C H A P T E R T W E NT Y- E I G HT
hea’s horse surged forward with the rest, all thoughts emptying from her head as she was swept upT in the sea of warriors charging towards the darkness.
The hooves of two hundred horses trampled the heather in a thunderous assault. For a second, Thea forgot about the hierarchy of warriors and her fate. Instead, her chest swelled with a mixture of fear and pride. This was the spirit of Thezmarr, this was what it meant to be part of the guild, and there was no denying she was a part of it now.
Her shouts were swallowed by the rest as they galloped in a frenzy towards the ruins, the three mighty Warswords as the vanguard.
But as their forces closed the gap between them and the enemy, Thea could not only see the ribbons of shadow, but finally the creatures from which they rippled… Her heart seized.
Cloaked in black mist, the beings were not of this world. Once, they might have been men, but no longer… Their bodies had been elongated; each figure towering to what she could only guess to be eight to ten feet in the air. They had strange, sinewy frames, with claws for hands and curled, antler- like horns protruding from their heads. ‘Bear right!’ Esyllt’s voice cut through the horror. ‘Bear right, now!’ Thea and the rest of her unit did, splitting off from the other half of their forces and charging around the outskirts of the ruins to circle their prey.
The rheguld reapers shrieked at the diversion, and at the Warswords, who broke away from the main force and charged straight for them. There was no mistaking the twin blades raised at the front.
Darkness now flowed freely from all five of the creatures. Thea could feel its iciness and malice from several yards away. ‘Halt!’ Esyllt’s cry sounded as their forces met on the other side.
Thea’s body went taut as she drew her reins up short with clammy hands. The Thezmarrian cavalry surrounded the ruins, where the capital’s city walls had fallen long ago, watching on as the Warswords leapt from their horses and launched into their attack.
It was three against five.
The rheguld reapers moved as shadows. One moment there, a hair’s breadth away from the kiss of a blade, the next they were somewhere else; a whisper of what once had been, darkness lashing out like a whip.
Thea could taste their insatiable thirst for blood and destruction.
‘Firebearers! Archers!’ Esyllt called. ‘At the ready!’ Thea surveyed their forces as burning arrows were nocked and bowstrings creaked. ‘For the love of the Furies don’t hit our own!’ the weapons master bellowed. ‘Loose!’ Arrows of fire rained down on the monsters, coaxing outraged shrieks from their withered throats, splitting their focus, distracting them from the main attack.
Why are the rest of us just standing here? Thea’s mind screamed desperately. Her ribs were too tight and her insides felt hollowed out. There was nothing she could do from here, nothing but watch as the Warswords flung themselves at the unworldly creatures.
Time slowed.
A ragged gasp lodged in her windpipe as Hawthorne, wielding his twin blades, stalked towards the largest monster. He moved with the power of the Furies, their gifts of speed, strength and agility thrumming from him. Springing into an attack, his swords were nothing but blurs of silver against the black power raining down on him. The Warsword blocked the lashing darkness and rolled beneath the creature, slicing the backs of its legs.
The reaper shrieked, lunging for Hawthorne, incensed.
But the warrior struck again, this time launching himself from Torj’s braced shield and leaping into the air. He brought both blades down into the beast’s abdomen, its scream piercing through the noise of combat around them.
Another volley of flaming arrows flew through the air.
A wave of darkness crashed into one of the Thezmarrian units.
Thea didn’t know where to look. To Hawthorne’s right, Vernich was battling two of the horrid things, and on the other side of him, Torj duelled with another… Then… where is the fifth? Thea thought with a start, scanning the ruins. ‘Gods,’ the word escaped her lips as she spotted it stalking the perimeter around the Warswords.
Without thinking, Thea urged her horse forward — A sword flung out, stopping right before her chest. ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Esyllt snarled.
Where did he come from? ‘We can’t just leave them to fight alone.’ ‘Your only role here is to follow my orders. Are you questioning those orders?’ Thea faltered. ‘No, Sir, I —’ ‘The answer is “No, Sir” and that’s it.’ The weapon master’s eyes locked onto hers, drawing her attention away from the battle unfolding before them. His gaze was brimming with fury, with warning. ‘There is nothing we can do. Only a Warsword can kill a creature like that,’ he added. ‘Our forces are
doing all they can to assist.’ ‘If you told us how, we could —’ ‘Not another word,’ he glowered. ‘If you question my authority again, I’ll string you up and feed you to one of those things myself. You are a shieldbearer. There is much you do not know about the realms. If you want to survive to one day fight yourself, you’ll shut up and follow my orders.’ Thea struggled to swallow the lump in her throat. ‘Yes, Sir.’ She tore her gaze away from Esyllt as he moved to the front of the unit once more, to find Hawthorne pinning a reaper to the ground, one of his blades slicing through its chest. The creature’s high-pitched screams echoed across the ruins as the Warsword carved into its flesh. Hawthorne stabbed his other sword into the soft earth and crushed the reaper’s throat, muffling its shrieks beneath his boot before reaching into its ribcage with his bare hand.
