Chapter 49 Dimas
FORTY-NINE
DIMAS
Fighting the Corrupted was like trying to catch smoke.
Every time Dimas managed to get close, the creature would move out of the way, twisting around the ritual chamber as if it were made of shadow. Dimas was barely keeping up; the wound in his side was throbbing, and there were two claw marks on his thigh from where the monster had rended his flesh.
Dodging another swipe of razor-sharp claws, the world swayed beneath him as more blood dripped from his wounds. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer, and there was still no sign of Yana or the general and her reinforcements.
There was no way they could defeat the Corrupted and get through the remaining cultists alone. And every second they tried was a second Lenora didn’t have.
Dimas drew back, putting as much space between him and his opponent as he could. He needed time to think. To figure out the creature’s attack pattern. But blood loss was making him woozy, and each swipe of his sword was becoming more desperate.
The creature lunged again and Dimas whirled out of the way, his sword following him in a graceful arc that should have lopped off its head. But as it had done every other time, the wylfen darted out of reach.
There was no time to catch his breath. No time to do anything but keep moving as the creature continued its attack. He couldn’t risk looking away to see how Maia, Finaen, and Casimir were faring, but considering neither had come to his aid, things weren’t looking good.
Another swipe of the wylfen’s claws had Dimas darting backward. There was barely any space left between him and the wall now. One more dodge, and he’d be trapped.
The wylfen would be expecting him to counter its attack. To make one last desperate attempt at severing its head from its body. It’s what a warrior would have done. What his father would have done.
But Dimas was not his father.
The wolf-like creature reared back, fangs flashing as it released an unearthly growl. Any second now it would be on him, teeth and claws tearing him apart, and there was nothing Dimas could do to stop it.
The wylfen lunged, and Dimas did not raise his sword.
His heart thundered in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and as the creature crashed toward him—
Dimas dropped to his knees.
He slid his sword along the ground beneath the wylfen, and just enough space for Dimas to roll between its legs as the wylfen soared past him … and into the cavern wall with a sickening crack.
Dimas scrambled for his sword. He whirled around on unsteady feet, facing the Corrupted as it reared back onto its hind legs. The soft underside of its throat was exposed as it shook its head in a daze.
Dimas struck.
His sword pierced the ancient creature’s neck, blood pooling at the corners of its mouth.
He sucked in a shaking breath just as footsteps echoed behind him.
Dimas turned to find Iska approaching him, her marked palm raised. “Iska, please, you can still stop this!” Dimas held up his hands, searching her eyes for some glimpse of the cousin he’d grown up with. “We can go home together—”
Iska let out a sharp laugh. “You will never go home, cousin. Even if you succeed here, Milos and the rest of Venysa’s followers under his command will ensure Wyrecia’s throne will never be yours.”
Blood roared in Dimas’s ears. He could accept the idea of losing his throne if it meant stopping the Haesta from resurrecting Venysa.
He could even accept that he might never get to clear his name.
But he would never accept Milos controlling the church.
Not now that he knew what his cousins and his uncle were: corrupted disciples of an abomination.
Dimas pulled his sword free of the Corrupted’s neck. “Then I’ll stop all of you.”
“No,” said Iska, “you won’t.”
The symbol on her flesh darkened as shadows began to form at her fingertips. Dimas felt the hum of magic, raw and powerful, fill the air. Felt his body tense as he waited for a blow that never came.
Instead, a scream of pain rang out, and when Dimas opened his eyes, he found Iska pulling a bloodied arrow from her shoulder.
Boots thundered against stone as, with Mirena at the helm, a handful of imperial forces flooded the chamber. They wasted no time in descending upon the cultists, breaking them from their chanting as they were forced to infiltrate the dais to defend Roston.
Bodies fell by the second, the scent of blood and metal so thick in the air it was hard to breathe.
Beside him, Casimir had taken down his wrecen and was fighting alongside Yana, whilst two of the general’s forces moved in to help Maia and Finaen take down the remaining wrecen.
Maia was holding a hand to her waist, her fingers soaked in blood as she tried to wield a dagger in her free hand.
Her brother was faring little better; he was covered in sweat, his breathing rapid as he barely dodged blow after blow.
And then General Alraen was beside him. She came up behind the wrecen and, in one quick strike, sliced straight through its torso.
