C H A P T E R T W E NT Y- S E V E N
he fortress courtyard was chaos. All the shieldbearer cohorts were assembling, with the mastersT of every discipline shouting over the noise while the stable master and his assistants brought dozens of horses out, saddled and ready to ride. The Warswords were there as well, wearing sleek, black armour and armed to the teeth.
Thea’s gaze went straight to Hawthorne, who was surveying the madness from the outskirts, an impatient scowl on his handsome, rugged face. ‘What’s happened?’ Thea asked the nearest shieldbearer as she jumped down from her mare’s back. ‘Scouts saw creatures come through the Veil to the north. They’ve since found their way to the Ruins of Delmira.’ Thea’s insides squirmed. Was this what Hawthorne had told her about? Was this the beginning?
The scourge breaking through the Veil? ‘The era of peace is once more at an end. Thezmarrians need to be ready.’ ‘That’s not far from here,’ Kipp cut in. ‘No shit.’ The shieldbearer nodded. ‘The Guild Master is to send the Warswords and a small force to intercept them before they can reach Harenth or any of the outlying towns.’
‘Cal!’ Torj the Bear Slayer shouted.
Cal threw himself forward. ‘Here, Sir!’ ‘Good, you’re back. You’re with me. Grab your bow.’ The Warsword then caught sight of Thea and Kipp and paused. ‘You two as well.’ ‘Torj,’ Esyllt interjected, shoving his way through the crowd. ‘They’ve only just returned from Harenth. They haven’t been training for six days.’ ‘Then this will truly test them, won’t it?’ Thea had never heard Torj snap at the weapons master, so it showed how high tensions were running. ‘You heard the man,’ Esyllt pushed them. ‘Get yourself armed. Real blades. And find some fresh horses.’ Heart hammering and spurred into action, Thea checked the stable stalls for an unclaimed horse. It was no surprise that all the war horses and stallions had been taken, but a young gelding remained, and she set about saddling him. When she fumbled for a third time with the bridle, she realised she was trembling, and when it took her four tries to buckle the girth beneath the horse’s belly, she drew
back and stared, watching her fingers quiver.
A shadow fell across the hay at her feet. ‘You’re nervous,’ the familiar deep voice said.
Hawthorne stood in the doorway, his eyes on her shaking hands. ‘I’m not nervous,’ she argued, gripping the reins to hide her tremors. ‘Yes, you are, and you’d be a fool not to be.’ Clenching her jaw, Thea did a final check of the tack and made to lead the gelding from the stall.
Hawthorne blocked the way, towering over her. ‘Last I saw you, you had a stab wound that was barely healed. You shouldn’t be on this ride.’ Thea’s stomach dipped at the mention of her visit to his cabin, where his fingers had grazed her scarred skin, where she’d traced the muscles of his chest and had felt the heated brush of his lips against hers. Where he’d left her wanting and alone, again. But she didn’t yield a single step. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin in defiance. ‘No one, not even you, is going to stop me from riding out with my fellow shieldbearers.
Thezmarr has been called upon, and I intend to answer.’
‘Is that so?’ ‘Yes.’ He seemed to consider her. ‘Are you healed?’ ‘Are you going to paw at my clothes again to check?’ she snapped.
Hawthorne’s lips parted, as though he were considering exactly that. ‘I wasn’t the only one doing the pawing, Alchemist.’ Thea refused to blush. ‘Perhaps not,’ she allowed. ‘But I was nothing but clear about what I wanted, you… You, however, did not afford me the same respect.’ The words came out as sharp as the hurt she felt, the hurt she thought she had buried well.
He took a step forward. ‘Th — Alchemist,’ it was a plea, regret flickering behind those silver eyes.
Thea’s blood heated, and she yearned to know exactly what words he thought might make a dent in her armour now.
The pandemonium outside grew louder, more demanding, and after a moment’s hesitation Hawthorne broke away from her, stepping out of her path. ‘You’d best be ready.’ And Thea didn’t know if he meant for the battle, or for him.