If it hadn’t been strapped to her forearm, Thea would have dropped her shield.
There was a sickening, wet sound as Hawthorne ripped its heart from its chest cavity.
A strange cry made Thea’s blood run cold.
Another was lunging for Hawthorne. ‘Archers, loose!’ Esyllt’s order carried across the battlefield.
But the arrows did little against the leathered skin of the monsters.
Torj flew into action, leaping in front of his fellow Warsword and taking the attack on his shield.
Gasps sounded from the cavalry as they watched Torj and Hawthorne take on two of the creatures, Hawthorne’s blades now aflame.
A few yards away, there was an earsplitting cry.
Vernich tore the heart from a reaper with a roar of his own, throwing it aside with a thud, red blood streaked with black rushing down his arm.
It was three against three now.
Thea’s eyes were watering, she’d forgotten to blink, her knuckles white as she gripped her horse’s reins in a death grip. She couldn’t look away, unable to believe what she was seeing, unable to stand her own lack of action.
The Warswords moved like gods, tearing through the darkness, wielding their weapons as extensions of their own bodies. Winning.
What had seemed impossible only moments before was now unfolding before their very eyes. The Warswords of Thezmarr had taken on the masters of shadow and were emerging victorious.
No sooner had the thought fluttered into Thea’s mind, something changed.
The black ribbons leaking from the rheguld reapers multiplied and not only did they hit the frontlines of their forces in a punishing blow, but they struck out like vicious vipers, wrapping around the Warswords’ legs, coiling around their wrists — ‘No,’ Thea gasped.
Two of the creatures held the three warriors in their claws, toying with them cruelly as they fought off the lashings of darkness, while the third reaper sized up the force surrounding the ruins. In the overwhelming presence of a giant wraith, two hundred men seemed like no men at all.
With the Warswords occupied, the third creature paced the perimeter, drinking in the sight of the cavalry with huge, clouded blue eyes. Some of them were already disbanded, bleeding on the ground from the previous attacks. The rest trembled in its presence. Shadows seeped from its long body, coiling towards shieldbearers and warriors alike, while the monster emitted a strange hissing sound that made the hair on the back of Thea’s neck stand up.
Despite all their training, the horses panicked, pawing the ground with their hooves and whinnying in distress. ‘Hold the line!’ Esyllt yelled, holding a fist up as the creature approached their unit. ‘Don’t you bastards dare move, I said, hold!’ The reaper sniffed the air, as though it could smell their fear, as though it were savouring it like the aroma of a fine wine. It slinked towards them, shadows dancing.
Thea drew a trembling breath.
The creature’s head snapped straight to her, piercing her with its eerie gaze. ‘Hold!’ Esyllt’s voice boomed again.
Was he waiting for the Warswords? Because they seemed to have their hands full — The creature surged towards the unit.
Someone screamed and Esyllt went flying from his horse, his body hitting the ground with a hard
thud.
In a panic, his horse bolted, as did a dozen others, their riders either falling from their saddles or barely hanging on as their mounts fled from the chaos.
The line broke.
The hissing sound was even closer this time.
The reaper towered before them, brandishing its claws with the promise of violence and death, black mist rippling from its being. It surveyed them with those unsettling eyes, its gaze seeming to search, landing again on Thea.
She gave a strangled cry as a current of something powerful shuddered through her, her body
trembling. ‘Seb, no!’ someone screamed.
Sebastos Barlowe was on the ground, brandishing his sword at the monster, one of his lackeys at his side. The two young men advanced on the creature, wielding their blades but failing to land a hit.
Black energy struck out, throwing Seb’s friend across the ruins, battering his body into the stone rubble with a sickening crack. The reaper turned back to Seb, advancing with another hiss and another crack of its dark whips.
And Thea leapt through the air, landing in a crouch in front of Seb, dragging him down behind the wall of her shield.
