Bloodlust (25 page)

With each new handgrip she found, she forced herself not to think of how vulnerable she was. An arrow whizzed by and bounced off the back of her armored bodice. Another struck the rock where her hand had just been. Ivy climbed faster, her fingers digging into the stone, nails scrapping, and flipped into the front eastern tower.

From here, she could see the entire battlefield, which surrounded the perimeter of the fortress. The trolls vastly outnumbered the barbarians, but for now at least, the barbarians were holding. She winced as one finally caved, five weapons stuck within him.

No sign of her father, though.

Where was Lukor? Her hand went to her throat as she watched the skuleader's weapon cut into Lukor. A cry, almost a wail, escaped her lips. But then Lukor, in a great display of power and strength, killed the troll leader and lifted his head as a trophy.

Trolls converged on him then, and she could see him no more. Her happiness, and her hope, died. If the trolls did not flee in the face of their leader's assassination, but instead rallied to defend his honor, so much blood would be spilt the ground would not be able to soak it all in and red rivers would form around the fortress.

A booming caw sounded, the bird call so loud and forceful Ivy staggered back. The orange eye of a pteragon peered at her. Not a bird after all, but a winged dinosaur-dragon hybrid. The barbaron had already returned.

The pteragon opened its mouth to caw again, and Ivy fired an arrow at its tongue. She'd always hated Father's pet.

Down the spiral steps she flew. In the main corridor, she shoved past several barbarians dressing for war. Why they weren't already out and about killing trolls she didn't know, but if they weren't gone by the time her father had stopped breathing, she just might end them herself.

She rushed into the throne room. The tall throne stood there, empty, and she walked toward it.

"So eager to claim it for yourself, child."

Ivy stilled and armed herself before whipping around.

"I knew it was only a matter of time before you came after me." Barbaron Thunhall glowered at her, ice in his blue eyes, resentment in the harsh lines near his mouth.

"Please, Father. You're disappointed I didn't try sooner."

His right shoulder lifted slightly. "Perhaps. Then again, you would have been easier to kill a few years ago."

His words wounded her far more deeply than a knife cut ever could. She'd always doubted his love for her. Now she was hearing proof of that fear.

"Why did you not killed me when I was a mere babe?" she asked.

"Your mother was somewhat fond of you."

Gone was Ivy's hurt. Dark emotions surged within her, tempered back only by her desire to speak her mind. "Your wife was not fond enough of you."

He stroked his gray-splattered goatee. No part of his full battle armor showed a hint of mud or dirt or grass. Even now, at war, her father worried about appearances. Always had to show authority, demonstrate his power.

"I would have to disagree," he said lazily. His boots smacked against the stone floor as he stalked toward her, not bothering to step on the blood red carpet that lead down to the throne. "She was too fond of me."

"So you killed her because she did not have it within her to kill you first." Ivy held her breath, wishing he would deny the claim, that Angar had lied, but knowing he would not.

"Of course I did." With an indolent air, he removed a hellebarde from his back. The long shaft easily fit into his hand. The axe head gleamed, reflecting the flickering candlelight from the walls' wax wells. The spike on top of the axe pointed at Ivy's heart.

"And you so love your position you would rather kill your own daughter than allow the royal blood line to continue after your death." For the first time in Ivy's life, her emotions fled. She felt nothing. Not sorrow. Not fear. Not pity. Not hate. An empty vessel, that's all she was.

"That's just it, Ivy. You aren't my daughter."

Ivy's gaze had lowered to the blade, but now she stared at him. "Of course—"

"Your mother had an affair. I had no idea."

"Did Angar tell you this?" That meddlesome pest of a barbarian should've died long ago. His silvery tongue should have been cut out of his mouth for all the lies he'd spewed over the years.

"No. Your father stepped forward. Told me himself." The barbaron's smile stretched across his face, his lips redder than blood, his teeth whiter than bones.

"Who was he?" Damnable curiosity vibrated her vocal cords.

"You can go meet him." Thunhall dove forward.

Ivy dropped the dagger and sword and grabbed the silverbow. Two shots she fired, one aimed at each of his eyes, before she rolled out of the way.

His arm bracer knocked the arrows away, but Ivy had already reclaimed her longsword. She forced the tip of the hellebarde down toward the ground, kicked up her dagger with her right foot, and shoved the blade toward the barbaron's throat.

His left hand snatched her wrist and crushed it, forcing her to release the dagger. Ivy refused to cry out. The barbaron had never looked at her with warm eyes, but now his blue orbs were colder than the highest mountain in the Mountains of Flyerdales. Like a leaf falling from a tree, she watched as his eyes transformed, revealing his acceptance of his Bloodlust. Strange how she realized now that more often than not, he lived out his days within its powerful throes.

His grip too tight, he threw her to the ground. His heel stepped on her dagger, and he knocked away her longsword. The blade clattered against the stone floor out of reach. The tip of the hellebarde scrapped against the stone an inch from her right shoulder.

