[This post is from Thordin’s point of view.]
Perched on the wall with Sif at his side, Thordin stared out toward the west, toward the oncoming storm. The faint rasp of her whetstone across an edge of steel was almost comforting, a counterpoint to the growl of thunder.
“It’s going to be nasty,” he murmured.
She snorted softly but didn’t look up from her work. “These days they tend to be. Between the height of summer—such as it is—and whatever the hell is going on well west of here, it’s to be expected, isn’t it?”
“Mm. It doesn’t feel like a normal kind of nasty, though.” He’d been able to sense the storms ever since his parents had been killed, since he’d called that first storm without knowing that he’d done it. He risked a glance toward Sif, intent on her work. He hadn’t told her, though he suspected she already knew.
After she watched me holding that shield during the storm, she must know that there’s something—that there’s something more than just the mortal left in me.
“What?”
He startled, blinking, looking away quickly, back to the sky and the vista laid out before the walls. “Nothing.”
“Bollocks,” she said. The whetstone went still. “I could hear shit rattling around in that head of yours. What are you feeling out there?”
“That’s the problem. I can’t put my finger on it.” He exhaled quietly. “It doesn’t feel normal.”
“Who could it be?” There was a gentle probe in her voice and he knew that she hadn’t meant for the question to sting, but it did all the same.
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I really don’t.” His lips thinned, his fingers tightening around the edge of the wall. “I don’t remember everything, Sif. A lot, yeah, but not…not everything.”
For a few moments, there was only silence before she edged closer to him, wrapped one arm around his waist and squeezed gently. Thordin stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, exhaling a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
“From what I’ve seen, it’s enough.” She pressed her lips to the corner of his jaw, then his ear.
“Try harder,” she whispered. “It’ll come to you.”
After another squeeze, she released him, returning to sharpening the blade across her knees. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.
Head in the game, Thordin. Head in the fucking game. Concentrate.
Thunder rolled, closer now. The clouds piled on top of each other, then curled back, the squall line well-defined and but moving slowly, still at least a dozen miles out, still over the water.
Concentrate.
There was moisture on the wind; he could taste it mingling with the faint scent of salt—unusual, to be certain, this far inland.
“Wait,” he whispered, standing slowly, balancing. “Wait.”
“What is it?”
“No. No, it can’t be.”
“Thordin.”
He groped for her arm, his hand shaking. Sif stiffened, wrapping her hand over his. Her tone gentled.
“Who is it?” she asked in a whisper.
“The dead have come again,” he breathed, pointing at the shadow walking in the distance, the leading edge of the massive storm trailing behind him like a cloak flapping in the wind. “Anhur walks again.”
“But you killed him,” Sif breathed, her fingers tightening. “You killed him centuries ago.”
“Apparently not enough to stick.” Thordin swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. He felt cold. “Get the others. Warn them.”
“You go.”
“No. No, this fight is mine—will be mine.”
She jerked him down into a crouch, meeting his gaze fiercely. “That doesn’t fly when it’s Phelan saying it and it’s sure as hell not going to fly when you’re saying it, not after the stunt you pulled with the lindwyrm. This is our fight, Thordin—all of us together. I’ve lost you once and then nearly once again. I don’t intend to lose you for good. I refuse to let that happen.”
He swallowed bile, momentarily losing himself in her blue-eyed gaze, reading the fear and the pain that lurked beneath the steel.
“Right,” he whispered. “All right.”
“Go warn them. Tell them what they need to do. I’ll be here, waiting. Go.”
Thordin sucked in a deep breath and pressed his mouth over hers, stealing a kiss that he hoped would give him more strength than he suspected he had—would give him the strength he would need for the coming battle. Sif wrapped one arm around his neck and held him there for a few extra heartbeats, then released him.
“We will have our eternity this time,” she whispered.
Mutely, he nodded. She released him and gave him a gentle shove.
“Now hurry. If he’s here, Menhit can’t be far behind, now can she?”
A shiver shot down his spine. “No. No, she won’t be.”
He dropped off the wall and took off at a dead run toward the center of the settlement to raise the alarm even as Sif set aside the blade and readied her bow.