The impact of the reaper’s magic nearly split her shield in two. It shuddered through the timber and into her bones, which came alive at the touch of power. Together, she and Seb braced themselves behind the barrier as the creature struck repeatedly. ‘Shield wall!’ she heard herself shout, as the dark sorcery recoiled, readying to attack again. ‘Shield wall!’ She didn’t know if anyone would hear or if anyone would listen. The calamity across the ruins was no longer contained to the creatures of power and the best of the Thezmarrians.
Heart in her throat, she readied herself for another blow, not sure the shield could withstand the continued assault.
But suddenly there were bodies around hers, shields thudding into place alongside hers.
A shriek in the distance told her the Warswords had overpowered their opponent. ‘Drive it back,’ Thea bellowed. ‘Drive it back to the Warswords. They can finish it off. They can carve out its black heart!’ Shoulder to shoulder with her fellow Thezmarrians, their shields overlapping, Thea led the formation forward, forcing the creature back, its attacks growing weaker against their braced armour.
Beyond their formation, the Warswords at last escaped the poisonous tendrils, brandishing their blades.
More and more shieldbearers and warriors joined Thea’s wall, shields slotting into place, their strength growing as they advanced inch by inch, pushing the — A spray of hot liquid rained down upon them, and even in the dim light, Thea saw the black- streaked red. A reaper’s blood. A trickle of it ran down her face and her nostrils were filled with the scent of burnt hair.
She peered through a crack in the wall as they pushed onward, to see Torj brutally bringing his hammer down on the creature’s head, and Hawthorne, covered in blood, holding a wet mass in his clenched fist - another heart. ‘Forward!’ she yelled, putting her whole weight into the shield.
Together, they drove the monster back.
A victorious shout echoed across the ruins and something thudded on the ground, rolling towards
Thea’s boots. Slowly, she lowered her shield.
The head of the reaper lay there. Its clouded blue eyes now blank, staring up at the sky.
The remaining darkness ebbed away and Thea’s unit gradually broke apart, a wet sucking sound filling the silence as Torj used a dagger to cut out the creature’s heart.
Nearby, someone threw up into the dirt.
The morning light that had been swallowed by the creatures of darkness slowly returned, illuminating the aftermath of the battle in horrifying clarity.
Thea had been so caught up in what was happening with her own unit, she hadn’t seen what had happened to the others. Men lay sprawled across the ruins, some bleeding profusely, some with limbs sticking out at strange angles. Then she remembered — ‘Esyllt!’ Dropping her sword and shield, Thea threw herself to where she’d seen the weapons master thrown from his horse. She felt Kipp beside her as they rushed to what remained of the city walls, finding Esyllt amidst the rubble, his back against a half crumbling stone pillar. His grey hair was matted with blood – his own.
Thea skidded to her knees beside him. ‘Esyllt, can you hear me?’ The weapons master groaned, his chin clumsily lifting from his chest. ‘Yes, unfortunately I can…’ he muttered.
Thea sighed with relief, sitting back on her heels while Kipp examined his head wound. ‘You’ll need several stitches, Sir.’ ‘Not by your hand, boy,’ Esyllt growled, wincing beneath Kipp’s touch. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it, Sir. Only the best for you.’ Esyllt scoffed, causing a line of blood to leak from his mouth. ‘Kipp,’ Thea said, suddenly remembering. ‘Get the black satchel from my saddlebag. I might have
something.’ Kipp was already on his feet. ‘Where’s Vernich?’ Hawthorne’s voice boomed.
Waiting for Kipp, Thea peered across the carnage, searching the grounds for the older warrior. ‘There!’ someone shouted after a moment, pointing to a limping figure approaching them from the northern ruins.
As the older Warsword drew closer, Thea could see that under the grime and blood, he was pale.
The fabric around his left leg was split open, as was the flesh beneath it, fresh blood pulsing from the wound. ‘Torj!’ Hawthorne shouted as he rushed forward, catching Vernich as he stumbled. ‘What happened?’ Torj demanded, joining his fellow warriors and peering down at the grotesque state of Vernich’s leg. ‘Cursed thing got away,’ Vernich answered through gritted teeth. ‘It clawed the shit out of my leg and then… It exploded. I thought it had blasted itself into nothing, but… when my senses returned, I saw it, a black shadow drifting out to sea, towards the Veil.’ ‘Fuck,’ Hawthorne cursed. ‘Here Thea.’ Kipp’s voice called Thea back to poor Esyllt. She just hoped she’d been right about what Wren had packed for her… ‘Esyllt,’ she said gently. ‘Who in our forces is trained in battlefield healing? Did we bring healers’ kits?’ The weapons master groaned as she helped him sit upright. ‘Esyllt?’ she prompted.