Back in the courtyard, the other Warswords directed their force with brutal efficiency. It was decided that they would lead an entire unit of warriors comprised of both guardians and shieldbearers to the ruins of Delmira.
Thea got swept up in the madness. Packages of rations and canteens of water were passed around and stuffed into saddlebags. Shieldbearers were arguing over who got to accompany the guardians; commanders were strategising by the gates and the masters were rushing around like headless chickens.
It was Hawthorne’s deep voice that carved through the turmoil. ‘If you have not been selected for this assignment, get the fuck out of the way. We move out in five minutes. This threat will not wait for us.’ There was no room for questions, it was pure command, pure power.
The tension was palpable and Thea grew impatient to leave. She fit her foot to the stirrup and mounted her gelding, ignoring the ache in her lower back. ‘Thea!’ shouted a familiar voice through the crowd. ‘Thea, wait!’ Wren tore through the cluster of remaining shieldbearers, not even wearing a cloak against the
chilled air. In one hand she had a fistful of her skirts so she didn’t trip and in the other, a small satchel which she held up to Thea when she reached her at the gates. ‘I knew you’d be going,’ her sister panted, shoving the bag towards her.
‘What’s this?’ Thea asked.
‘Supplies.’ ‘Like what?’ Wren gripped her ankle, eyes wide as she stared up at her. ‘Tell me you were listening, when you came back to our shifts with Farissa?’ Thea tensed at the desperation lacing her sister’s words. ‘I was listening —’ ‘Move out!’ Torj the Bear Slayer bellowed across the courtyard.
Wren was already breaking away from her. ‘Then you’ll know what to do,’ she called, darting towards the fortress before she was trampled. ‘Thea,’ Cal called from nearby. ‘Move!’ Shoving the satchel in one of her saddlebags, Thea snatched up her reins and squeezed her horse’s sides, already part of the force that was sweeping through the gatehouse.
It seemed that no sooner had Thea and her friends arrived back in Thezmarr than they were riding out again. As they cantered along the Mourner’s Trail with the thunderous sound of two hundred horses echoing between the trees, the weary exhaustion in Thea’s bones lifted, replaced by the quiet thrum of anticipation. And fear.
Hawthorne was right: she’d be a fool not to fear what lay ahead. No one spoke more of the threat, or what might await them in the ruins, but Thea had sense enough to know this was no training exercise.
Time blurred, as did the Bloodwoods surrounding them as they rode. When they reached the end of Thezmarrian territory, Hawthorne led them north, atop his black stallion and flanked by his fellow Warswords. As the night deepened, they turned left onto the fork in the Wesford Road that had once connected the fallen kingdom of Delmira with the rest of the midrealms.
Thea had never travelled north before, nor did she know how long it would take for them to reach the ruins. Over the years, she had learnt some geography and history about the territory… The terrain inclined steadily all the way to Delmira, which had countless hills and valleys. She knew a great lake rested between the ruins and Harenth, though she couldn’t remember its name.
Perhaps it no longer matters, she reflected.
Books had told her that Delmira itself, or what was left of it, was situated on a plateau of land beyond ancient cliffs. Over the many years since its demise, farmers had tried to settle on the empty land, but misfortune had befallen each and every one of them, leading the entire midrealms to believe that the kingdom and its lands were cursed.
It was these thoughts that filled Thea’s buzzing mind as they rode into the night. All the while, she wished she could see the landmarks; wished she knew the terrain as well as the Warswords.
One day, she vowed. One day I’ll know the midrealms so well I could ride with my eyes closed.
In the blanket of darkness around her, she could make out the outline of her friends riding beside her. Neither had spoken since they’d left Thezmarr. In fact, no one had spoken except the Warswords; the low sounds of their voices carried to the back of the unit. Doing her best to signal her intentions to Cal and Kipp, Thea urged her horse into a quicker pace, squeezing her way to the front of the unit.
There, the Warswords’ words were clearer. ‘Any idea how many?’ Torj was saying.
