Chapter Thirty-six
WILDER
I n a blur of membranous wings, they were surrounded.
Wilder’s thundering heart threatened to burst through his chest. Nearly choking on the overpowering scent of burnt hair, he unsheathed his swords, and heard the others do the same as the looming wraiths closed in.
There were too many. A dozen at least, compared to their six.
Wren couldn’t fight. And two of the three Guardians had no Naarvian steel.
He glanced at Torj, who held his war hammer in one hand and a sword in the other. Their party backed away from the advancing wraiths until they formed a tight circle at the centre of the attack.
Wren let out a muffled cry of horror. Wilder realised she was the only one in their company who had yet to see a wraith, but there was no time to pity her. Thea was ready at her side, her own sword poised to strike, her other hand grasping Malik’s dagger of Naarvian steel.
Wilder subtly moved his stallion in front of hers.
The creatures that crept towards them hissed, black shadow leaking from their elongated, sinewy frames, from the brutal talons at their fingertips. There was nothing half human about these monsters. These were pure servants of darkness, evil incarnate intent on spreading poison across the world.
‘We have to get to the woods,’ Wilder murmured under his breath, praying to the Furies that Thea could hear him. ‘We make a break for it. They’ll follow, but we can use the close quarters of the forest against their numbers, against their wings.’
He heard her shift in her saddle. ‘Say when.’
Wilder flexed his fingers around the grips of his swords. ‘When.’
He led the charge through the circle of wraiths, slicing and whirling his blades to carve an opening for their unit. Torj followed suit, and with screams of rage and pain, the wraiths’ formation broke apart, enough for Thea to lead Wren, Cal and Kipp through the gap and straight for the woods.
Shadow magic lashed at Wilder, but he deflected the whips with his great swords, managing to slit the throat of one wraith and sever the hand of another. Darkness swept in to heal the wounds.
‘To the woods!’ he shouted to Torj.
The two Warswords surged after their charges on horseback, their stallions’ hooves like thunder against the earth as they sought to put as much distance between them and the monsters as possible.
Coils of darkness struck out like vipers, but Wilder severed them just as he had the creature’s hand, allowing the woodlands to close in around him and Torj. Thea and the others weren’t far ahead.
‘We use the tight space against them,’ Wilder said when he reached them, scanning Thea for any sign of injury.
She seemed unharmed. So far. He felt himself slip into the cold, calm commander’s role.
‘Set the horses free. They’ll only get injured here.
Cal, you use your bow to pin them down with arrows in any way you can so Torj and I can slay them with Naarvian steel.
Kipp, you be our eyes from above. You have our backs, at all times, do you understand? ’
‘Yes, sir.’ Kipp was already reaching for one of the trees, seeking a better vantage point.
They all dismounted, coaxing their horses deeper into the forest. Wilder felt Biscuit’s hesitation, but he gave him a slap on the rump and sent him off with the rest before turning back to their party.
‘Wren, you stay hidden,’ he said. ‘ No magic , you hear?’
‘But —’
‘It will only attract them,’ Thea cut in. ‘You have to listen.’
Wilder nodded. ‘Thea?’
‘Yes?’
‘You move as my shadow and carve out any hearts in my wake with your dagger. Are we clear?’
Thea palmed her blade, a feral glint in her eyes. ‘We’re clear.’
A crashing sound in the nearby trees told Wilder that the wraiths had nearly caught up. ‘Everyone in position!’ he bellowed.
There was a flurry of movement, and then the wraiths were upon them again.
Wilder found that deep, dark place within where he knew no fear, where instinct ruled every movement, where he became the Hand of Death. As the monsters advanced, so did he.
He cleaved through the creatures at the vanguard, slicing tendons at the backs of their legs, slitting throats so that Cal could pin them with arrows and Thea could carve their black hearts from their grotesque chests.
He heard their shrieks, felt the blistering lance of pain as their shadows whipped at him, but he didn’t stop.
Wilder became one with his swords.
He surged from wraith to wraith, losing himself to the rhythm of death and chaos. He might not understand the world around him, he might not understand how to process all that raged within, but this? This he understood.
Black blood spattered across the forest floor.
The gust of an arrow kissed Wilder’s cheek.
Still he didn’t stop. And he didn’t look back.
He lit his swords ablaze and fought darkness with fire, not caring if he set the whole damn forest alight.
‘Hawthorne, to your left!’ Kipp’s voice sounded from above.