‘The Warswords,’ he said. ‘But by the looks of things, they’ll need to tend to their own. Some of the commanders —’ he grimaced as she parted his matted hair around his wound.
Thea looked up at Kipp. ‘Go speak to them, see who among them can take care of the wounded.’ She peered into the satchel and heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Tell them I have some supplies.’ Kipp was about to launch himself towards the commanders. ‘Kipp?’ she called out, and he stopped instantly, turning back. ‘Find Cal, will you? Make sure he’s alright.’ ‘On it,’ he told her with a salute.
Along with several others, Thea worked into the midmorning tending to the wounded shieldbearers of Thezmarr. While she knew she’d never be as skilled as Farissa or Wren, she was grateful for the lessons she’d insisted upon, for the tasks keeping her hands steady in the aftermath of all that had come to pass amidst the ruins of Delmira.
She saw numerous shieldbearers displaying signs of shock. Farissa had warned her about that, and she knew were it not for keeping busy, she would likely be experiencing the same. Thea was careful to distribute the contents of Wren’s satchel herself, because her sister had not only packed a range of healing supplies, but poisons as well.
Wren’s nothing if not prepared… Thea lost herself in the work, wrapping gashes with clean linen bandages, sure to tell every ‘patient’ that she wasn’t a real healer and they’d need to visit the infirmary upon their return to Thezmarr. None of them seemed bothered by her proclamations, merely thankful for her treatments that she hoped would keep any infection at bay. ‘Thea?’ Kipp said softly.
Thea whipped around. ‘Is it Cal? Have you —’ ‘Cal’s fine. A few scratches, stinks like a foul chamber pot, but fine.’ Thea’s whole body sagged with relief. ‘What is it then?’
Kipp’s face fell. ‘It’s Lachin.’ ‘What about him?’ ‘I thought you should know. He’s… He’s dead.’ Thea blinked, the words refusing to settle. ‘Dead?’ Kipp nodded.
Thea’s hands fell away from the shieldbearer she was treating and she sat back on the damp earth, covering her mouth with a trembling hand. ‘He’s…’ but she couldn’t form the sentence. ‘Here.’ Kipp pressed something cool into her palms. ‘Drink that. You haven’t stopped since…’ Numb, Thea lifted the canteen to her lips, only to find the burning liquid wasn’t water and for that, she was grateful. She hadn’t realised how cold she’d become. ‘How? How did Lachin die?’ she eventually managed.
Kipp grimaced. ‘One of those things near sliced him in two…’ Thea forced down the bile that had risen in her throat and tried not to picture their comrade. ‘Gods.’ A shadow fell over them as Hawthorne appeared at Thea’s side. The Warsword surveyed the line of warriors, all bearing marks of her treatment, and offered her his hand. ‘I think you’ve done all you can here.’ Thea took it, warmth flooding through her as he helped her to her feet. ‘You’re unharmed?’ he asked softly. ‘Yes. Unharmed.’ She scanned his body, noting the countless gashes, the mottled bruising already
forming across his skin.
He followed her gaze. ‘I’ve had much worse than this,’ he murmured.
Thea reached for her satchel. ‘Let me help —’ Hawthorne shook his head and stilled her hands, swallowing them with his. ‘Rest now.’ Then, he was walking away.
They were always leaving one another, it seemed.
It was some time before Thea registered Cal had joined her and Kipp, sporting a gash to the collarbone, but otherwise unharmed. ‘I thought you told us there was “no one” in the picture, huh?’ Kipp said, following her gaze trailing Hawthorne across the ruins.
Thea ignored him. Her own shock had sunk in as she walked, wandering the rubble aimlessly, waiting for orders. She forced herself to take deep breaths of the crisp morning air, ignoring the metallic tang, and took comfort in the presence of her friends on either side of her. In the midday light, she could see the blood, both human and wraith, staining the earth.
At the centre of the ruins, the Warswords convened.
Vernich’s leg had been sewn up rather gruesomely, but he stood as straight as the others, arms folded over his chest as they considered the heap of gore at their boots. ‘We should burn them,’ Torj was saying. ‘And toss the ashes out to sea,’ Vernich added in agreement.
But it was Hawthorne, covered in blood and filth, who shook his head. ‘We take the hearts,’ he stated. ‘We take them back to Thezmarr.’ And so, with the hearts of monsters in blood-soaked sacks, and the bodies of fallen comrades fastened to riderless horses, the Warswords mounted their stallions once more to lead the warriors of Thezmarr home.
