Chapter 56
VARIDIAN
Mak was unconscious for the entire journey from the bloodied plain in Woodsurn back through the trees and into the dense, tree covered hills of Willow Green.
It was far from ideal, and there were few clearings in which to land our aerial legions, but that made it harder for the Zalaam army to launch an attack here, too.
The wyverns who still had strength carried our injured mounts strapped to their backs or chests, and carts rattled over the uneven ground, carrying wounded riders and warriors.
Any magic users with power left remained on the hill overlooking that plain, pelting the enemy to allow us time to get under the treeline’s cover.
It wasn’t an easy retreat. Was barely a successful one; until we passed the dusty road and entered the woods, we were vulnerable to attacks from above. Our shields were weak enough that wyvernfyre tore through them like burnt paper.
By the time we reached the makeshift camp that had been hastily thrown up ahead of us, the medic’s lane among them, we’d lost fifty more fighters.
The number that remained was nowhere remotely near what the Zalaam army boasted.
Even with ancient relics, legendary swords, and magic, we were guaranteed a certain defeat.
I slumped onto the ground, leaning back against a tree trunk with roots on either side of me, and I resisted the urge to drop my head into my hands.
They were watching—our legions, our warriors, even the other commanders.
They no longer eyed me suspiciously as if I’d turn on them.
This battle, if nothing else, had assured them I was one of them even if I bore the lightning soul.
Once more a valued warrior of the Ithanysian army.
So, I could appear tired, and bloody, and angry, but never beaten.
I was their prince, even disgraced and disowned, and I had to keep my head high.
Had to give the appearance that this was a mere blip, not a crushing loss.
Yet… my bonded wyvern was unconscious, patched together but looking at weeks of tentative recovery.
My wife was still in the fortress, sundering that gate so more enemies didn’t creep up on our vulnerable backs.
And I didn’t see a way out—of the war, of the future where we all were forced to bow to a dark queen.
I glanced up when a shadow fell down beside me, grunting loudly.
It was a sound of exhaustion and pain that spoke to the ache in my bones, the thump through my thigh, my ribs, and the droning noise inside my skull.
My ears hadn’t stopped ringing yet. The adrenaline spiking through my system hadn’t yet left.
I couldn’t stop seeing Kamila, her eyes bright as she looked at me and Mak.
Seconds later, her head was ripped off her neck by the wyvern.
I scrubbed my hand down my face once—all I’d allow myself with so many eyes on me, looking for strength and reassurance.
“Saif ripped a wyvern’s eye out,” Shula said in greeting, her voice gruff with exhaustion. “He’s wearing it on his wing claw like a piece of fucking jewellery, and refuses to take it off.”
A smile twitched in the corner of my mouth. “God forbid a man make a fashion statement.”
She knocked her shoulder into mine, ignoring my choked sound of pain. “Still alive, then?”
“Yep. You?”
She peered down at herself. “Looks like it. Oh, look, it’s a bog monster.”
I startled, my brain so slow I honestly braced for a whole new attack from a bog monster, despite there being no bogs, marshes, or swamps this side of the wall. I barked a true laugh when I saw the man staggering over to us, covered head to toe in mud.
“Shut the fuck up,” Zaarib snapped, canines bared. “Dahab took a knock to the thigh when he was landing and dropped me in the fucking dirt.”
“Did you break anything?” I demanded, all levity fading.
“No.” Zaarib sighed, slumping to the ground beside us, stretching out one leg in front of himself. “Felt the impact all the way to my balls, though, and the muscles in my leg are probably fucked.”
“There, there.” Shula patted his dirty shoulder. “I know how upsetting it must be. The first sensation those balls have had in months, and it was mud that gave you a little tingle.”
He snarled, snapping his teeth at her, and I sat back against the tree, smiling.
“Where’s Aliah?” Shula asked once she’d wiped the maddening little smile from her face. “I lost sight of her hours ago.”
“Bet she stayed back to allow the stragglers to get to safety,” Zaarib said, massaging his calf. “Last I saw, she still had plenty of aether left.”
That didn’t stop the twinge of worry in my chest. Another one of us, separated.
Shula’s stare focused on me, and she weighed my expression. “What is it?”
“Mak got gutted.” My voice emerged low, strangled no matter how I tried to smooth it. “Barely made it to the healers in time. If it wasn’t for Emmahin, we’d both be dead.”
“Shit,” Shula breathed, dragging a hand through her dirty hair. “Shit.”
“Where are the Torn Isle lot now?” Zaarib asked, scanning the space between the trees where our warriors sat, empty-eyed or laughing raucously to keep the darkness at bay as people began to hand out metal cups of a steaming liquid.
“Fuck knows,” I muttered, resisting the urge to rub my face again.
Rapid footsteps made everyone’s heads lift, no matter how deep exhaustion drilled into our bones.
Warriors hauled tired bones to their feet and took up their weapons again, and I did the same.
But it wasn’t a black-eyed Zalaam soldier who burst into view; it was a woman in her forties with bloodstained green leathers and a white strip around her arm, shouting warnings.
It took a while for the words to make sense, and then my stomach dropped.
“Tigers,” she yelled. “Tigers riding from the wall.”
“Great, just what we need,” Zaarib muttered.
“They have harpoons and catapults,” the messenger shouted, sprinting closer.
“Oh good, it gets worse,” Shula sighed.
“And a battalion a hundred thousand strong.”
“Fuck,” I groaned, and finally gave in to the urge to bury my head in my hand.
“A legion of wyverns flies above them.”
The three of us exchanged a tired look. So there were yet more wyverns. The swarm we’d fought wasn't even the full extent of it.
My chest crushed as pressure built, painful and deep. These were our final hours. There would be no second battle, only a very brief stand that would slaughter all of us left.
“The princess flies at the head of their formation,” the scout yelled.
“The princess,” I repeated, frowning at Shula and Zaarib.
“Whose?” Shula shouted, her booming voice carrying over other cries for information. “Whose princess?”
The messenger didn’t slow, racing past us, but she did look over her shoulder to say, “Our princess. A-lalla Mihrunnisa Saber rides with them. She found us allies.”