War of the Cards Page 6

  Mundoo gave a shout, and at his command, each Yurkei warrior reached down to untie a white bag that had been lashed to his saddle. Mundoo gave a final cry, and the Yurkei warriors ripped open their bags, just as the arrows began raining down upon them. Thousands of huge white cranes launched themselves from the bags, happy to be free. The cranes appeared in the sky as a great white cloud hovering over the Yurkei, a cluster of white wings so thick that for a moment, Dinah couldn’t even see the Yurkei army. The arrows destined for the Yurkei buried themselves in the birds and littered the ground around them, a sea of white and red. The surviving cranes flapped and screamed, now defensive of their tribe, swooping down and creating chaos among the mounted Heart Cards, plucking weapons from their hands and impaling eyes with their long beaks. Once the cloud of cranes had lifted from above the Yurkei, Dinah saw that in those few moments, all the Yurkei had drawn their bows.

  The Wonderland archers never knew what hit them. A flurry of arrows buried themselves in the heart, eye, or head of each one. The Yurkei never missed. Screams of pain echoed through the valley, and Dinah saw men falling from the towers. Swifter than she had ever believed possible, the Yurkei reloaded their bows and sent their second barrage of arrows straight into the line of mounted Heart Cards now riding toward them. Their horses screamed and buckled as their riders fell.

  Mundoo and Keres pulled ahead and ran straight past the king into the line, followed by four thousand Yurkei warriors. The king turned his Hornhoov and followed him into the fray. From there, it was hard to make out what was happening. The two lines of horses broke against each other, and the mounted Yurkei swarmed over the Cards like a crashing wave. The sounds of war—gut-wrenching screams of metal on metal, shrieks of pain, cheers of victorious combatants, and the last gasps of the dying—echoed from the valley.

  Dinah turned her eyes toward the army that awaited them. The Cards on the south side had obviously heard Mundoo’s advance and the sounds of agony echoing from the other side of the palace. The line that earlier had stood as still as statues was now agitated and nervous. The Cards were talking to one another: “What are they waiting for?”

  We will hold, she thought, we will hold until your minds break. She realized too late that it wasn’t she who would make the decision of when they advanced. Morte was prancing and smashing his hooves into the earth so violently Dinah could barely stay on him. If Morte bolted, she would arrive first at the line, without an army behind her. That couldn’t happen. She held him as long as she could, and when she felt that his patience was wearing thin, she turned back to her army, trying desperately to memorize each face of the men who fought for her. Her eyes found Sir Gorrann, who gave her a strong nod. Shakily, she stood in her saddle. Morte realized the gravity of the moment and for once stood perfectly still, his head raised with pride. As Dinah stood, the Spades raised their weapons in a show of unity, and the Yurkei lifted their hands, making the sign of the crane.

  Dinah raised her voice to be heard over the terrible sounds of battle below. “My loyal army! You were once enemies, and today you stand united against a fearful and weak king. Today your names will be entered into Wonderland’s history books, and someday you will tell your children about the morning that changed everything.” The Spades erupted in wild cheers. “Today we will take back what is rightfully ours, be it our land, or rights”—she paused—“or a crown!”

  The army erupted in deafening roars, and the sound of their swords clanging together rose over the plains.

  “Fight today not for yourselves, but for every prisoner in the Black Towers, for every Spade never able to take a wife, for every Yurkei who lost his land to a greedy line of kings! Fight today for them, fight today for me!”

  She paused and drew her finger dramatically across her neck.

  “Off with their heads!”

  The army answered back, “Off with their heads!”

  The entire army was flooding toward her now, spurred on by her speech. Dinah turned Morte, holding his red leather reins as tightly as possible. He bucked and kicked, angry that he had not been unleashed as the rest of the horses flew past them. Wardley brought Corning up beside her, their silver armor blazing like a million suns.

  “Dinah . . .” His voice washed over the walls she built in her heart to keep him out. She was powerless before him. She turned her head to meet his gaze. There was nothing else she could do, no lie she could tell. She stared unflinchingly into his eyes.

