Wielding nasty Bloodspears of their magic, they’re in no hurry. It’s then that I understand from the smirks on each and every face that this was exactly what the Jarl of Copenhagen intended. He wanted us to make a run on his palace to liberate Mikkel and Lærke and make our escape, only to be herded like cattle towards his main hall by all these strategically placed groups of guards.
So we could be caught right here, right now—like cattle in a pen.
It’s not only us that are caught, however, as I see in one gable that another group is trapped here. Emil Beck and his people have lost their battle; Mikkel and Lærke both make a tortured sound as we see Emil, his folk, and the Thorsens’ remaining fighters from The Chartreuse trapped inside a similar field of magic as what closed the doors on us.
The Jarl of Copenhagen is forbidding as he finally makes his appearance, emerging from behind a towering dragon-throne of carvedsilberskraewood, inlaid with gold, ebony, and garnets. Dressed in black buckled leathers like those he had on when he captured the twins, Jarl Alexander Christensen looks far more terrifying than just a mercenary pirate, as he comes to us inside our roiling cage of magic, not a single adornment upon him of state.
The Jarl’s bloody, dark red eyes pierce us as the winds of his magicalseal smooth down so we are no longer caught inside a barrier of magic, but standing openly before him.
We can see him clearly now that the energy-barrier around us has fallen; the doors to the hall are still closed the fuck up, however, as even more powerful containment sigils spiral up through every arch and timber, now that the Jarl’s arrived.
They seal us into a gargantuan lockbox inside this hall—sealing our fate. As Baldur tries to thrust a massive drive of his power at one door to force it open, he gets hurled to his ass on the stone seal. The door and seal both flare, and Baldur cries out as I feel a vicious surge drain us all, focusing on him but ripping through our entire bond.
Collapsing, Baldur’s out cold as Bjorn rushes to him, giving him whatever Blood Magic he can spare. I’m trembling from that terrible drain of magic, like some fucking vampire or something just got ahold of me, as I set my jaw and stare into the bloody eyes of the Jarl of Copenhagen.
Knowing that he, like this hall, is far more than he seems.
Jarl Alexander Christensen is like a vampire, a Blood Dragon of death, as he ignores Mikkel and Lærke, though those two have been thorns in his side for decades and are currently being held back by Ström as they both snarl.
He stares at me only as I realize he’s happy that he just caught another Bloodwalker—and not just a Bloodwalker, but all of her drakes along with her, as a nasty little smile twists his lips. Hate spikes inside me for this man who has done our kind so much wrong.
Hate for his entire bloodline, as he gloats before me, smug.
“Hög Skjaldmær Rikyava Andersen. So nice to finally make your acquaintance.” Jarl Christensen regards me, as his terrible eyes stare like vicious daggers into my very soul. His gaze flicks to Baldur and the rest of my drakes now, ruthless. “Try anything else like that one did to break free of my hall and get far worse than he did.”
The Jarl’s message is clear; he controls this nasty, magic-sapping rune field insidethis hall.
And we are only alive so long as we do not test it.
“Let us go.” I bite back a snarl in my throat, hate for this Jarl scourging my veins and blistering my bones like lava, as I force myself to stay somewhat cool. “We are on a hunt of vital importance for King Huttr Erdhelm. We have a King’s Writ explaining our mission and that we have free passage?—”
“I do not doubt you have the full support of the King, your uncle, to be here in Copenhagen,” the Jarl interrupts me now. “These two, however, do not.” He waves his hand nonchalantly at Mikkel and Lærke. “And since they’ve engaged my people in all-out war, attacking my palace like the devils they are, I have the rightful jurisdiction to punish them. Which I was doing until you broke them free. A deep crime in these lands, liberating those who are being lawfully punished. A crime also punishable by death.”
“The King—” I snarl at him now.
“The King will not be on his glorious throne long.” Jarl Alexander Christensen lowers his chin, gazing at me with the dark menace of his dragon now as his lips twist up into that terrible little smile again. “Just as you and your Bloodmates will not be leaving this hall alive, Bloodwalker, King Huttr Erdhelm will not be leaving his hall alive soon, either. I say good riddance to the Erdhelm and Andersen royal lines. Good riddance to the Bloodwalker taint that was allowed to flow unchecked within them.”
“You support the Jarl’s rebellion against our King?” Bjorn growls then, as he rises to his feet supporting a very unsteady Baldur, though my Fourth Drake is finally awake, blinking off his unconsciousness.
“Dear youngling, masquerading as the palace’s top defender.” Jarl Alexander Christensen smiles his terrible smile wider. “Iamthe Jarl’s rebellion against our most misguided King, who favors truces with Ice Dragons over the honor of his own people. But that is to be expected in a bloodline run rampant with weakness. Bloodwalker weakness… time and time again.”
As the Jarl’s gaze pins me again, I feel how his vast hate goes way back.Even further back than his own life, this hatred towards Bloodwalkers and their mates goes all the way back down his family line, to every Jarl who has ever held this hall.
“What did we ever do to you?” I ask him then, as I see what really lives inside Jarl Christensen’s bloodthirsty eyes.
“You unleashed hell upon us,” he says softly, staring into the depths of my soul. “And for that, your people will be scourged from these lands. Forever.”
As he speaks, I suddenly know the Jarl is aware of the ancient story of the Black Dragon. Something passes between us then, as he sees me understand. Surprise takes his eyes as he stares into the gaze of a Bloodwalker he’s about to annihilate, and sees me know why he and all his previous Copenhagen Jarls have always waged war upon my kind.
That moment is brief, however, as all my drakes bristle to tear Jarl Christensen apart. Lærke’s among them, backing me up now as she and my men move into a fierce chevron at my sides.
Ready to fight the Jarl of Copenhagen, or die trying.
“Remember your people.” The Jarl warns me and the Thorsens now as his gaze flicks to everyone he’s captured from The Chartreuse, along with Emil and his dragons. “Fight me now and watch them die.”
“We’re dead, with or without fighting you.” Mikkel stares the Jarl down, wrathful. “We know what you do to Bloodwalkers and their mates?—”
“Just like we know what you do to those who cross you.” Lærke’s voice is a vicious snarl now as they face their most hated Jarl down, at last. “Our parents sure as fuck found out, long before we did—or didn’t you know we absorbed our mother’s memories from the womb?”