"You will die." There was no malice in his tone. No satisfaction. He sounded so detached. Most barbarians were beyond the capability of speech during Bloodlust but not him.

Her quiver was smashed against her back. Ivy reached over her shoulder for an arrow and threw it with all of her might, jamming it into the barbaron's hand, one of the few places on his body not covered in armor.

As the barbaron removed the arrow with his teeth, Ivy scrambled to her feet and regained possession of her longsword.

"It's only a matter of time," he promised.

"Everyone dies." Ivy grunted, the sound reminding her of Lukor. He had succeeded with his goal. She would not fail in accomplishing hers, would be damned before she'd lose to a goliath.

Her father paced around her, the blood from his hand dripping onto the stone, marking a red circle. No, not her father. If he was to be believed. Nothing made any sense. If Mother had wanted to rise against Father and be the sole ruler, or perhaps have Angar by her side, what else besides love could have stilled her hand? Had she truly had relations with someone else? Another barbarian?

Perhaps not a barbarian after all. A human. 'Twould explain why Ivy seemed to feel more of the lighter side of the emotional field than her fellow barbarians.

"Mother had been Barbaroness." Ivy said each word with deliberation. "Even if my father was not you, I still have royal blood within me. I will rule when you are dead and gone."

"Child, you do not believe me. Would a father do this?" With a suddenness that caught Ivy off balance, he pierced the tip of the hellebarde into her left shoulder. "Or this?"

She blocked his attempt to hit her right shoulder and grazed the tip of her longsword beneath his helm. Red liquid dripped from the blade when she pulled back. Before she could strike again, he sliced at her with the axe part of the hellebarde. It grazed her armored bodice and up toward the side of her neck, nicking her.

Despite being his Bloodlust, he held back. Why?

"I failed you, Father." She tossed down her longsword.

"I'm not your father."

"I failed you." She stepped closer to him, holding her head to the side to force more blood out of the wound on her neck. "I deserve death."

He blinked a few times, and the fog of Bloodlust lessened slightly.

Ivy took another stride toward him, and he moved back. In one swift move, she dropped, yanked her dagger free, and stabbed his boot. Her foot shoved the blade all the way down, through his foot, into the stone, pinning him there.

He let out a howl.

"Still failing you?" she taunted.

She yanked on the hilt of the hellebore, but it was only to distract him. With her right foot, in a practiced gesture, she kicked up the longsword and brought the hilt crashing down onto his hand. Her father released the hellebore, and she kicked it out of the way.

"I never measured up to your impossible standards, did I?" Beads of sweat covered her forehead, but she did not bother to wipe them away. Her chest heaved.

"You're worthless."

"Your Bloodlust has blinded you."

"Bloodlust is all we barbarians need," he snarled.

Confirmation that her father was not a barbarian? Maybe.

"The barbarian race will die out if this battle does not end well," she snarled.

"You would have the war end already?" He spat at her.

She brushed off the wad of saliva on her cheek. "You are not fit to rule."

"So kill me."

Knowing he would never tell her the truth concerning her mother or her father's identity, whether him or another male, Ivy did exactly that. She rammed the longsword into the space between his chestplate and his lower armor.

How ironic that the sword of his right-hand man should be the blade that struck him down.

Weapons and hands and teeth and legs all struck at Lukor, and he lost his balance. The trolls' horrific breath overwhelmed him, making him gag, and he couldn't see to protect himself.

The sound of a loud snort pierced above their rambling cries of outrage, and Lukor forced his eyes open. His war hog had come to him.

"About time," Lukor grumbled as he mounted the war hog. The massive pig was bigger than a pony, and Lukor easily hacked and attacked the nearest trolls.

It was time to regroup with his fellow goliaths. So much work needed to be completed.

Before he guided his mount away, Lukor reclaimed Trakil's head. Howls followed him, as did the fallen trail of trollish bodies he smited on his way back to his men and women warriors.

The sun had still not reached its apex. How many more would die before the purple orb began its descent into darkness?

For a moment, Ivy stood over Barbaron Thunhall's still form. The emblem of the barbarians was proudly displayed upon his chestplate, but blood smeared the golden heart.

Her foot on his chest eased the sword's removal. Blood leaked from the corners of his mouth. His eyes stared straight ahead without seeing, yet fixed on her, the fog of Bloodlust still visible. Or perhaps the tears in her eyes prevented her from seeing clearly.

Stupid, accursed emotions! He had not been a good man. Had sentenced her to death. Attacked her. Belittled and tormented her for years. She had no good memories with him. And yet, here she was, crying. She'd had no choice but to kill him.

But to kill one of her own, no matter how diabolical, filled her with such remorse.

Tormented. Tortured.

Abruptly, Ivy thought of the goliatha she had captured. Her father had certainly tormented and tortured her. Perhaps even killed her.