  “Wardley, I love you. I always have and I always will.” She was not seeking the reply she would never hear; rather it was something she needed him to know. He gave her a sad smile that broke her heart all over again.

  “I know, Dinah. And with the gods as my witnesses, I will die beside you today or see you crowned queen.”

  Wardley held out his hand and she took it, lacing their fingers together. Together they stood for a moment as the Yurkei warriors rushed past them, two childhood friends whose lives had brought them somewhere unimaginable. He gave her hand a squeeze before releasing it. “Clear the path to the gates, and then retreat. Do you hear me?”

  Dinah nodded and turned Morte in the direction of the palace. She could barely contain him now. A path had opened up before them, with Spades running past on either side.

  “Try not to leave us too far behind,” yelled Ki-ershan, who was already getting a head start, galloping as fast as he could toward the palace. Sir Gorrann and Wardley began moving their horses toward the line of Cards as well, getting as far out ahead of Dinah as they could.

  Sir Gorrann was screaming at her over the deafening noise. “Hold him! Hold him back!”

  Morte’s body gave a violent jerk, and then another. Dinah held on to him, but it was like trying to hold a wave back from the shore with a simple leather strap. He was bucking and leaping so violently that Dinah’s arm cracked against his neck.

  He was trying to buck her off. She was torturing him, she could feel that now. She could not contain his fury, any more than she could contain her own. Finally, she opened her eyes and faced the palace, taking just one deep breath. The Queen of Hearts released the reins.

  “Go.”

  Six

  Morte shot forward, leaving clouds of dust behind his hooves. Together they were flying, his spiked hooves meeting the ground with immeasurable force. Dinah pressed hard against his neck. Within seconds, she passed Cheshire, then easily overtook Wardley and Sir Gorrann. The army of running Spades watched in amazement as they flew past, a black blur of physical power and fury. Dinah heard the cheers of the mounted Yurkei rise around her as she dashed by them toward the line of Cards, their shields raised and trembling as death itself thundered down on them.

  The king’s Cards were prepared for a strike at the very front of the line, assuming that the enemy would penetrate their forces that way. And yet, as the Cards watched in horror, the front line of Dinah’s forces slowed and began to change shape as they grew closer. At her shout, the front line pulled back and the sides expanded in a wide half circle that flanked the castle. They reached around both sides and when it seemed they could stretch no longer, they met with Mundoo’s forces in the middle. The armies were merged, and they swallowed the Cards like a gaping, hungry mouth.

  The Cards were taken by surprise and pressed close to each other in shock and fear. She was almost upon them now, and Morte showed no signs of stopping. I must clear a path to the gates, she thought. The Cards positioned their spears and swords as she approached, as if they were facing a normal steed. One of the soldiers in the front carried a mirrored shield, and just before they collided with the Cards, Dinah saw a distorted reflection of herself. Faina Baker’s words played in her mind.

  Straddle the devil. . . .

  Suddenly Dinah remembered Iu-Hora’s words to her that day in the tent filled with blue smoke.

  Queen of Hearts, the daughter of two fathers, heed my words. You will pierce the heart of one man and cut out the heart of the one you love most. Follow the crumbs to
find your throne and only then shall your head rest in the grass.

  She blinked, the sweat running into her eyes. Did that mean she would die today? She almost didn’t care. Her senses heightened. Dinah could hear the men breathing, shouting. She smelled them, that pungent smell of fear and bloodlust that she, the Queen of Hearts, was causing. With a wicked smile, she opened up her heart and mind, letting the black rage that she constantly suppressed climb up her chest and flood her body. She allowed it to overtake her, its fiery taste seductive on her tongue. It tasted like blood. Seconds before entering the fray, she leaned forward and whispered three simple words to Morte: “Kill them all.” His body surged beneath her.

  There was no time to draw her sword. She simply clung as tightly as she could to his neck and held on. The sound of Morte hitting the line was something she knew she would never forget—high-pitched screams, metal on bone, the ripping of flesh, the wail Morte released as he flew over the spears and into a throng of men pushing at him with swords and clubs.

