[This pot is from Thordin’s point of view.]
Menhit let go of Sif, squaring herself to meet Thordin’s charge. Sif dropped to her knees, pale and swaying, weakly clutching at a spot where bright blood soaked her shirt. Anhur’s gaze fell on Thordin, full of hate that the former warrior-god could see even at this distance.
Behind him, he could hear Thom and Phelan shouting at him. He ignored their calls to stop, to wait. He plunged through the heart of the fighting just beyond the lines of the wards. Lightning struck around him, ahead of him, clearing a path as his boots somehow found traction in the mud churned up by fighting and the storm.
He clearly heard Marin call her brother’s name over the din and in a heartbeat knew that Matt had come over the wall after him.
A camazotzi came at him from ahead and abruptly, he realized the sheer multitude of them that Menhit and Anhur had brought and the sight shook him to the very core of his being. They had an army at their backs and he was charging headlong into it.
No. I’m charging headlong to save her.
In that moment, nothing else mattered.
An arrow took the camazotzi charging him and it fell back. He didn’t look back, but knew who’d fired the shot.
Marin would watch over them when no one else would, as Brighíd had for so many so, so long ago.
Behind him, someone—Seamus, maybe?—issued the call to form up ranks. The sound reached his ears a few steps before he was on top of his quarry.
Thordin launched himself at Menhit, catching her around the waist and tackling her to the ground. They hit hard enough that the air was knocked from her lungs and the dagger she’d held, the one soaked with Sif’s blood, bounced free of her hand and skittered across the ground and away, out of reach.
Menhit sucked in a few rasping breaths, her eyes on Thordin’s face, not full of the fear he had expected—almost hoped for—but of glee.
Then the bitch had the gall to begin to laugh.
She laughed at him.
“So vulnerable,” she gasped, her mirth apparent even though her voice had become a rasp, as she struggled to regain her breath. “If I had known long ago that this was the only thing it would take to draw you out, I’d have done it long ago. You won’t kill me. I won’t allow it.”
The strength flowed away from his limbs and for a moment, control of the storm slipped away. He knew what she was doing but had no way to stop it.
And then, control was back as certainly as it had slipped away with Sif’s whisper of his name. His blood roared in his ears.
“You dare,” he snarled. He reared back, straddling Menhit, using his body to keep one of her arms pinioned, the other momentarily released. Lightning crackled around him, gathering in one hand, a hand he reached toward her throat. “You gambled and lost. Now it’s time to pay the piper for the tune you called.”
One way or another, he was going to end this.
One way or another, Menhit was going to pay.