Chapter 18 #2
A young soldier, barely old enough to shave, raises a spear and thrusts it toward my chest. I wrap shadows around the shaft and yank him forward. The motion pulls him off balance. The hilt of my sword strikes his temple with a meaty thud. His eyes roll back and he drops, unconscious but not dead.
I step back, turning just as five soldiers move to surround me.
“Korvain thek nul,” Voidcraft responds, shadows exploding outward and swallowing them. The darkness fills their mouths, their lungs, their eyes. They collapse like puppets with cut strings.
Behind me, water rises from every crack and crevice, forming a new torrent that sweeps through the southern approach. Soldiers scream as the flood takes them.
“They’re drowning!” an officer shouts. “Get out of the water!”
But there’s no escaping it. The narrow defile forces them through Nyassa’s domain, and she controls every drop of water.
A crossbow bolt takes one of our fighters in the left shoulder, spinning him around. Blood streams down his arm, but he keeps fighting. His sword opens a soldier’s stomach, spilling intestines onto the rocks.
Another fighter drives his blade through a soldier’s chest, the point emerging between shoulder blades. The man tries to speak, blood frothing from his mouth, before he slides off the steel and falls.
The western patrol finally reaches their position and begins raining crossbow bolts down on us. Three of our men die instantly, arrows hitting heads and hearts. One is lucky and takes an arrow to the thigh, and he roars in pain and fury, but he’s still alive.
I dodge between the rocks, avoiding the arrows, and come out behind three soldiers who think they have me trapped.
My blade takes the first man’s head clean off.
Blood sprays across his companions. The second turns just in time to catch my sword in his chest. I drive it deep, feeling it scrape against his spine.
The third soldier drops his weapon and raises his hands. “I surrender! Please!”
“Mor veth shalein,” I whisper, and shadows wrap around his throat like a garrote. His pleas become wet gurgles as they crush his windpipe. He claws at his neck, trying to tear away shadows that exist between spaces, before dropping to the ground.
“The third patrol is breaking,” an archer calls out, loosing another arrow. It takes a fleeing soldier between the shoulder blades, sending him tumbling down the slope.
But they’re not all fleeing. The western patrols’ commander rallies his remaining men.
“Regroup! Form up. We can still take them!”
His confidence is almost admirable, if misguided.
I flow between the rocks, appearing behind their hastily formed line.
My blade opens the first soldier’s back in a spray of blood.
He arches in agony before collapsing. The second spins to face me.
I grab his helmet and twist sharply. His neck breaks with a snap.
The commander sees his men dying and makes a desperate charge. His sword swings with a force born from fear, forcing me to give ground as he presses his attack.
He’s good. Better than most. But I’ve got years of pent up fury, and he’s fighting in my domain.
I feint left, then reverse direction. My blade slides past his guard and opens his throat to the spine.
Blood fountains across the rocks. He tries to curse me, but only blood spills out, and he collapses, body twitching before going still.
“They’re all dead.” One of our fighters comes up behind me, breathing hard. Blood runs from a cut on his forehead.
I look around at the carnage. Bodies are scattered across the rocks like broken dolls. Blood pools in the cracks between stones. The water runs red where Nyassa’s flood swept the dead downstream.
Fifty-seven soldiers came to take us. Fifty-seven soldiers died among these rocks. None are left alive to report our location or the direction we’re going to take when we leave.
Weakness spreads through my limbs. I’d forgotten the price of channeling this much power in such a short space of time.
My hands shake slightly, and there’s an ache behind my eyes that warns of depleted strength.
Shadows respond slower to my call now. I’ve drawn too heavily on Voidcraft and shadows, pushed beyond what I should without rest, and exhaustion sinks bone-deep, but I force my stance to remain steady.
Three hundred lives are depending on leadership that shows no weakness.
I walk slowly back toward Whiterock, taking stock of casualties. Six of our fighters bear wounds. A crossbolt took Kael in the shoulder. Dren’s arm hangs useless from a sword cut. All but three have survived, and that’s all that matters.
We gather in the main cavern where Stonehaven’s people wait. The wounded receive what treatment our supplies allow.
Nyassa leans against the wall, her face pale. The water magic she wielded during the battle has clearly taken its toll, but like me she masks it well, straightening whenever anyone looks her way.
“The Authority patrols have been dealt with,” I say to the gathered people. “But Whiterock is no longer safe. We need to move everyone before more soldiers come.”
Greenvale represents the only real hope for shelter. If they reject us, it could result in the deaths of our most vulnerable.
The northwest pull tugs at my consciousness as we plan our route.
Ellie’s presence calling to me across the distance, stronger than it was in Chicago.
Part of me wants to abandon everything, and race toward her with a single-minded focus, but duty anchors me here among those who depend on my leadership.
Three hundred souls moving through mountain passes because I am convinced we can trust in the mercy of strangers.
“You keep looking northwest,” Varam says quietly. “Is something wrong?”
“I can feel her.” I don’t need to tell him who I’m talking about. “She’s distant, but she’s alive.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know. Just that she is somewhere in that direction.” I gesture northwest. “And she’s scared.”
Varam studies my face in the flickering light. “She’s strong. She’s a survivor. You need to focus on what you can control.”
His words anchor me to the present. Focus on the people here. On the choices that matter now. Let the future take care of itself.
“Prepare everyone. We will leave for Greenvale at first light.”
Soon we will discover whether compassion can overcome fear, whether memory proves stronger than Authority intimidation.
And if one blacksmith’s courage can save three hundred lives.