Chapter 36

36

T he ground punched the air from Aislinn's lungs, and she lay in a daze on her side for a long moment, fighting to keep her vision from drowning in bright green bursts. Her head sloshed when she tried to move it, and her wrist pained her—though not enough to be broken.

With a groan, she rolled onto her front.

The sounds of male moans brought her round, and Aislinn looked up to see Dirk and Jerrod prone but both beginning to rouse.

Her arm free of Dirk's hold, Aislinn tucked her limbs under her, lifted onto all fours, and began to crawl.

The clang of battle reverberated around her, the Dundúran and mercenary forces clashing in dueling waves of metal. Her head throbbed and her wrist complained, but she made herself keep moving. She dodged as the three horses pranced around them and whinnied, nowhere to go in the throng of bodies pressing close.

Aislinn ducked and rolled out of the way of a hoof. The horses were frightened and agitated, making a wall of flesh between her and the battle on the other side.

She heard Captain Aodhan calling her name, telling her to regain her mount, but there was no chance of that. Her horse bucked and kicked, trying to make a path through the melee without success.

A hand snatched her ankle and tugged, pulling Aislinn down.

With a yelp, she rolled onto her back, hand grasping at her belt for her dagger.

Jerrod loomed above her, his eyes darker than coals. He wrenched her by the ankle again, yanking her that much closer. In his other fist gleamed a wicked knife, pointed down and ready to strike.

Aislinn kicked and wriggled, throwing her weight into escaping. Her hand fumbled at the hilt of her own dagger, fingers cold and trembling.

Her foot connected with Jerrod's chest, and with an oomph he reared back.

Aislinn drew her dagger and staggered to gain her feet.

Soldiers and horses cried out as the battle raged around them, the shriek of steel disorienting her. She wanted nothing more than to hunker down and clap her hands over her ears, but the need to survive stung her skin, urging her up, away .

A body smacked into hers, and she went toppling to the ground. Her dagger flew from her hand, and it was all she could do to catch herself and not get a mouthful of dirt.

Instinct rolled her to her back, and she clawed at Jerrod's face above her. He hissed with pain as her nails left angry red welts in their wake. He lashed out blindly with his knife, slashing the air as she struggled.

Her foot connected just below his ribs, in the soft, vulnerable side, and she kicked again, again, forcing him away.

That knife whipped through the air at the same time as her leg. Her trou and skin gave as the knife sliced across her outer thigh, and Aislinn screamed.

The bite of pain and gush of blood made her head swim, and her arms shook and nearly collapsed.

Jerrod stared at her wound, her cascading blood, his eyes full of shock. Then they shuttered, as if he meant to put away any vestigial love or care he had for her. Upper lip pulled back in a snarl, he clutched his knife and held it high.

A cry of pain, of outrage burst from her lungs as Jerrod screamed with triumph.

Not like this—I can't die today!

Everything inside her cried out, and she threw her hands in front of her to catch the descending point of his blade.

Something drowned out every other sound—like the crash of a mountain slide, the rolling boom of thunder, the crack of an icy glacier. The resonance of it erupted through every vein, clapping against her ears with the strength of a stampede.

A battle cry, a savage promise, it came at them, Jerrod and her, without mercy.

Aislinn saw only a blur of green breaking through the battling bodies, recognizing Hakon only by the cut of his dark hair. Tusks exposed in a snarling grimace, nose wrinkled back like an angry wildcat's, he burst through the crush of fighting.

He came faster than she could see, his war hammer swinging over his head.

Jerrod had time only to look up before the hammer came smashing against his head.

The sound of his skull cracking apart filled Aislinn's ears, and she screamed and fell to the ground as her brother's body, without the top half of its head, slumped to the side.

Her stomach revolted, and Aislinn held onto her breakfast with sheer will. She trembled, willing herself not to look at Jerrod.

Huge, booted calves filled her vision, and she peeked up to see Hakon standing above her, the long handle of the hammer in one hand and a knife in the other. He stood with feet planted wide apart, and when mercenaries rushed him, he hardly moved at the impact.

Aislinn made herself small and low to the ground as Hakon stood over her, defending her. With Jerrod down and the horses scattered, the main battle pressed in around them. Mercenaries came at Hakon from all sides, trying to catch her by the boot.

Hakon swung his hammer in a wide arc, keeping them back. He roared at them, fiercer than a lion and twice as terrifying, the tendons of his thick neck popping.

