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When the first sign of light peeked through the curtains, I’d finally had enough of a night full of terrorizing visions of the dead. I was ready for the day and for the distraction of my morning chores. I crawled out of Henry's grasp, trading the warmth of his arms for the coolness of the floor.
I crossed to the window in a sleep-deprived stupor, feeling like I was still dreaming. I half expected a rotting hand to reach through the window. Cautiously, I brushed the curtains aside. Dark clouds swirled overhead, bringing with them an ominous feeling.
The chill settled on the air like a layer of newly fallen snow. I shivered and rubbed my arms, turning away from the grayness attacking the day.
I pulled my boots and jacket on and stepped out of our bedroom, careful not to disturb Henry. He wouldn’t be happy with me sneaking out without him, but I wasn’t a child. I could do my daily chores without a protection detail.
The central room was full of seven cots where the dwarves kept watch. Their sentry, Domino, sat next to the door with a steaming mug between his hands and a scruff of yellow hair haphazardly sticking out from the top of his head. He nodded toward the last of the warm cider bubbling over the fire and smiled.
I bit my lip, considering detouring from my chores to indulge in a cup of my own. Apple cider, apple pie, just about anything to do with apples was my weakness. I loved the fruit probably more than I should. I also knew if I didn't partake before my morning trek, the rest of the dwarves would polish it off long before I returned.
I veered towards the pot with a thought of only taking a smidgen. Of course, the mug I chose wasn't suited for just a smidgen; it was more like a beer stein. The ladleful I scooped nearly filled my glass. I considered dumping some back, but I needed to heat the chill from my bones.
Besides, this was hot apple cider.
I pulled a chair out from the table and raised my glass to Domino, he did the same, and we drank in silence as the rest of the clan snored.
Simon had a snore like a soft scrape. Bernard's was a little more like a saw cutting wood. Ruse's snore reminded me of a roaring fire, which was a good match to his flaming red hair. Klen's sounded like a rush of air and then a clicking, like his tongue was trying to remove itself from the roof of his mouth. Wally's was a high-pitched whistle that sometimes hit a nerve, making me twitch. And last, but not least, Blackie, whose nickname represented the color of his thick hair and beard, slept in silence as deep as night.
The symphony of sounds soothed me with each sip of cider.
By the time I finished the drink, Henry's shuffling came from our bedroom. My escape into the quiet woods would no longer just be me with nature. Henry didn’t want me out of his sight now that we knew the queen was circling the forest. As much as I liked my quiet magic games with the wildlife, I had to admit, having Henry by my side to witness the antics made it more real.
I smiled and stood as he stepped into the room. Our eyes met, and my heart melted at the warmth in his gaze. It was almost as endearing as the heat of his arms. I set my cup on the counter and met him at the door. We nodded to Domino and slipped outside without waking the rest of the clan.
The cool air wrapped around us, tightening my chest. It didn't feel right, and I traded a glance with Henry.
He was already scanning the horizon with his hand clasped around the hilt of his sword. “No magic today,” he whispered. “Not until this passes.”
I grabbed the empty buckets by the door and headed off towards the river. Instead of hanging back like he usually did, Henry walked next to me, his gaze moving from side to side, assessing the quiet filling the forest. It wasn't until we got to the water that we both halted.
Guards surrounded both sides of the stream, coming out from behind us to close off our passage back to the house.
The forest had forsaken my magic.
I dropped the pails at the same time Henry pulled his sword. I focused on the magic within me, stretching the light out in a protective barrier around the two of us, and wished for a sword of my own. Funny thing about magic—sometimes when you wished for something while employing a protection spell, the universe obliged.
A heavy sword like nothing I had ever seen before materialized between my hands. The metal glowed with deadly intent, and I stared wide-eyed out at the dozen guards facing me. Henry had an equal amount of guards on his side of the semi-circle.
On closer inspection, the guards were not as they seemed. Their eyes held an ethereal glow, and their skin was too sallow to support life.
The blood in my veins chilled and I shivered.
This was the army of the dead, which meant they were not susceptible to the same bounds of earthly magic that I employed on this forest.
I glanced over my shoulder at Henry. He met my gaze with worry lines etched in his brow. The queen had somehow commanded the dead. My throat tightened. My mother had been in a grave within the castle walls. Fear as bright as the light surrounding my sword burned inside me.
My grip tightened on the hilt of my weapon, and I pressed my back against Henry’s as my mind raced for a spell to kill that which was already dead. Only a phrase came to mind.
Gravis ad vos.
Back to the grave you go.
It was as if the fates had left me to fail on my own.
As the soldiers closed the distance, I steeled my nerves and stepped forward, meeting the closest one with a swing of my sword. It cut clean through the middle of his body. A second later, the top half teetered to the ground. There was no blood, no scream of anguish, nothing.
“Gravis ad vos,” I whispered. At the words, the dismembered form exploded into a dust ball. I jumped, knocking into a warm back.
I spun, my heart clanging in my chest.
Henry’s sword caught mine before I could do any damage. His eyes were as wide as I imagined mine were.
“Duck,” he snapped.
I dropped down, and his sword whistled over my head.
He whirled around, meeting the threat behind him once again.
I took his cue and turned towards the remaining flood of soldiers on my side. I had barely enough time to raise the sword and block an attack. The whistle of Henry’s sword gave me strength as he cut down those on his side. I parried and twirled, cutting down two in a row. Each time the dead fell, I whispered the same incantation.
Dust swirled on the air, choking me. My arms ached from the weight of the metal in my hands. My next parry wasn’t fast enough, and the soldier’s sword tore through the fabric across my back, scraping across my skin.
I arched away from the burn, letting out a roar of pain. I spun, bringing my sword around in a wild arc. I caught the guard at the crook of his neck, tearing through bone and sinew.
My back ignited as if someone had doused it in oil and set it on fire. My knees buckled, and I stumbled. Henry caught me, peeled the sword from my grip, and laid me on the ground. Black spots filled my vision.
Henry stood over me, fighting the remaining guards with a grace and speed I lacked. Each parry brought with it a clang of metal that made me flinch. And when the whistle of his blade didn’t meet metal, it sliced another guard down. He defended me with such brutality that my breath caught in my throat from more than just my crippling pain.
When the last guard fell, I whispered the magical spell that would send the dead back to their graves, and they puffed into dust.
Then my world went dark.