan as he rolls to his side. "I've never felt anything like that."
"Ja, but you're alive."
And that's precisely the problem, isn't it?
I glance around the battlefield to see the same scene unfolding for warrior after warrior. Every single one that fell shivers and groans, held to life by Tori's ability to Heal what was a death sentence before she was spun out by the Norns. The Valkyrie adamantly refuses to let a single one of the warriors die. They're all that's left of the Fae, all that remains of a realm that fell long ago, destroyed in a war humanity never even knew to name. The Valkyrie will fight like hell to keep every last Fae life intact, because as much as the Fae are stewards of Valhalla…the Valkyrie are stewards of every soul here.