51. Chapter 51 #2
Cyrus’s mind went quiet.
“ Jaem? ”
But all he heard was his army around him.
“ Jaem? ”
Cyrus let out a roar and slammed his helm down to the ground.
“What’s wrong?” Essandra asked.
But he couldn’t even say it. “Bring down that wall!” he raged at the witches.
“ Kord ,” he sent down the blood bond. “ Turn around. Come back north. The Shadowmen collapsed the tunnel—you can’t get through. ”
“ What about Jaem? ” Kord asked.
Cyrus paused, cursing. “ Just turn around. ”
Everan’s voice came through the bond now. “ Cyrus, the Shadow army is attacking. ”
No—already?
Suddenly, the north wall crumbled, sending plumes of dust high into the air. Cheers of victory rang out from Cyrus’s army, then they rushed to meet the Shadowmen who’d started pouring out in defense.
They’d done it. They’d breached the wall.
It was fine.
Everything was going to be fine.
“ Tell Sergen to hold them as long as he can ,” he commanded Everan. “ Meet me on the north side. The wall is down. ”
But Cyrus quickly found that bringing down the wall was the least challenging thing. The Shadowmen fought with skill he hadn’t seen outside of the arena. They slaughtered his men like his army was standing still.
All Cyrus could do was try to overwhelm them with numbers—send wave after wave of men. And he did. Well into the night.
Essandra refused to leave his side, ripping destruction through the enemy like a goddess of war. Cyrus felt like a god beside her.
Brant and Hephain barked orders to fill holes as they lost men, helping Cyrus maintain the onslaught. Kord brought the legions he’d redirected from the tunnels, and Cyrus used those as well.
Kord fought at his side, and for a moment, they were brothers of the bloodsport again. They moved as one, their rhythm forged through trust and years. Cyrus could almost smell the dust of the arena, hear the roar of the crowd. He could feel the savage pride of surviving side by side.
Back then, it had been simpler. Fight, bleed, win. There had been no kingdoms, no armies, no gods whispering in their ears.
And for a heartbeat, it was like that again.
As morning neared, Everan still hadn’t reached him. Cyrus had checked in on him multiple times over the hours, and each time, he’d said he was coming. Yet he still hadn’t.
“ Everan? ” Cyrus reached out again.
“ I’ve lost Sergen; I can’t find him ,” Everan called back. “ It’s bad, Cyrus. We’re down to about a quarter of our men left on this side. Maybe less. It’s hard to tell. ”
The sun rose over the horizon with the start of a new day, and it spread its rays across a sea of bodies.
“ Get to the north wall ,” Cyrus told him. Again.
“ What about the rest of the men? ”
“ Bring what you can with you but get here. Now! ”
“ I’m on my way. ”
“Cyrus!” Hephain called. “Mercia and Aleon are here!”
Cyrus whirled to see a sea of white and blue crashing against the red of his own army in the distance.
No. No!
“Push them back!” he ordered.
Kord and Brant sent several legions to meet them. They were using their reserve forces now, but Cyrus wasn’t concerned yet. Even with the current losses, he still held the numbers advantage.
He charged forward with Essandra just behind him. She formed a protective cover, taking down anyone who came close to him. Fire, rock, pain—she used it all.
And he felt invincible.
With her, he was.
“ Cyrus! ” Everan said in his mind.
If he had to tell Everan one more time—
“ I see the Shadow commander ,” Everan told him.
Cyrus paused. The Shadow commander—likely trying to reach the Shadow King.
He wouldn’t.
“ Kill him ,” Cyrus said. He only regretted that he couldn’t do it himself. All that man did was cause him problems. He would have gotten a lot of satisfaction pushing a sword through him.
The flow of Shadowmen out of the stronghold had lessened now, and Cyrus’s men were finally able to break through to the inside.
They were in.
The stronghold was his.
He could almost taste victory.
Four kingdoms littered the battlefield, and Cyrus took down anything black, white, or blue.
“Slow down!” Essandra called to him. She was trying to take down every man before Cyrus could even reach them, but he didn’t want her to. The fact that they thought they could stand against him was laughable. It fueled him, and he fought harder, faster, cutting them down with a vengeance.
But it wasn’t enough. He needed more.
Harder still, he fought. He couldn’t swing his blade fast enough. Cyrus paused and gripped the hilt of his sword. He willed one blade to become two—then fought with double the fury.
Hephain appeared on his left. “We’re pushing them back! Mercia and Aleon are falling back!”
Good. Good.
Cyrus cut down another Shadowman.
They were actually doing this. He was actually doing this. He was bringing them all to their knees—the Shadowlands, Aleon, Mercia.
