Chapter 42

Three hours later, the slowly rising sun sent rivulets of sweat trickling down Ursula’s neck, and her legs burned with tiredness as they reached Hothgar’s manor. By Bael’s side, she marched at the front of the oneiroi rebels.

Hothgar’s manor looked completely impenetrable—a fortress of steel and stone that clung to the cliff face a thousand feet above them. Still, they had a dragon on their side, at least, and they’d formulated a plan on their march.

When they reached the base of the manor, Bael climbed another boulder to address the crowd, holding out his hand for Ursula to join him. Under the slanted rays of the rising sun, Ursula looked out over the oneiroi horde.

“We will commence our attack in five minutes,” Bael’s voice boomed over the crowd. “Those of you who own bats should call them. Pull one of your brothers or sisters on the back if there is room. Do not worry about Hothgar’s forces.” He looked at Ursula, indicating she should go on.

“Lucius will protect us as we breach the manor’s walls,” she announced. “Once inside, fight like hell.” Fight like hell was about the extent of their plan.

Bael’s bat swooped lower, and Bael slid onto his back. Sotz was next, swooping lower, and Ursula climbed on, gripping his fur. She beckoned another oneiroi fighter on behind her, then tightened her thighs around Sotz. He lifted off into the air.

Soaring above the horde, with the lunar wind in her hair, Ursula directed Sotz around in a wide arc. As she did, she surveyed the oneiroi below her, leaping onto their bats. With her knees, she directed Sotz toward the manor, just as Lucius was blasting an enormous hole in the walls, shearing metal with the intense heat of his flames.

Sotz’s wings beat the air, and they rose higher, toward Hothgar’s manor. Around them, scores of lunar bats swarmed, each packed with two or three oneiroi. They clutched all types of weapons—swords, spears, and outlawed stone daggers with blades sharp enough to cut through rock. Ursula’s limbs trembled with a battle fury as ancient as man, her heart pounding like a war drum.

As she neared the manor on Sotz’s back, Ursula’s adrenaline surged. Thick smoke bloomed from a hole, and oneiroi began streaming in. With a gentle nudge, Ursula directed Sotz toward the opening. Inside, the smaller oneiroi rebels clashed with larger shadow demons. With her blood racing, Ursula swooped down to land amidst the clashing of steel, the screaming of warriors. Somehow, she belonged in battle. As she leapt to the floor, she drew Honjo.

A massive demon lunged for her, his head painted blue and shaved as smooth as a river stone. In one hand, he held an iron blade with a nasty serrated edge. “I will feast on your entrails, bitch.”

He launched his sword hard at Ursula’s head, but Ursula swung, parrying. Sparks flew in the smoky air as her sword clashed against his.

Blue Head was rearing back for a second strike when a shadowy power surged in Ursula’s body, moving through her like a night wind. She drove her sword up into his chest, then ripped it out again, watching the monster fall to the ground.

That was when she noticed Bael standing over him, staring at her. “How did you learn to fight like that?”

“My mother taught me.”

Bael narrowed his eyes. “There’s more to it than that. Sometimes, you move like an ancient warrior.”

Ursula shrugged. “No idea.”

A shout interrupted them, and the thumping of demon wings. Hothgar soared above them, shifted into a fully demonic form. His ivory horns gleamed in the rays of sunlight, and a downy fur covered his wings, giving them an almost feathery appearance. He carried a long spear, and he opened his mouth to screech, the sound curdling Ursula’s blood. He waved his spear in a complex set of patterns, and shadowy magic gathered around its tip.

“Hothgar,” roared Bael. “How good to see you again.”

Hothgar fired a bolt of shadows in their direction, but Bael blocked it with his sword.

A movement sounded behind Ursula, and she whirled, her sword ready. She caught a demon in the gut, nearly carving him in two. Her blood roared in her ears at the crimson arc that spewed from him. She glanced up at Hothgar, who twirled his spear, magic crackling at its tip.

“Stop playing with your spear, and come down and fight us,” said Ursula.

Hothgar’s response was to unleash a bolt of shadows from his spear, and they tore through the air in her direction. She dove to the side, and Hothgar’s magic shattered the marble floor by her side.

Hothgar hovered above them, his downy wings thumping in the air. Ursula’s blood boiled as she looked up at him. She needed to lure him closer, within sword’s range, so she could actually fight him. As she tried to think of a way to bait him down, an enormous crash sounded behind her, and she pivoted. Lucius’s draconic head slipped through a new hole in the wall, his red eyes flashing.

“Oh, Hothgar,” Ursula shouted, all innocence. “I forgot to mention that I’ve made some new friends.”

