Before I could formulate a plan of attack, he was on me again. His blows were powerful, and yet there was something about the way he wielded his sword—almost a hesitation every time he brought it down upon mine. It was as though he was holding himself back. But why would he do such a thing? Because I was a girl? Or because he’d seen me refuse to kill the boy?
When next he attacked, I dodged and swung my sword, hoping to catch him off balance. He deflected it easily with his own blade. I was by no means a novice swordsman, but it was clear his skill far outshone mine.
I circled him, all the while seeking some way of gaining control of his mind. My every effort was met with an impenetrable wall. His repeated attacks made it impossible to concentrate. Was he toying with me?
Who will stand between these barbarians and my sisters if I fall? I thought. All around me, my clansmen continued to fight. But our limited numbers meant if I didn’t end this soon, we would all die. They’d take the castle and then my sisters. And I’d have let them down—again.
The sudden sharp caw of a crow rang out above us, and the Northman paused, his brows drawing low over his eyes. I took his distraction to my advantage. He was powerful, but was he fast? I feinted left and swung around behind him. My blade slammed down on the chain mail covering his broad back.
It didn’t bring him to his knees, but it did stun him.
I swung my sword, taking advantage of his slow reaction. He parried at the last second. My blade slipped off his sword and nicked his neck. Blood snaked down his throat, and I quickly scanned the ground beneath him. Stones even larger than the one I’d used to knock out the boy were scattered all around us. I threw my sword down and dived for one.
As he bent down to grab me, I snatched a rock and smashed it against his head. He fell heavily with a dull thud upon stone. I retrieved my sword and held it high over my head, poised to keep the Northman down permanently.
But before I could deliver the final blow, something stayed my hand. A silvery voice filled my mind, whispering, Not him. It was the crow’s voice again. It had never been wrong, but still I resisted. Why would it want me to spare my enemy? Did this Northman know what had happened to my father? Was he the reason my clansmen and father had gone to the monastery’s defense? I watched the man’s chest rise and fall, my gaze moving upward to study his face. His cheeks were smooth, and his golden lashes gave him a deceptively innocent appearance. The possibility that my father had been defeated, possibly even killed, made me want to shake the Northman until he woke.
My lip curled. Never mind the crow. I hated this man who’d brought these demons to my doorstep. The world would be better off with one less Northman. My arms trembled, suddenly weak under the weight of my sword as I warred with myself. In sleep, he was no threat, and I was no murderer.
I sheathed my sword as I panted for breath.
Another Northman warrior stumbled close to me. He saw his leader at my feet. I latched hold of him with my mind as fast as a hawk snatches an unsuspecting mouse from a field. This one was tired and bloody; he barely had the strength to resist. I made him open his mouth and shout in his own language, “Hrokkva!” Fall back. The fighting continued for several heartbeats, and I forced the Northman warrior to repeat his call. One by one, the Northmen caught sight of their fallen leader and obeyed the order to retreat.
The surviving Northmen—twenty or so by my count—turned and ran as my remaining clansmen chased them to the edge of the cliff.
The man I controlled remained behind, still swaying under my influence. I moved him toward the younger unconscious boy. I could sense the pain of his injuries as I forced him to scoop up the boy: the cut on his thigh bleeding freely that burned as he bent down, the searing pain of bruised or broken ribs with his every breath, the sting of the blood and sweat in his eyes. Still, he was strong enough to retreat with the boy, and that’s all I cared about.
Take the boy and never return, but your leader is mine, I told him. Let him remember me for the monster I was.
I glanced back down at the fallen Northman leader as my twelve remaining clansmen gathered around me.
“Cut his head from his shoulders and end this,” said Conall, one of my cousins.
“No,” I said, my eyes holding his. He immediately dropped his gaze. “I want him kept alive.”
“Your father—”
“My father isn’t here,” I snapped, “and this Northman may know about—may even be responsible for—the attack on the monastery. I need to know if my father survived.” I moved to stand over the Northman’s fallen body like a wolf guarding her pup. The crow’s voice had told me to spare him, so I would . . . for now. But more than anything, I wanted to know how this Northman was able to resist me. I let out a sharp whistle for Sleipnir. He trotted over, gracefully avoiding trampling the fallen. All my clansmen save Fergus and Conall backed away, eyeing me warily. I stared at the two of them for several heartbeats—just long enough to remind them I could force them if I wanted to—before they finally hefted the Northman onto my horse.
I leaped onto Sleipnir’s back behind my prisoner.
Apprehension at what I’d done filled me. If my father returned—no, when, I corrected myself angrily—I’d have to explain why I hadn’t immediately killed the Northman when I had the chance.
But first, I’d have to explain my logic to myself.
3
There was only one place I trusted to keep a prisoner both secure and secret—at least for a while. A tiny cave carved into the high cliffs by the sea, easily the most miserable place in our kingdom.
The sea roared beneath us as we hugged the side of the cliff. Conall and Fergus grunted under the weight of their unconscious charge, and I led the way over the rocky path to the cave. It was only the three of us who were able to drag our captive to his new prison; the rest stayed behind to guard the way until the enemy fully retreated. We followed a steep goat trail to a small cave carved out of the rock. Jagged rocks awaited us if we fell, but this was a path we knew well. Once I slipped inside, I helped pull the Northman into the cool darkness.
Manacles dangled from chains attached to the wall, and I fastened them around the Northman’s wrists. I gritted my teeth as I touched him in such a familiar way. His arms were surprisingly heavy, the lean bands of muscles pulling the chains taut as soon as they were fastened. He slumped forward, his head on his chest, arms outstretched. His long hair escaped the leather thong that kept it bound, some of the blond strands preventing me from seeing his face.
I leaned back on my heels. I didn’t understand why the voice had made me spare this man’s life. Many times it had warned of battles to come, but it had never intervened in any other way—especially never to spare an enemy’s life. Sometimes the crow appeared with the voice, but not always, proving this was more than simply an enchanted crow. I’d asked it many times what—or who—it was, but I’d never been given an answer. A spirit, a god, a demon . . . it made no difference. All that mattered was that it enabled me to prepare for battle. And now, it had spared my enemy’s life.
I tilted my head as I studied the warrior before me. He looked like any other Northman—so why had the voice commanded he live? But if I was being truly honest with myself, I knew there was another reason I’d spared him.
I wanted to know how he’d been able to resist my mind control. After all, who was this warrior whose mind was nothing but a stone wall? Who could resist even my power?