Page 154 of Ironling
Not like this—I can’t die today!
Everything inside her cried out, and she threw her hands in front of her to catch the descending point of his blade.
Something drowned out every other sound—like the crash of a mountain slide, the rolling boom of thunder, the crack of an icy glacier. The resonance of it erupted through every vein, clapping against her ears with the strength of a stampede.
A battle cry, a savage promise, it came at them, Jerrod and her, without mercy.
Aislinn saw only a blur of green breaking through the battling bodies, recognizing Hakon only by the cut of his dark hair. Tusks exposed in a snarling grimace, nose wrinkled back like an angry wildcat’s, he burst through the crush of fighting.
He came faster than she could see, his war hammer swinging over his head.
Jerrod had time only to look up before the hammer came smashing against his head.
The sound of his skull cracking apart filled Aislinn’s ears, and she screamed and fell to the ground as her brother’s body, without the top half of its head, slumped to the side.
Her stomach revolted, and Aislinn held onto her breakfast with sheer will. She trembled, willing herself not to look at Jerrod.
Huge, booted calves filled her vision, and she peeked up tosee Hakon standing above her, the long handle of the hammer in one hand and a knife in the other. He stood with feet planted wide apart, and when mercenaries rushed him, he hardly moved at the impact.
Aislinn made herself small and low to the ground as Hakon stood over her, defending her. With Jerrod down and the horses scattered, the main battle pressed in around them. Mercenaries came at Hakon from all sides, trying to catch her by the boot.
Hakon swung his hammer in a wide arc, keeping them back. He roared at them, fiercer than a lion and twice as terrifying, the tendons of his thick neck popping.
“A hundred gold pieces to the one who brings me her head!” she heard Dirk shout.
More mercenaries rushed them, forcing Hakon closer. He stepped over her, keeping her body between his boots, and she curled up on the trampled ground, hands over her face.
“My lady!” she heard someone shout, and then thethumpof something landing close to her.
She looked to see a shield laying nearby.
Using Hakon’s leg as leverage, she reached out and snatched the shield, dragging it over her. Just large enough to cover her, she kept it at her back as Hakon guarded her front, moving as the mercenaries jostled and thrust, trying to get past him.
All she could see was legs up to the knee, feet dancing in circles as Hakon roared and pounded and struck. Blood splattered her and the shield, louder than a downpour on a metal roof. Bodies fell around them as Hakon unleashed his fury.
Berserker rage.
She’d heard of it, that the same instinct to mate within orcs and dragons could lead to mindless, ferocious violence.
Her lungs collapsed around a wobbling breath.
Her blacksmith, her Hakon, so sweet and gentle—a berserker.
Another headless body slumped to the ground in her vision, and Aislinn couldn’t help squeezing her eyes shut. Her stomach roiled as her heart pounded, bile burning the back of her throat.
Hang on, just hang on. It will be over. It has to be over.
She told herself this, and yet the sounds of bodies breaking never seemed to stop. She could hear how Hakon panted, his great body heaving for air, but he wouldn’t cease, his hammer striking against anything that ventured too close. She could feel how his legs trembled with exertion, but he gave no quarter, beating back each wave of attackers.
“Fucking shit! It’s one damn orc—a small one at that!”
“This one’s not normal!”
“Something’s wrong with it!”
“Berserker rage! He’s a fucking berserker!”
“With me!”