Vernich grunted. ‘Scout reported at least two, maybe more. They said the darkness that followed
was worse than ever.’ ‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Hawthorne allowed. ‘I’ve seen it countless times in my recent travels.
Night ripples from the shadow wraiths. They can create it, manipulate it in every way. It can take the form of whips, lashing their victims bloody, or manifest as their darkest traumas. And that’s just the start. They can swallow you whole with it.’ A bead of sweat trickled beneath Thea’s shoulder blades and an icy shiver ran down her spine.
There was a heavy pause before Torj spoke again. ‘You think they’re like the ones we fought in Naarva?’ ‘Exactly like those,’ Hawthorne replied.
Tremors wracked Thea’s whole body as she listened. ‘You have truly been hunting shadow wraiths all this time, haven’t you?’ ‘You knew this, Torj. Among other filth that claws its way through the Veil.’ ‘We knew you were hunting monsters,’ Vernich interjected. ‘No thanks to your non-existent correspondence, mind you. But we didn’t know what monsters or where.’ ‘Nor did I, until I was facing them.’ ‘Do we have enough men?’ Torj asked quietly.
Another silence hung between them, and Thea thought for a moment that Hawthorne might not
answer at all. ‘I hope so,’ he said at last.
The company rode for several hours along the old, unused trail, the yellow moon and glittering stars barely illuminating the path before them. The impending winter’s bite was sharp. Thea was close enough to Cal and Kipp that she could hear their teeth chattering, and if she looked up into the night sky, she could see her breath clouding before her face.
It seemed tradition for the men to share stories from other realms as they rode – a distraction from what lay ahead. They spoke of sea drakes and teerah panthers, of strange flesh-eating moths and water horses called backahasts, of reef dwellers and all-powerful tyrants, but not a single creature sounded as harrowing as the ones Hawthorne had described.
If the Hand of Death was wary, so too should they all be.
The conversation then changed to deadly locations. One soldier had escorted prisoners to the Scarlet Tower off the coast of Naarva, a place he claimed had nearly sucked away his will to live.
Another had navigated a barge through the Broken Isles, where he swore he blocked his ears against the deathsongs of ancient cyrens. One of the commanders contributed his story about being half frozen to death on the way to Aveum. Each story was presented as a badge of honour, proof that the warrior belonged amongst the rest and had earned the right to fight the darkness that threatened the realm.
At the sound of the next voice, Thea groaned inwardly. She could easily discern Seb Barlowe’s haughty tone cutting through the whispers. ‘In my first year at Thezmarr,’ he was saying. ‘I discovered a series of caves in the black mountains that flood every winter during the storms. Lightning isn’t supposed to strike the same place twice, but those caves… Lightning strikes there every season, in exactly the same spot.’ ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake.’ Thea couldn’t help the scoff that escaped her. Everyone else had spoken of their adventures beyond the fortress, of deadly curses, harrowing terrain and ancient evil creatures… While in Seb’s pitiful story, he hadn’t even left the nest.
But Seb had heard her. ‘There are dozens of skeletons up there,’ he continued, his voice low and
full of menace. ‘According to legend, it’s where the Thezmarrian warriors tied up the whores they no longer wanted. They left them to drown when the caves flooded during the storms. A sacrifice to whatever gods haunt the seas. Even Elderbrock mentioned them, remember?’ Anger warmed Thea from the inside, and her fingers itched to wrap around the bastard’s throat. ‘Ignore him,’ Kipp murmured. ‘It’s hard to ignore him when I want to kill him.’ Kipp made a sound that might have been a choked laugh. ‘You know what the cook at the Laughing Fox used to tell me when I got picked on as a boy?’
‘What?’ ‘She used to say, Kristopher…’ Thea snorted at the use of his given name. ‘Kristopher, she’d say,’ he continued, changing the pitch of his voice slightly. ‘It doesn’t matter who stands against you… What matters most is who stands with you.’ ‘Oh.’ ‘I’ve been living by that token ever since. There will always be people who bet against you, Thea. But the ones you stand with shoulder to shoulder when you face an enemy are the ones who count the most.’ Thea let her friend’s words wash over her. As they sank in, she locked them away in the corner of her mind where she kept precious things, and turned her gaze ahead.
