Bloodlust (40 page)

They didn't even know their foe yet. All they cared about was the thrill of battle. Not so long ago, Ivy had been just as anxious and on edge as them, but she had changed. Perhaps it was accepting her human side more, or because of loving Lukor, or mayhap a combination, but their willingness to fight any enemy on her say so worried her. How barbaric of them, and why the trolls, and the elves, and the goliaths, thought them a threat that needed to be eliminated.

"Before I give you the details," Ivy said slowly, taking her time to catch the gaze of every barbarian, "I want you all to vow to me that you will not use your Bloodlust."

"But why?" Maul asked, baring his teeth, almost reminding her of a goliath at that moment.

"We feed off our Bloodlust," Saber added.

"Why should we hold back?" Springald crossed his arms, which meant he laid one hand over the other, his biceps far too huge for anything up higher.

"We have allies in this battle." Ivy smiled. They weren't in this alone. For so long, Barbadia had felt like a separate island from the rest of the world, some of the reason why she had always been so reckless and eager to break free on the chains binding her here.

"The goliaths," Glaive supplied.

A few grumbles broke out.

"Aye, the goliaths will be aiding us. As will the trolls."

Chaos and pandemonium broke out. Benches were overturned, bear-dog meat flung, animal blood dripping everywhere. Punches and elbows flew through the air, adding more blood splatter.

Ivy jumped on top of an overturned table. For several more minutes, the barbarians fought each other. When Maul brought out a knife, Ivy whistled.

"That's enough." Although she did not scream, her voice carried over their noise, and they slowly turned to face her. A few avoided her gaze, but most seemed shameless.

She felt more than enough shame for all of them.

"Our enemy for this battle is the elves. They have been playing us all as toys they can shift about and kill at whim. They gave the trolls weapons to kill us. I figure the trolls then would have turned against the goliaths and the elves would have smited the trolls, and the 'lesser' races would no longer be."

Ivy stepped down and glided among them, brushing past them, too hot and angry to look at them for more than a second. Such rage. Such hatred filled them all, controlled their actions. Were they too far gone to be saved? Would they end up as the previous barbaron — a slave to their Bloodlust?

"I refuse to live my life according to the elves," Ivy hissed. "I will live on my terms. Will you?" She pointed to Katar. "And you?" Saber. "You?" Pike.

Gradually, all of the barbarians nodded.

Glaive's nose had been bloodied, and she lifted a piece of her slitted skirt to wipe his face clean before saying, "So we barbarians, the goliaths, and the trolls have a common enemy."

"The elves," Glaive said. His dark blue eyes pierced hers. He would follow her anywhere. Why could there not be a decent, fine barbarian woman for him? Glaive deserved some goodness in his life. Out of all the barbarians, only he, and Katar, had the most potential to be saved.

"Aye, the elves. Their numbers are small, mayhap even smaller than our own." Ivy held out her arms. "Shall we not do all that we can to survive?"

Saber snorted, his upturned nostrils flaring, knuckles bloodied. He rubbed his neck. "Funny you should say that when..."

"When I am pledged to a goliath." She nodded, swallowing past the lump in her throat. At least the barbarian had the decency to look ashamed for his words. "There is a chance yet that the barbarian race will not die out."

Ivy caught Helm's gaze. His eyes widened, and she nodded again.

Helm stepped forward. "We could capture a few elven women."

She scowled and stomped her foot. "Or the humans have shown the first signs of friendship. Human females would probably better serve our race."

"How can you claim that?" Katar asked. "The humans—"

"Can be loyal and dependable. Aye, they're rash. So are we. And they're unpredictable." Ivy held out her arms to encompass their destruction. "The elves might live longer and have more wisdom, but the elves wish us dead, not the humans."

Most of the barbarians looked a little mollified, but some remained unconvinced, as evidenced by their snarls and furrowed brows.

"If I could singlehandedly bring about the next generation of barbarians, I would. But I will be killed if I do not marry Lukor." Ivy stood still. If the elves were all killed, where did that leave her? Would the magic be destroyed and she succumb to the wounds from the battlefield? Or would she be free from her promise to Lukor and thus be able to have barbarian children?

And that's when Ivy realized just how selfish she truly was. For she did not want barbarian children. She wanted the offspring of her and Lukor, whatever that might be.

"Tomorrow, at midday, we leave for Luna Ford. Be prepared for what may be your final battle." Ivy rushed to the door, paused, and threw over her shoulder, "Please see that this room is cleaned before we leave."

Too many thoughts and feelings and emotions tumbled about inside her as she ran to her room. She slammed the door shut behind her and stripped off her clothes.

Don't think. Don't feel. Only be.

Ivy repeated this mantra over and over and over, at first in her mind, then out loud in a whisper.

When she scarcely started to listen, to believe, she searched through her mother's items for another outfit but did not find another. She could put on the dress again, but the wasteland grime and the desert sun had twisted the metal somewhat, causing it to dig into her chest and ribs.

No, she needed ease of movement, even if it meant a little less armor. Besides, she had a feeling armor wouldn't amount for much against the elves with their magic.

After settling upon her war outfit for the morrow, Ivy slipped on a simple white tunic and promptly fell asleep. That night, she slept well for a few hours before a nightmare woke her. The cycle repeated three times. During the last, she woke screaming Lukor's name.