Wilder moved without question and thrust his left sword through the throat of a wraith with enough force that it came out the back of its neck. Hot blood spurted across Wilder’s face and chest, and he spat the putrid taste into the dirt.
Behind him, he could hear the brutal sound of Thea slicing through flesh, bone and tendons to wrench hearts from chest cavities —
‘Left again, Hawthorne!’
He blocked an incoming slash of bloody talons with both his blades and then decapitated the wraith with a double cross-swipe to the neck, the creature’s clouded blue eyes widening in shock before its head toppled from its body.
Darkness swept in and the beginnings of a new head started to take shape, the sight utterly gruesome, no matter how many times Wilder had seen such a thing before.
It leaked shadows, regenerating where it needed to, until Thea leapt upon it to carve the rest of it up.
Wilder didn’t look at her. He couldn’t, or else he might lose his focus, his edge against these fucking monsters.
Somewhere nearby he could hear the wet, sickening thud of Torj’s hammer pummelling a creature to a pulp —
A scream sounded.
A human scream.
Wren.
Wilder whirled around in time to see Kipp throw himself from the canopy onto a wraith’s back. The monster had its claws around Wren’s throat, her hands clutching and scratching at its grip, her legs kicking out underneath her —
Wilder readied to throw his sword, but Torj’s spear soared through the air, piercing the wraith from the back of its skull through its face, the tip nearly kissing Wren’s nose.
The wraith, Wren and Kipp all collapsed to the ground, Kipp scrambling for Wren. She was already on her feet, panting, her pretty face splattered with black blood.
But onyx threads of power surged from the wraith’s unmoving body, coiling around Wren and Kipp like vicious snakes. Both alchemist and Guardian’s eyes bulged as they gasped for air, darkness lashing at them.
‘Wren!’ Thea’s panic was like a knife to the heart.
Wilder was already sprinting for them, but Wren’s hand shot out of the magic’s grasp, a lone flash of skin in a swirling black mass.
Thunder cracked.
Wilder’s heart squeezed painfully.
‘Wren, no!’ Thea screamed.
But Wren was beyond listening.
The second lost heir of Delmira called the storms down upon them all.
Lightning hit the forest floor in a brilliant flash of white. Wilder felt it vibrate through his bones. He scanned the woods for Torj, who was battering a wraith into the ground with his hammer, while another moved towards him.
There were more than a dozen of them now. Wilder didn’t know if Wren’s magic had attracted them, or if they had been lying in wait all along.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that they needed to finish this.
‘Thea!’ Wilder shouted. ‘We need you.’
Thea leapt between the trees and wraiths, twirling her dagger menacingly as she approached the monster beneath Torj’s punishing blows. The Warsword left her to her carving as he took on another.
Wilder swore as a lash of dark power burned through his sleeve, setting his skin on fire with pain. Ignoring it, he started to duel another pair of wraiths, both larger than the rest. They weren’t reapers, but they were definitely leaders. They hissed and circled him as though he were prey.
He was anything but prey.
Wilder threw himself at them, his swords a blur of silver as the blades met and cleaved through the tough, leathery flesh.
More lightning lit up the forest, and the wraiths shrieked in unison, as though celebrating the power that pulsed around them.
Wren screamed, but Wilder couldn’t see her.
His gaze shot to Thea, who stood before a huge wraith, her dagger lodged in its chest, out of her reach. The monster batted her away as though she were a ragdoll.
A scream caught in Wilder’s throat and he flung himself towards her as her back hit a tree. But Thea scrambled to her feet, her attention snapping from the monster who held her dagger captive in its chest to where her sister’s scream had come from.
She didn’t even notice Wilder coming towards her. Her attention was singular, focused beyond a line of trees, her jaw working as her hand reached for her fate stone. She ripped it from her neck and cast it aside.
‘I don’t fucking think so,’ she growled, lightning dancing at her fingertips as she ran to her sister.
‘Thea!’ Wilder bellowed.
All that killing calm was gone, and in its place was pure terror.
The same terror he’d felt when he’d watched the reaper pierce Thea’s chest with its talons.
He vaulted towards the wraith that had thrown Thea, catching it by the dagger that protruded from its sternum.
Flesh and bone tore beneath Wilder’s weight and he wrenched the Naarvian steel from its body, only to deliver a criss-cross of slashes that left its skin hanging and its heart exposed for the taking.
Wilder obliged.
And then a crack of thunder shook the whole forest.
Wilder ran for Thea. ‘Thea, stop!’ he shouted. ‘You’re like a fucking beacon to them!’