The Warswords set a gruelling pace, and the company rode into the day and the following night, with only a handful of brief stops to rest and water the horses. As they drew closer to their destination, the conversation grew thin and eventually only the Warswords spoke.
A palpable tension had settled over the Thezmarrian force, especially amongst the shieldbearers.
The reality had sunk in that this was no mock battle they approached, but a real one that might see some of them irrevocably changed, or lost to Enovius.
Thea’s own body was taut in the saddle as they rode, her hand absentmindedly reaching for her fate stone. The jade was warm from being pressed against her skin. Faced with such darkness, she didn’t know if its presence comforted or terrified her. While it promised she wouldn’t meet her end amidst the ruins of Delmira, it offered no other assurances. No matter how many hours and minutes she borrowed and stole from other facets of life, it wouldn’t be enough. Not unless… Unless she became a Warsword’s apprentice.
Audra’s words were a whisper in her mind. ‘Most things to be feared exist in life, not in death.’ Thea traced the number carved into the stone with the pad of her thumb. All her life she had been called reckless, all her life she’d been accused of having a death wish, all the while wanting nothing more than to simply live.
A unified gasp snatched Thea from her thoughts.
Ahead, the golden light of dawn revealed a field carpeted in heather, and in the distance stood the Ruins of Delmira. She could make out collapsed watch towers and crumbling walls, and grounds that appeared scorched.
The sun rose higher as the Thezmarrian company rode towards the fallen kingdom’s heart.
The earthy scent of heather tickled Thea’s nose, an aroma that nudged something at the back of her mind, something she could not place. Her hands grew clammy around the reins and her shoulders were tight with tension, the hair on her arms standing up.
Suddenly, she saw why.
An unnatural darkness gathered on the horizon, sapping the sky of the dawn light. Thea’s heart hammered as she counted five distinct shapes… ‘Fuck,’ Hawthorne muttered, echoing her thoughts exactly.
He signalled for the company to halt and unsheathed both his longswords.
Torj took up his famous war hammer. ‘So there’s more of them. We can handle them, can’t we?’ ‘It’s not just that there are more…’ Hawthorne turned his horse to face his fellow warrior. ‘Those are no ordinary shadow wraiths… Those are rheguld reapers, the kings of the wraiths – a much deeper evil. They’re larger and stronger, more evolved. And they are far more intent on spreading their darkness than their spawn. While like regular shadow wraiths, they’re attracted to power, they also seek hosts for the curse they wish to disperse. Reapers want to make more monsters, not just maim and kill. We have to change our strategy at once. Our broader forces cannot engage.’ Hawthorne didn’t take his eyes off the creatures in the near distance. ‘There is something strange at work here and beyond the Veil… But the time for speculation isn’t now. What matters is that they
can only be killed a certain way.’ ‘Which is?’ Vernich glowered. ‘Their hearts must be carved from their bodies,’ Hawthorne stated, no emotion in his voice. ‘They will be drawn to our power. Only we stand a chance against them.’ ‘Tell us what we need to do,’ Torj said.
A muscle twitched in Hawthorne’s jaw, but he nodded.
Thea clung to every horrific word the Warsword spoke, and when he was done, she felt sick. ‘So we draw them out with our forces, surround them,’ Vernich repeated. ‘But only the Warswords attack?’ Thea’s skin crawled at the sight of the sprawling darkness amidst the ruins of the fallen kingdom. ‘That’s it,’ Hawthorne confirmed.
Vernich looked resentful. ‘You’re bad news, Hawthorne. Always have been. Nothing but chaos follows you across the midrealms.’ ‘Then you’d best hope it follows me into battle too and sends this filth back where it came from.’ ‘Enough,’ Torj cut in. ‘We need to brief the others.’ An eerie calmness settled around the Warswords as they went to work explaining the tactics to the commanders, who, in turn, rallied their units to them.