  Frothing at the mouth, he joyfully began striking out with his hooves as Dinah grasped him with all her strength. Without flinching, he trampled the two men in front of him, his huge hooves cracking their skulls and crushing their faces into pulp that burst against the ground. One man was impaled on his back hoof, and Morte stamped him again and again until his feet were free, leaving the man in pieces. Rising up on his hind legs, he spun and brought his crushing feet down upon three more men. He kicked a Club straight in the face, and when Dinah looked back, the man was faceless.

  There was chaos all around her. Morte, covered in blood, ripped a man’s jaw from his face with his teeth. Sir Gorrann, beside her, plunged his sword straight through a Heart Card’s chest. The man fell off his horse, his blood pooling around him. His eyes rested momentarily on Dinah before he passed into the beyond. Dinah recognized him—he had been one of her palace guards. The sight shook her back to reality.

  An arrow whizzed past her head, and then another. She ducked and reached for her shield attached to Morte’s side, holding it above her head for protection. Morte spun around, trying to avoid the arrows that suddenly were raining down all around them. One pierced his ear and he let out a loud scream before plunging his front hoof into the chin of a Yurkei warrior. The warrior slumped against it, his bright blue eyes open in confusion as Morte tried to shake him off.

  A Heart Card tried to grab Dinah’s leg and pull her off Morte. Dinah kicked him twice in the mouth, knocking out a few teeth before he fell away. From the corner of her eye, she saw a Club stalking toward her, his uniform peppered with medals, an ax held aloft in his hand, his eyes only on Dinah. Morte let out a scream and reared back. When he lifted his feet off the ground, Dinah drew her sword. It slid from her sheath, and she relished its weight in her hand. She felt alive, each pore and vein flooded with an ecstasy she had never known. She felt immortal, powerful, and rash. She would bring death upon these men.

  Morte landed hard, jostling the saddle loose as the ground around him shuddered. The Club with the ax was almost upon them. Dinah pulled Morte back, barely escaping the edge of the Card’s weapon as he swung forward. Morte spun and knocked the man sideways with his flank, and before he could rise, Dinah shoved her sword deep into the Club’s throat, the tip of the blade poking out from the back of his neck. He looked up at her in shock, and Dinah’s eyes took in his surprised face. He slumped forward against her steed. Dinah pulled her sword, slick with blood, from his body before kicking his still form to the side. She smiled winsomely, and then turned to kill another.

  Pushing toward the gate, Morte brought his hooves down onto two Diamond Cards who silently appeared before him, but not before one of them buried his dagger deep in Morte’s shoulder. Morte didn’t seem to notice, even as Dinah yanked the dagger out of him. She sent it deep into the eye of a young Heart Card who ran toward her with his sword drawn. He fell facedown in a rush of dark blood.

  An arrow struck the breastplate just above her heart with a loud thunk, and Dinah looked up to see two archers running toward her. There was nowhere to hide, and she struggled to turn Morte away from them. They nocked arrows into their bows and Dinah raised her shield, afraid but unwavering, waiting for the pain to begin.

  As an elaborate dance of men and blood swirled around them, Yur-Jee appeared next to her, sank to his knees, and fired two arrows from his pale bow. The approaching archers fell in perfect symmetry, arrows through their necks. Before Yur-Jee could turn away, a Heart Card ran up behind him and, smiling widely, slit his throat. Dinah screamed in horror as Yur-Jee struggled to breathe and then left this world behind, his bright blue eyes dulling to gray as he stared at the sky.

  The Heart Card smiled at Dinah before lunging toward her. Dinah clipped his ear off with her sword. Morte crushed his body under the weight of his hooves, the man’s torso caving in like a dropped melon.

  A wide circle cleared around Morte. In those few seconds, Dinah was able to assess what was happening: her forces were pushing the king’s Cards back toward the iron gates, where they were being massacred in large numbers by the Yurkei warriors.

