Nena by Ann Boelter (red white royal blue txt) 📗

far the most valuable. Slipping it under her sash, she dropped from the back of the dais. After a quick look to verify the path was clear, she crouched and sprinted for the guest tents that fortunately had been set up on the opposite side of the tournament grounds from the attack.

Making it to her tent unnoticed, she slipped inside and grabbed her sword. The thin, curved blade was smaller than a man’s and appeared almost delicate by comparison, but in her hands it was every bit as deadly. She ripped through her travel packs, pulled out her spear, then dashed back outside.

Smoke and the unmistakable metallic smell of blood assaulted her nostrils. Screams of the panicked and dying filled the air. The Northmen seemed to be everywhere. Some on horseback, most on foot. The riders had a huge advantage over the terrorized crowd—an advantage they pressed with deadly disregard. Nena palmed her spear—weighing it, balancing it, feeling it; it was the only weapon long enough to overcome their height advantage.

A rider bore down on her, swinging his axe. Nena stood her ground in the horse’s path. The man grinned, his teeth barely visible through his thick, matted beard and mustache. At the last second, she dropped and rolled, planting the base of her spear in the ground and aiming its metal tip at the rider’s chest. She felt the wooden shaft stiffen upon impact, then flex. She prayed it would hold. The Northman’s hardened leather body armor resisted but was no match for the direct strike. As the horse’s momentum carried him forward, the razor sharp tip of her spear pierced through the thick leather plate plunging deep into his chest—ultimately driving him from the back of the horse and sending his body crashing to the ground.

Nena was on him in an instant, yanking the spear from his dying body before turning to find the next. She longed for her mare, Nightwing. With a horse, she could kill them by the score, not wait for them to come to her. She glanced toward the corrals. The gate hung open. The Northmen had stampeded their horses to keep them on foot. Nena caught a glimpse of the thundering herd on the edge of the village and whistled in the direction of the swirling flow of horseflesh—a high piercing trill that hung on the wind. For a moment she thought she heard her mare’s whinny reply but couldn’t be sure. Would it work? Would the horse brave the melee and come to her? She had only taught the animal the simple trick to entertain children in her village, not for anything like this. Nena whistled again and saw the black mare break free of the herd and turn in her direction. Her heart soared.

While she waited for the horse, Nena looked for her father and brother in the smoke and chaos, then reprimanded herself. If her father could have heard her thoughts, his punishment would have been swift and severe. “Never think about your fellow warriors in battle. It is the surest way to get them killed. All of your focus must be on killing the enemy until there is none left to kill. A single foe you miss while distracted looking for friends or family could be the one who kills them. Never forget that.” Her father’s words had been drilled into her from the time she could first hold a sword, but she had never been so pressed to heed them before.

The mare, her eyes wild with fright, slid to a stop next to her. Nena grabbed a handful of mane and swung aboard bareback, guiding the animal forward with her knees. There was no time to soothe her. She had enemy to kill.

The first five Northmen never even saw her. Using Nightwing’s speed and agility, she rode them down from behind while they were preoccupied with attacks of their own. She was in pursuit of another now, and leaned low over the mare’s neck to better corner around a tent. She never saw the Northern warrior who wielded the great axe—only the flash of bloodied silver. Nena felt as much as heard the sickening solid thunk as the axe head buried deep into the front of her mare. Felt as much as heard Nightwing’s bloodcurdling scream.

As the front of the horse collapsed from beneath her, Nena instinctively loosened her grip with her legs so as not to be taken to the ground and crushed beneath the wounded animal. Nightwing cartwheeled. Nena was catapulted through the air. She curled her body and hit the ground in a rolling ball, bouncing to her feet to face her attacker. Her spear lay in two pieces on the ground midway between them. Her sword had landed near her feet, but she could see the blade was broken even as she reached for the hilt. Picking it up with her left hand, she raised the jagged broken blade toward him. He looked at it and smiled.

That was the reaction she had hoped for. Quick as a striking snake, she pulled the antler dagger from her sash with her right hand and sent it winging through the air. Nena watched with satisfaction as the knife buried itself in his left eye socket. He buckled to his knees, swayed, then collapsed on his side in the dirt. She ran to retrieve the dagger, then raced to Nightwing’s side. The horse remained on the ground, unable to rise, thrashing and screaming in agony.

A sob caught in Nena’s throat at the sight of Nightwing’s nearly-severed front leg dangling from her body and the great pool of blood forming beneath her. She covered the mare’s eye with her hand, hoping to soothe her one last time. The horse responded to her touch and stilled. “Go and be free with the horses in the sky. I will see you again one day, and we will ride together once more,” Nena murmured. With tears streaming down her cheeks, she drew