Thea, Cal, Kipp and about two dozen Thezmarrian warriors were under Esyllt’s direction and Thea had never been more grateful for the weapons master’s brusque nature. He spoke to them in the same manner he did back at the fortress, managing to ground them, despite the looming danger. ‘We are to act as a diversion, to give our Warswords the best shot of doing what they do best.
This is no game. There are no prizes for being heroes. You follow orders. You do only as I do! You do as I command,’ he shouted. ‘When I tell you to charge, you charge. When I tell you to bear right, you bear right, and when I tell you to halt, you gods-damn better halt. I’ll have no dead warriors on my watch, you hear?’ The silence that greeted him was stunned, but Esyllt was clearly having none of it.
‘I said, do you hear?!’ ‘Yes, Sir!’ the answer echoed back.
With the voices of her comrades around her, Thea steeled herself, for it was not nerves that raced through her now, but bright, unadulterated terror.
Esyllt looked to the Warswords and gave them a nod; his task was done, they had been briefed,
though Thea doubted anything he said could prepare them for the horrors ahead.
Still in his saddle, Torj reached across and clapped Hawthorne on the shoulder. ‘We have an army to address. Or rather, you do. You know what we’re facing better than anyone.’
‘Fine,’ Hawthorne muttered.
All units looked to him, leaning in.
Thea’s heart pounded painfully as she took in the sight of him. The hardened Warsword closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose, as though fortifying himself against what was to come.
Emotion crackled deep within Thea as she watched him: a mighty warrior, a defender of the midrealms.
He turned his horse in a circle to face the swell of fighters before him, and Thea couldn’t tear her eyes off him. He cut a commanding figure against the backdrop of the end of the world as they knew it. The black amour he wore fitted his broad shoulders and muscled chest like a second skin. He sat upright in his saddle, the reins looped around the horn as he struck his two longswords above his head to silence the company, the black tattoo on his hand stark in the fading light.
Quiet fell like a heavy blanket over the squadron, and Hawthorne’s silver eyes were fierce as he fixed them upon the crowd. ‘What awaits us in the ruins are creatures unlike you’ve ever known.’ His voice projected to the furthest shieldbearer. ‘Not only are these beasts capable of ripping a man in two, but they leak shadow and darkness. They can reach into a man’s soul and infect it with the same curse they bear…’ Thea’s stomach turned to iron. ‘These are rheguld reapers, ancient monsters, kings of the shadow wraiths. In my time at Naarva, I discovered that to kill one is to kill those wraiths it sired, but a reaper can only be destroyed in one way. Today, that task falls to me and my brothers alone. But we did not bring you all this way to sit idle. Your commanders have their orders. Yours are to follow them.’ Thea swore his gaze lingered on her. ‘Warriors of Thezmarr,’ he yelled. ‘Will you ride into battle with us? Will you fracture the enemy’s focus with your war cries and your courage?’ Torj beat his hammer against his shield. ‘Will you follow us into the very heart of evil and help us drive it back into the black fissure from which it came?’ All around Thea, men struck their shields with their weapons, the beat strong and steady; the rhythm of a war drum. The sound found its way into her blood, moving in time with her pulse and feeding the crackling energy in her veins. ‘Warriors of Thezmarr,’ Hawthorne called again. ‘The destiny that awaits us amidst the rubble is one of glory, should you want it enough. Rage with me, rage against the darkness and emerge victorious protectors of the midrealms once more.’ The war drum beat on, building and building with each powerful word. Thea hadn’t realised she’d been clutching her fate stone so hard her fingernails had cut into her palm. She tucked it into her shirt and unsheathed her own blade, the steel gleaming in the little remaining light as she struck it against her shield. ‘And so we test the fates again,’ she murmured.
Hawthorne’s horse reared onto its hind legs and the Warsword thrust his swords into the sky. His command barrelled into their forces like a breaking wave. ‘Charge!’