  Loud screams erupted to her right, and Dinah turned to see several of her men running, their limbs engulfed in black flame. The king’s archers were unleashing burning sticks of nightpowder, the flames that blazed without smoke. The screams of the burning men echoed over the battlefield. Dinah was about to turn Morte in that direction when, without warning, hundreds of the remaining cranes descended on the archers, pulling them up and over the turrets, dropping them onto the ground below.

  Dinah wiped the sweat from her eyes as Morte darted forward into a bunch of Cards. She brought down her sword on heads, on arms, and on hands. She lost track of time. In the moment, it was impossible to tell who was winning, and many times Dinah caught herself almost attacking one of her Spades. It was the chaos of war, the sides gradually blending together. It was terrible and wonderful, the fear of death and the rush of power equally tingling through her system after she pulled her sword from body after body.

  Dinah raised herself from the saddle, just enough to see her position. The Yurkei were moving swiftly through the crowd, and she spotted a large group of bloodied Spades pushing their way through the opening that Morte had cleared to the gates, protected by battered shields on every side.

  She saw men and boys dying around her, the pleas of mercy falling on deaf ears. Some were shown it, others were not. What had her wrath wrought? She continued to push Morte toward the gate.

  A large Club Card emerged from under the slumped bodies of two Yurkei beside her, catching Morte off guard. He violently lurched sideways into the man, but the Club, unnaturally tall, swung his weapon square into her torso, catching Dinah in the stomach and breastplate. Before she had time to react, she was hurled backward off Morte. It was a long fall to the ground. She landed heavily on her hip, and the armor that was supposed to protect her pushed all the air from her lungs. Her sword spun away.

  She could feel blood leaking out of her side. Was she cut? Impaled? Her heavy feather cape swirled around her, the blood that dotted the feathers now included some of her own. She gasped for breath, once, twice, but couldn’t get air.

  Move! she told herself, crawling toward her sword. Move! Morte’s hooves were coming down all around her, and for a moment she feared only him as she lay in the dirt, hands over her head.

  Unaware Dinah was gone in the midst of his battle fervor, Morte whirled and galloped in the direction of a group of particularly nasty Diamond Cards who were sending daggers through every Yurkei that came their way. When he barreled through them, their screams vibrated in her ears. Crawling through the bloody mud, Dinah reached her sword and lifted it just in time to impale a wounded Heart Card, his sword raised to strike her. His weight swallowed the sword through his body as he fell, and Dinah struggled to pull it free from his rib cage.

  Without warning, a chain-mail glove caught her on the temple, and Dinah fell sideways, away from her we
apon. Her ears rang as she struggled to stay conscious. She blinked twice before pushing up to her knees, her hand reaching for the dagger in her boot. The man was on her at once. They scrambled on the ground, his sweaty face pressed up against hers, his hands tangled in her hair and her crown. Her eyes widened when his face came into focus. It was Yoous, the giant Club who had escorted them through the Black Towers.

  “Well, hello, Princess. Fancy meeting you here.” His sour breath washed over her face, his smile wide. “Thought you made a fool of me, did you? Well, when I bring your head to the king, I’ll make sure that it has a special place in the Black Towers, somewhere I can see it every day.” He yanked her up by her hair as Dinah flailed and struggled. His blade poked into her throat, a trickle of blood dampening her collar.

  Dinah jabbed her elbow sharply into his stomach and he gasped. She tried to spin away from him, but he stepped on the edge of her cape and pulled her body close to his. His rough hands angled her chin to look at his face, his sword held firmly against her breast. “Take your last breath, my lady. I’ll never see a wench like you as my—”

  There was a gurgling sound, and suddenly Yoous’s head was separated from his shoulders. Dinah looked up in shock and relief as she saw Wardley emerge through the red mist, his entire armor streaked with blood, a nasty open wound on his cheek. He clasped his arms around her waist. She slumped against him. Together they ran through the fighting hordes of rabid men.

  “Wait! Morte!” she cried.