Night of the Berserkers

5. Yseult

5

Yseult

“What is here?” the warrior barked. It took me a moment to decipher the words. The language cadence was unfamiliar, the words coarse and guttural. Before I could up and flee, a boot pinned my hip.

I tried to roll, and the warrior’s growl reverberated through me. I went still as a bird cowering in the grass before a predator.

“Who trespasses?” The fair one bent over me. His rough hands seized my arm, set me on my feet. I called my magic to me, grasping frantically. But where my power once resided, there was emptiness.

“A woman.” The bearded warrior’s dark eyes pierced through me. I shuddered as if stabbed.

Closing my eyes, I called again for my power and felt... nothing.

“No more than a maid,” blunt fingers pushed back my hair. I flinched from them. Goddess help me.

Then I felt it. Pulsing, pushing against me, a familiar stench. It was faint, but it came from the fortress. I’d recognize it anywhere. The Corpse King made his home here.

The fair-haired warrior hauled me close, and I bowed my head, letting my hair hang over my face again, hiding from the dark one’s gaze. “Come, little captive. The commander will want to question you.”

He pulled me forward, and before I stumbled, his companion caught my arm. Together they dragged me towards the great wall and the pulsing evil within. The closer we got, the more my head throbbed.

Goddess help me, I prayed again, and hung my head in the silence.

The spell had worked in its own, awful way. It had delivered me to the Corpse King. I’d woken at the foot of his fortress. His warriors had me in their possession.

But, whether by the spell or the mage’s defenses, I’d been stripped of my abilities. I was powerless.

Whatever the next day and night brought, I would face it without my magic.