He’d have this day.
“ Everan! ”
He took another head and kicked the body back.
“ Everan! Where are you? ”
No answer came.
Cyrus froze.
“ Everan! ”
Essandra was by his side in an instant. “What’s wrong?”
“I can’t hear Everan.”
“It’s absolute chaos right now,” she told him.
It didn’t matter. “ Everan! ”
Still nothing came.
He felt like his chest would cave in. He couldn’t breathe. He immediately lowered his swords and combed the battle.
“Cyrus!” Hephain yelled as he blocked an attacking Shadowman.
Essandra jerked him back.
Another Shadowman charged them, and she dropped him with a burst of power.
“ Everan! ” Cyrus desperately looked for him, his gaze traveling over the battlefield.
“Look out!” Essandra yelled at him, dropping another Shadowman. “You’re going to get yourself killed!”
“I need to find Everan!”
Hephain thwarted another attack.
She grabbed Cyrus. “I’ll find him!”
No. No. She wasn’t leaving his side. “ Everan! ”
“Look at me!” she yelled as she snapped him to focus on her. “I’ll find him,” she promised. “He’s fine, and I’ll find him.”
He shook his head. He couldn’t let her go.
“I can handle myself.” She grabbed the sides of his face. “Look at me. You’re here for the Shadow King. He’s here. This is your time. Everan is fine. I’ll find him. You focus on staying alive. You focus on what you’re here to do.”
The chaos around him grew silent.
He was here for the Shadow King.
This was his time.
“I’ll find Everan,” she said again.
Finally, he nodded.
She glanced at Hephain.
“I’ve got him,” Hephain told her.
Essandra pushed Cyrus’s helm back into his hands. “Put this back on.”
He did.
“Don’t take it off,” she begged, gripping him tightly. “Cyrus, please.”
“I won’t take it off,” he promised.
She mounted her horse and urged the animal forward to go find Everan. Cyrus let out a low whistle, calling the dogs and sending them with her.
“Cyrus!” Kord bellowed. “The Shadow King! I see him!”
Cyrus whirled. Time slowed. The mountain of a man fought on the west wall of the stronghold, trying to hold back Cyrus’s army.
Trying and failing.
They had him.
Cyrus had him.
His eyes traveled the battlefield around him. The enemy was falling. The day would be his. Essandra would find Everan. He’d have the Shadow King’s head. Cyrus started toward him.
This man was his.
This war was his.
This world was his.
Then that world exploded.
A thunder of violence struck from behind. He hit the ground with a force that nearly knocked the wind from his lungs. His vision pitched black. A shrill ring pierced his ears.
For a moment, he was no longer in battle. His thoughts fractured. He couldn’t move.
Pain bloomed, and his senses flooded back.
He blinked against the sun as chaos rushed in.
Hooves flashed past him. The ground shook beneath him.
His hearing sharpened over the ringing. Screams filled the air.
Cyrus staggered to his feet, reeling, and clawed for his sword again. A clash of horses had hit them like a tidal wave.
What—
And he stopped.
The woman on a white horse. The woman from his dreams. From his visions.
Her dark hair was wild with long braids and feathers. Black color striped her face from temple to temple, with red lines like blood tears down her cheeks.
War paint.
And she screamed a war cry.
The horsemen swept through his army like a wildfire.
No! Cyrus spun back to find the Shadow King again, but he didn’t see him.
He snarled as he cut ruthlessly through. Where was he?
Where was he?
“Cyrus!” Kord clapped his arm. “We have to fall back!”
Fall back? “I have to find the Shadow King!”
“The horsemen have joined against us! We have to fall back!”
No. He hadn’t come this far to fall back. Not after everything he’d sacrificed to get here.
“Hold!” Cyrus ordered. “Our men need to hold until I get the Shadow King.”
“Cyrus!” Kord grabbed him. “Did you hear me? We’re falling!”
“And I said hold !”
Kord still gaped at him. “We’re losing men by the thousands. They’re either being slaughtered or fleeing.”
Hephain appeared beside him, panting heavily. “Cyrus, we have to fall back.”
“We’re not falling back!” This was for everything they’d lost. For everything they’d suffered.
This was for everything Cyrus had promised—
“Cyrus!” Kord clasped him tighter.
He ripped his arm free. “I said no ! Hold them!”
Kord stood in the chaos as battle swarmed around them. He shook his head. “You’re never going to stop, are you?”
“Why would I stop now?” Cyrus bellowed. “I’m so close!” He grabbed his second sword, which had fallen to the ground, but when he straightened, Kord had his crossbow raised.
Orion’s crossbow.
Fixed on Cyrus.