Even in sleep, she needed him.

The steady cadence of the goliaths and goliathas marching against the hard ground beat in time with Lukor's heart. Soon he'd see Ivy. Soon his people would know about her and their connection. Soon he'd have to face the power of the elves while worrying the trolls were trying to stab him in the back.

With each beat, he tapped the end of the troll cane on the ground. Impossibly smooth despite its bone-like material — he had erroneously thought the base wooden, perhaps fashioned from a sanded down spine? — the cane glowed faintly during the moonlit hours. Lukor had almost wanted to leave it behind. For some reason, he did not like the cane, but to ignore a gift from a lukewarm ally would be foolhardy, and Lukor was no fool.

Not wishing to push too hard, he allowed his people the chance to relax and eat a small meal. He was ready to accept some berries from Darcia when a few goliaths glanced up behind Lukor and he turned and followed their gaze.

The sight before him was incredible. High up the small mountain in front of them stood Ivy, back to them, on a fallen tree. In the distance loomed more mountains, covered in trees, the farther ones covered in fog. A few birds flew overhead in the cloudy sky.

But Ivy... oh, Ivy. Her long blond hair billowed in the breeze. She wore a simple white dress, a brown leather belt with matching arm bracers. Armor covered her shoulders. The skirt of her dress looked to be in two pieces, the wind playing with the halves, revealing her long, muscular legs and mid-calf high boots. She held a sword in her left arm, blood dripping from it. Both portions of her white skirt had blood stains on them.

Always.

Her head was turned back, to the left, almost toward him, and Lukor didn't even know when he started toward her, but he was running, chasing, pursuing her. The sound of her sword hitting the log echoed in his ear as he climbed beside her, cupping her face.

"You're here," she murmured, an undercurrent of surprise in her voice.

"You're here," he said back to her. Abruptly, he realized they had an audience, both the goliaths he had left behind and the barbarians who had been ahead of their barbaroness, descending the other side of the mountain. All he wanted to do was throw her against him and kiss her until both of them were breathless, and even more, but he could not.

Yet. Soon though...

His gaze shifted to her bare thigh and to the bloodstains.

"We ran into a single troll."

Lukor's eyebrow rose.

"Aye, I killed it," she whispered loudly. "He grabbed me. Was I supposed to accept his hug that came with a knife?"

"Remind me to never get on your bad side." He chuckled. "Did you wipe some of the blood from your blade on your clothes?"

"Not exactly." She narrowed her eyes. "Were you always this aggravating?"

"More." He smiled so wide his cheeks ached. "You know you like it."

Ivy pursed her lips. "You have been on my bad side already. You're still here."

"So I am." He managed to glance away from her long enough to see the goliaths were heading toward them.

"You're still unmarried," she pointed out.

Lukor gaped at her. Slowly her face changed from stern to gaiety, and she laughed. A beautiful sound, one completely at odds with her bloodied clothes and one he never would have expected possible from a barbarian, even more astonishing than the other laughs he had heard from her previously.

"Not for long," he growled, and she nodded, her face now serious.

"Not for long," she repeated before clearing her throat and looking toward his people.

Lukor held Ivy's arm bracer and lifted her arm. "Allow me to introduce Barbaroness Ivy of the Barbarians."

His people stared at them without feeling.

Ivy's gaze burned into him, but he stared at the log beneath their feet. "Shall we continue on? Luna Ford. After you."

The barbaroness swept past him, and Lukor winced before following. She was not pleased to realize he had not told his people about her. Had she told the barbarians? Had they accepted him? The barbarians had not hung behind to see their reunion, but was that because they did not approve or to give them a semblance of privacy?

Not wishing to be long parted from Ivy's side, Lukor skidded down the mountain. His left arm pained him, and he pulled out some sharp pinebustles. He must have brushed against one of the trees during his flight toward Ivy. Strange how he hadn't felt the pain of it until now. She clouded his mind like a potion, an elixir he never wanted to stop drinking, could never have his fill.

One barbarian in particular glanced back toward the leaders while Lukor was still catching up. His hair looked blue, at times black, depending on how much or little the light shown upon it.

"An admirer?" Lukor asked when he caught up to his lady.

"Jealous are you?" She did not slow down, her pace a trifle fast for one descending a mountain with full wild undergrowth that hid tree roots.

"Never," he boasted.

"I never realized the goliaths were such a prideful race."

"Every race has pride."

Ivy looked at him before glancing away.

"You aren't proud?" he scoffed. "You're more proud than—"

"I am and I'm not."

"Seems to me that's wise. I'll admit to no one else but you, but we goliaths have a flaw or two."

She rewarded him with a trace of a grin. "Or forty."

"No more than five."

"Forty-two."

The barbarians in front of them were extremely quiet compared to the goliaths and goliathas behind them. Talking, shouting, wondering out loud... He could easily squash any rumors with the truth, but the distraction to his people before such a momentous battle, he could not risk it. Although their questions themselves could prove a distraction as well...

"I never took you for a coward," Ivy commented, her voice low.

"I'm not," he said hotly. "My people aren't ready to accept—"

"Nor will they ever be if you never give them the chance."

"Did yours accept the news so well?"

Ivy's face blanched.