Page 108 of Fang & Fury

A hush followed these words. The wind seemed to die slightly then, as if it too waited for her response.

“I refuse your terms and issue my own.” Lara’s voice lifted into the morning air. “Stand down, kneel before me, and abdicate the crown of Braewall … if you do, I might let you live.”

Another silence followed these words before Niall slowly shook his head. “So, it’s like that, is it, Lara?” He deliberately let her name linger on his lips. “You won’t compromise?”

“No.”

Niall shrugged, loosening his shoulders, and stepped back. The line behind him parted to let him through. “I’ll be seeing you on the other side then.” His gaze flicked briefly to Alar, and his lips stretched into a thin smile.

The stiffening of Lara’s shoulders was her only response.

A rumble started within the ranks of the High Queen’s army—like the sound of approaching thunder. Jaws tightened. Fingers clenched around weapons.

Darach didn’t react though. He was used to Niall’s games. He was a showy bastard. Victory had never been enough for him. He needed everyone else to watch him win.

Lara turned then and made her way back to her army between the mantraps. Her expression was inscrutable, although her gaze had hardened.

Darach rolled his shoulders. He then drew the broadsword strapped across his back in one slow motion. It was a heavy weapon that tugged at his arm muscles and wrists, but he found its weight comforting. When he swung this sword, when he put his full strength and weight behind it, this blade would cut through flesh and bone like wet clay.

His canine teeth started to tingle then, a familiar heat prickling across his skin.

The beast felt his aggression and was responding.

No. Darach pushed it down, his fingers flexing around the grip of his broadsword once more. Not this time.

Both sovereigns moved back from the front lines.

Lara, escorted by Bree, rode through the ranks and up to the brow of the hill behind her army, where she would wait on horseback, surrounded by her personal guard.

Meanwhile, Niall rejoined his own guard and swung up onto his stallion’s back. A moment later, he leaned toward the man mounted beside him.

Even at this distance, Darach’s sharp eyesight could pick out the man’s rawboned face.

It was Maol. The fucker.

The warrior smiled at whatever the king had said. Swinging an ox horn off his shoulder, he lifted it to his lips, and then a deep, reverberating wail cut across the glen. It was long and drawn out, the sound dying away and leaving its echo behind it.

Silence followed for a heartbeat—and then two.

The front ranks leaned forward almost as one; everyone seemed to collectively exhale.

The tension snapped. A roar on both sides split the air.

The armies charged.

34: THE CLASH OF IRON

A FEW YARDS in, Lara’s front ranks skidded to a halt.

Darach’s breathing caught.

That was the plan. Let them come—let them fall into the pits.

Niall’s army charged toward them at a dead run, the warriors out front screaming, weapons at the ready. Perhaps some of them had noticed the ruse, but there was no time to stop.

It all happened too quickly.

An instant later, the first of them fell straight into the pits.