Thump, thump, thump, thump.
Every beat cleared the haze in Bryn's mind until she looked out over the army she had been groomed to lead with clear eyes. In front of her were the men and women she had trained to defend her father. They were strangers to her now. Enablers of the tyrant her father was, proof that his mad ways could be inherited.
But she was proof that there was always a different path if one so chose.
Brynna Helvig was a changed woman after everything she had done and sacrificed for Ahland, including her love and happiness. Today, she fought for those she had lost and those she had gained. Today, she fought for Ahland.
For Revna.
For Maude.
For Liv.
For herself.
Bryn picked up her axe and brought it down on her shield, the vibration pulsing all the way through her body until the adrenaline in her blood was sparking fires in its wake.
Her axe caught flame as she held it above her head and shouted over the raucous Rivers Soldiers, "Vali!"
A chorus of soldiers echoed the battle cry. "Vali!"
Bryn grinned at the front line of Flame Soldiers as their already pale faces drained of color.
"Vali!" she shouted again, her call to the god of vengeance hoarse and guttural.
"Vali!"
Soon, the entire Kingdom of Rivers seemed to reverberate with their call to Vali as their weapons pounded against shields until the very ground shook with their power. Each row of soldiers they passed grew louder as Bryn kept her call to Vali loud enough to break the sound barrier above them until the entire army was drowning out the Flame Army. As Herrick reached the front, they all stopped until they stood side by side. Bryn raised one hand in a closed fist above her. As one, the Rivers Army silenced.
Stillness enveloped them as the gods listened in. But no one spoke.
The General of Rivers only raised his axe into the air over his head and let out a battle cry that ignited something in Bryn's body, begging her to respond with her cry. He charged forward, and the rest of them followed as they met Helvig's army at slaughter.
Behind her, a wave of shouts followed them, all screaming the same thing.
"Til Valhalla!"
52
All around Herrick, the sounds of dying men pierced his hearing. Blood splattered with every step he took, some of it his and some of it from those he cut down. None of it mattered— he searched for all-black uniforms, and when one got in his way, he eviscerated them.
It felt good to let his body move like this again with his battle axe in his hands. He was nimble with a sword, but the two-handed axe was where his skill shone. He painted his enemies ruby, the canvas of their lives his to destroy with just a swing of his axe. He became an artist, one whose work would be recognized for centuries to come.
With each life Herrick ended, he sent up a word of prayer to Odin that their soul be welcomed into Valhalla. They stood for hatred, but they were warriors who deserved to dine with the gods for their bravery if the Allfather would deem it so. Or maybe they would be denied entrance to the gilded halls of warriors—regardless, Herrick swung his axe with a vigor that fueled his rage.
This was something he and Maude shared: a mutual respect for the ending of a warrior's life in the way only warriors could pass on to Valhalla. They had to die fighting— it was their way.
His chest caved in as he thought of Maude. She should be at his side, should be watching his back as he tore through Flame Soldier formation. What he had never expected to feel after the sorrow had left him was the pounding in his ears and the dryness in his throat as he took out his disbelief on the Flame Soldiers. She had left himagain.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Herrick knew that it wasn't fair to be angry with Maude about this. She had no control; Hela had taken over entirely. He knew that if she had been in control of herself, she would be cutting through lines of soldiers just like he was.
But that didn't change the fact that he felt entirely alone on this battlefield.
In his moment of distraction, he saw Hakon's sword cut in front of him to open the belly of a soldier who had been charging for Herrick. Their swords were pillars of flame that their River Soldiers had found easy enough to extinguish with their water, but for those with earth, they had to smother the fire by flinging rocks or dirt at the fires.
Herrick threw out his hand as a column of water wrapped around a soldier's throat before he froze it and yanked hard. The fighter's neck snapped with a vicious crack that satisfied something dark in his soul.
"You have to focus, brother," Hakon shouted as he slashed his sword down at another soldier who had stepped up to take the previous one's place. They just kept multiplying.