"A hundred gold pieces to the one who brings me her head!" she heard Dirk shout.

More mercenaries rushed them, forcing Hakon closer. He stepped over her, keeping her body between his boots, and she curled up on the trampled ground, hands over her face.

"My lady!" she heard someone shout, and then the thump of something landing close to her.

She looked to see a shield laying nearby.

Using Hakon's leg as leverage, she reached out and snatched the shield, dragging it over her. Just large enough to cover her, she kept it at her back as Hakon guarded her front, moving as the mercenaries jostled and thrust, trying to get past him.

All she could see was legs up to the knee, feet dancing in circles as Hakon roared and pounded and struck. Blood splattered her and the shield, louder than a downpour on a metal roof. Bodies fell around them as Hakon unleashed his fury.

Berserker rage.

She'd heard of it, that the same instinct to mate within orcs and dragons could lead to mindless, ferocious violence.

Her lungs collapsed around a wobbling breath.

Her blacksmith, her Hakon, so sweet and gentle—a berserker.

Another headless body slumped to the ground in her vision, and Aislinn couldn't help squeezing her eyes shut. Her stomach roiled as her heart pounded, bile burning the back of her throat.

Hang on, just hang on. It will be over. It has to be over.

She told herself this, and yet the sounds of bodies breaking never seemed to stop. She could hear how Hakon panted, his great body heaving for air, but he wouldn't cease, his hammer striking against anything that ventured too close. She could feel how his legs trembled with exertion, but he gave no quarter, beating back each wave of attackers.

"Fucking shit! It's one damn orc—a small one at that!"

"This one's not normal!"

"Something's wrong with it!"

"Berserker rage! He's a fucking berserker!"

"With me!"

Aislinn felt Hakon stagger for the first time as multiple bodies rushed him. A growl, low and menacing, hit her ears, followed by the clang of steel. His calves flexed, digging his heels into the dirt, and Aislinn shifted the shield as he moved, trying not to trip him.

A grunt echoed above her, and she felt him shudder. Blood dripped down the leg of his trou, and Aislinn's heart jumped to her throat.

No!

She clutched at his calf, his blood dribbling over her hand, as she searched frantically for an abandoned weapon. Anything!

Don't just lay here! Help him!

But there was nothing she could grab without straying from his protection.

As if he could feel her thinking about crawling out from under him, Hakon used his heel to push her back under the shield.

Another grunt, another shudder.

"Hakon!"

But the sound of her voice only made him roar, and she felt how he threw his whole body into his next strike.

The mercenary line buckled, and at least three bodies collapsed to the ground. Aislinn thought she recognized Dirk's dark head, turned at a wrong angle on his shoulders.

Hakon loosed a resounding roar, and all the legs around them took a hesitant step back.

"They're down!" she heard Captain Aodhan call. "Mercenaries, your leaders are dead!"

"Dirk's down!" the mercenaries cried through the ranks.

"Fucking shit, I'm not dying today."

"This orc is deranged."

The legs wavered, and something close to a silence fell around them. Then the feet were tripping over themselves, the circle around her and Hakon falling away.

The ground quaked beneath her with the surviving mercenaries retreating, and she peeked over the top of the shield to see them scattering into the trees, pursued by her forces.

Aislinn sucked in a quavering breath, not quite ready to believe it was almost over.

She stayed curled on the ground, unmoving, waiting for some sign from Hakon.

But her halfling didn't move either, standing his ground above her, even as his trou soaked with blood.

"Hakon…" she tried, but if he heard her, he didn't acknowledge it.

Aislinn waited, holding her breath and straining her ears. Each time she tried to rise or edge out from under the shield, Hakon pushed her back. He wouldn't relinquish his hammer or move away, making her think the threat wasn't gone.

It was a long, painful wait. Her palm was warm and sticky with his blood, but her calls to him went unheeded.

More legs gathered around them but kept their distance.

"Aislinn!" she heard Sorcha call.

"I'm here," she called back. "I'm all right!"

"Glad to hear it. The mercenaries are in full retreat. But…"

Orek delivered the dire news. "Hakon is in a berserker rage."

"He won't let us near," said Sorcha, and Aislinn heard the deep worry in her voice.

"Talk to him, my lady," said Captain Aodhan, "try to calm him. We must see to his wounds."

Aislinn's heart sank.

"You're the only one he'll listen to now," called Orek.