The Corrupted had barely split into two before the general was moving again, and this time, her fierce gaze was fixed on one person.
Iska.
Dimas saw the moment his cousin realized she was the general’s target. Saw the shadows twisting around her fingers once more.
This time, he didn’t hesitate. He swung his blade at her, breaking her concentration long enough for General Alraen to reach them. To swing her own weapon at his cousin.
“I’ve got her,” she yelled over the fighting. “Go!”
Dimas moved, weaving his way through the fighting toward the uncle he’d thought he could trust. Another arrow whizzed past him, this time aimed at Roston, and as the regent raised his arms, tendrils of dark mist drifted from the sigil-marked pillars to form a dome of shadow—like mist around him that stopped the arrow in its tracks.
Dammit.
A magical shield would make things more difficult. Dimas would need to break all of the pillars surrounding the dais, hoping the act interrupted Roston’s magic as it had done the other cultists.
Dimas altered his course, running not for the stone steps but for the pillar closest to him. His energy waned with each incoming attack, the wounds he’d received burning with pain unlike any he’d ever felt.
He’d just reached the first pillar when the shadows seized his mind.
Dimas stumbled into the pillar as the ground shifted dangerously beneath his feet. But through the haze, he could just make out the features of the cultist approaching him.
Iska.
“It’s over, Dimas,” she said. “I defeated your general, and now I will defeat you.”
Dimas saw the energy gathering toward her marked hand. He had just enough of his senses left to roll out of the way.
But Iska hadn’t been aiming at him. She’d been aiming at the fair-haired girl running toward them with her bow raised.
Maia let out a pained scream as the force of the blow sent her tumbling to the ground a few feet from Dimas.
Dimas’s entire body went numb. The distraction had been enough for the shadows to recede. To give Dimas time to fully see the destruction the fight had caused.
The cavern was littered with bodies. Some in cultists robes, but just as many in imperial armor.
Mirena lay with a sword through her chest before the dais, her eyes open but unseeing.
Dead, just like Brother Dunstan. Dimas hadn’t been able to save them, but he could still save Maia.
She lay unmoving on the ground, but Dimas could just make out the slow rise and fall of her chest.
He had to end this. Now. But there was no way Iska would let him get to Maia or the sigil she was currently drawing her magic from. She’d strike the second he made a move toward either.
But maybe there was a way he could use that to his advantage.
As a plan started to form, Dimas struggled to his feet. Lifted his sword and pointed it threateningly at his cousin. “Don’t make me kill you,” he said, circling her. He didn’t need to fake the crack in his voice. The tears in his eyes. “Please, Iska, I love you.”
Iska faltered. Just for a moment. And then her expression hardened again, her eyes flashing. “You won’t kill me; you are as weak as your mother,” she said.
“My mother wasn’t weak, and neither am I.” It took every ounce of strength Dimas had left to keep his hand steady as he raised his sword. “You let yourself be corrupted by the very power our ancestors fought against. You are the one who is weak.”
Rage flashed behind Iska’s eyes, and with a roar, she flung the energy she’d been gathering toward Dimas.
Just as he’d anticipated.
Dimas darted out of the way at the last second. Without him to stop it, the magical energy Iska had loosed sliced through the air—
—and into the stone pillar Dimas had been standing in front of.
Dozens of cracks began to appear in the stone, and all around them, the cavern gave a mighty groan. Iska screamed, whirling toward Dimas. “What did you—”
Dimas didn’t give her time to finish. Sending a quiet prayer to his mother for forgiveness, he grabbed Maia’s discarded arrow and plunged it into Iska’s side.
The roar that came from her mouth was equal parts fury and pain. Blood, hot and wet, spilled over Dimas’s hand, but he did not let go until Iska’s eyes began to flutter. Her consciousness slipped as the poison from Maia’s arrow took effect.
“No!” His uncle’s piercing shout echoed throughout the cavern. Roston had turned away from Lena and was gathering the energy he’d formed into a shield back into his hands. Even with one pillar down, Dimas knew the blow would be too large to dodge.
Which was why, as Casimir crept up the steps on the opposite side of the dais and approached Roston with a dagger in his hand, Dimas remained where he was.
He watched as Casimir plunged the dagger into his uncle’s back.