The sound of shearing steel pierced the air, and the floor of the manor shook as Lucius pushed his way into the atrium.

Hothgar turned, flying away from the new threat and swinging his spear frantically. He unleashed bolts of shadows at Lucius, but the magic seemed to have no effect, bouncing off the dragon’s ruby scales as if they were made of mirrors.

Fast as a viper, Lucius struck. With a crunch, his teeth snapped onto one of Hothgar’s wings. He swung the demon violently, like a terrier with a rat. Hothgar screamed, and the sound of breaking bones filled the air. For a moment, she thought the Drake would devour him, but when Hothgar fell still, Lucius dropped him. Ursula winced as Hothgar slammed into the atrium floor with an audible crunch.

“Your lord is defeated,” shouted Bael at Hothgar’s remaining forces.

“You have two choices: drop your weapons,” Ursula cried out. “Or feed our dragon with your bodies.”

Around them, swords slammed against the floor as shadow demons rushed to drop them.

Bael raised his sword and boomed, “If you are a demon, surrender yourself, and I will show you mercy. If you are oneiroi, I ask you this: join us and fight for your freedom. It is time to take back your rightful place on this planet. It’s time for you to stop living as slaves.”

A cheer erupted in the hall, the oneiroi raising their fists. When Ursula looked at the demons, she found their eyes burning with anger. And yet, each one knelt, their fists held together as they allowed themselves to be manacled.

But Ursula’s gaze moved back to Hothgar, his body spilling blood onto the floor. An ancient demon like him wouldn’t die easily. When she noticed his leg twitch, she ran to him, her sword drawn. She stood over his prone body, his blood staining the marble. His legs lay shattered and one of his arms had been torn clean off, but her gaze homed in on the slow rise and fall of his chest.

“Bitch,” he growled when he saw Ursula.

A burst of dark shadow magic from Hothgar’s body knocked Ursula backward, and she slammed down hard on the floor. Reeling from the impact, she leapt up again, finding Hothgar standing over her. The wings. To make him mortal, she needed to go for the wings.

“I will have my vengeance,” Hothgar roared, his downy wings spreading out behind him. “Nyxobas’s magic will destroy you.”

A dark battle fury surged in Ursula’s blood, and she lunged swiftly behind Hothgar. Over his wings, her gaze met Bael’s. He’d had the same idea, and together they brought down their swords hard through Hothgar’s wings. Blood sprayed over Ursula, and Hothgar’s back arched. He shrieked toward the ceiling, then fell to his knees.

Ursula raised her sword. “Hothgar is defeated.”

The crowd cheered, and a small group of oneiroi grabbed hold of Hothgar, dragging him away as his blood streaked the floor. He was shrieking at her, at Bael, at everyone around him. But his wings now lay as dusty, gossamer scraps on the floor, and he was no longer a threat.

A heavy hand pressed on her shoulder. “To the winner go the spoils,” Lucius’s voice rumbled in her ear.

Is he talking about the wings? She could hardly think clearly over the wild, excited cheers of the oneiroi.

Ursula met Bael’s gaze. “What happens to the wings?”

He looked surprised. “The wings are Hothgar’s.”

“So you’re not going to use them?”

Bael inhaled sharply, his lip curling with disgust. “Each lord’s wings are given to him by Nyxobas himself. Hothgar’s wings are powerful, but only the wings Nyxobas gave me himself will ever touch my skin.”

At the gapinghole in Hothgar’s manor, Ursula was just preparing to whistle for Sotz when a woman’s scream ripped through the air. She whirled, her gaze landing on a balcony above them. A pair of oneiroi were pulling a woman with long blonde hair onto a balcony.

“Help!” she shrieked, then elbowed one of the oneiroi in the face. Freeing herself, she ran to the balcony, peering over the ledge.

“Ursula? Is that you?” Hothgar’s wife—an enormous woman with platinum braids Ursula knew as The Viking—turned and punched an oneiroi coming up behind her. “Don’t touch me. I’m with Ursula.”

“It’s okay,” Ursula shouted. “I know her.”

As some of the oneiroi streamed back out through the gap in the manor, Hothgar’s wife joined Ursula and Bael on the atrium floor.

Her platinum braids draped over her long black gown. “Where is my husband?”

Ursula cleared her throat. “Alive, but we took his wings. He’s imprisoned.”

The Viking snorted. “Serves him right. This is a man who animated dolls to worship his manhood. How can I help?”

Ursula shook her head. “We don’t need help, but thank you. If I heal his wounds using magic, Hothgar will never get his wings back. He’ll live, but he’ll no longer be Sword of Nyxobas.”

And with a quick glance at Bael, Ursula set off to heal the man who’d called her bitch.