As she thrust her fist into the air, the world was filled with such a shrill battle cry that it almost shattered the sky. Vhalla turned, watching the last of the front line crumble. Her breath caught in her throat as the Northerners made it to them, the maelstrom upon her.
Aldrik was the first to move between them. His body halfway covered hers as he shouldered the attack of the enemy swordsmen. Aldrik’s mailed hand reached the enemy’s face, and the Northerner cried in anguish. The man collapsed as a charred ruin.
She returned to life and disarmed their next attacker. With a flick of her fingers, the blade was in her hand just in time to turn and parry a new sword that whizzed from behind. The heartbeat in her ears was panicked. It was a frantic rhythm that tried to keep up with the madness around them.
Vhalla ground her teeth. The Northerner was much stronger than she was, and he made quick work of disarming her stolen blade. She stumbled backwards, trying to regain her footing. There was a grunt behind her, a burst of flame. Aldrik had taken out the man she had disarmed, but his focus had yet to return to her. Vhalla’s attacker took a step back, raising his weapon above his head.
A soldier lunged forward for the soft spot under the arm where the plate met. Vhalla saw a flash of blue, an ice dagger plunge deep into the man’s side. The Northerner cried in pain, his blade arced wide as he instinctively turned to face his new assailant. Fritz jumped backward. The man brought up his sword. Vhalla lunged.
Her hand clamped over the Northerner’s shocked mouth, and she claimed his breath. She watched the fragile moment just before his face exploded before her, bits of nose and eyes splattering her cheeks and armor. There was hardly a moment to breathe, and Vhalla turned, thrusting out an arm to disarm a man who was attacking Aldrik.
“Where did you learn to do that?” Aldrik called as he tossed a body aside.
“Must you ask?” she shouted over the whizz of blades and bows, her back clanking against his as she dodged another sword.
Aldrik’s amusement rang out, his mad and hearty laughter crackling through the air. He knew that she was him and her—both at once. Her movements were a mix of everything the Joining had given her and everything that she could be. Amidst the blood and carnage, she found herself wearing her own insane grin to mirror his. He turned left, she turned right; they spun away from each other, taking out two more in the movement.
“Die!” another screamed at her.
“Not today!” she screeched back. His sword dug into her side, somehow finding its way in-between the scales. Vhalla winced but pressed her arm forward. Her hand caught his mouth, and that was all it took.
She turned, blood dripping from her right palm. Aldrik had three on him, and he was handling them with expert precision. Vhalla raised her fingers, sending his fire in a wide arc to hit all three. They cried in pain as their bodies became flames. Aldrik turned to each sequentially, finishing them.
His eyes caught hers, and time slowed. Two obsidian orbs—ablaze—saw straight into her soul. She inhaled and saw his breath heave at the same time. His hand extended into the air, her feet picked up and she reached for him. Vhalla’s fingers curled about his, and Aldrik pulled her to him.
“My lady.” She would have heard him even if the words were breathed and every soldier screamed at once. “You are magnificent.” Aldrik’s free hand reached over her shoulder, and she felt the flare of his magic as a tongue of fire was sent behind her. Vhalla did not even turn to witness the poor soul’s demise.
“My prince.” Vhalla swept up her hand, disarming all those in their immediate vicinity. She hardly gave thought to the fact that it was the first time that she had managed so many swords at once. “You are the bards’ most epic songs brought to life.”
He smirked at her. She gave him a sly smile. Aldrik released her, and she turned away on her heel, throwing herself into the movement so she dropped forward. The wind shot forth from her and knocked about twenty Northerners off their feet. Vhalla felt the familiar warmth of his flames behind her and knew he had given himself to the fight as well.
Her magic claimed her; it was intoxicating, an all-consuming devotion to the moment. She was lost somewhere between herself and him. Yet, somehow, she could feel him lost within her. She felt his movements as much as she felt her own. Vhalla was not sure if a Joining was possible without touch, but they were making a strong case for it.
They spun and spiraled about each other, completely trusting the other to be exactly where they expected full moments before they had even begun to move. Their bodies turned to where the other needed, finding openings, shifting around flailing arms and quick feet.
No one stood a chance against them. None managed to even come close. His arms curved around her body, sending an attack. Her back brushed against his as she protected him. Aldrik put himself into his flame and she joined with her own magical essence. There was something deeply intimate about it.