Chapter 26
Saer made it to the edge of the sparring grounds before his tunnel vision caved in, and he fell to his knees, palms digging into the crushed grass.
Panic gripped him, squeezing around his heart to the point of suffocation, a stricture he couldn’t quell.
He wanted to flee at the same time his innate pride refuted the instinct.
How could he have been made by the same creature who took away everything he was with a single look?
His heart thrummed so quickly in his chest, his breaths came so fast, he didn’t hear Runeak’s approach. If he hadn’t been scouring with his heat sense from all directions, frantic to identify threats, he’d have missed her altogether.
When Lucifer possessed Errshek, an additional heat signature had layered atop the Daemoenic. The Runeak approaching was just her. Just Runeak.
The distinction did little to calm him.
Her boots came into his view.
“You are afraid.” A sliver of satisfaction glimmered in her remark.
The declaration needled at him, and a shred of that very fright bled away. “You are observant.” His voice rasped, but managed to carry a modicum of the self-assurance he aimed for.
Wrath huffed, but Saer wasn’t foolish enough to mistake it for a laugh.
He shut his eyes and focused on slowing his breathing, the texture of the grass under his fingers, the cool wind brushing over his face. “Our maker always comes to them?”
“When they mean their oath, yes.”
“I didn’t hear any oath spoken.”
“Because you cannot hear it does not mean it did not occur.”
Of course. He’d been privy to Lucifer speaking in his mind.
“What happens if they don’t mean their oath?”
“They die.”
The insane pounding of his heart slowed between his ears. Talking helped as much as the distance between himself and Its presence, much as he loathed admitting the fact.
Runeak’s boots stepped closer, and Saer blinked his eyes open when she crouched in front of him. “You fear your own unmaking.” Not a question.
Saer couldn’t resist the impetus to argue, even though it sounded petulant to his own ears. “I have things to do.”
Errshek to kill.
“Father knows you are here, now.”
Taking in a deliberate, shaking inhale, Saer leaned back to sit on his heels so he could view Runeak’s expression. She looked ready to pounce, in her crouched position. Runeak was never prey.
“Are you saying I should run?” Saer asked.
Her calculating eyes gave nothing away. “You would be unmade already, if that were his wish.”
She was right, and he hated it.
Why hadn’t he been unmade yet? Was Lucifer biding Its time? How much longer did he have?
Why hadn’t Lucifer possessed him?
Saer turned away from Wrath, considering the implications of her words and his next best course. Finding the Twins could lead him closer to Errshek.
At his ultimate end, however, he desired to fight. Not flee. No matter how dire the circumstances. To do that, he required her experience in all forms of combat.
Saer lifted his chin towards the stores of weapons at the edge of the sparring grounds. “You said you and your men can teach me how to use those?”
Runeak’s nostrils flared as she followed Saer’s gesture.
He swore the edge of her lip twitched in a satisfied smirk.
After witnessing the blood drinker’s oath, Saer dedicated himself to long mornings on the sparring field with Runeak’s warriors.
She joined him on occasion, to assess what he learned and offer brusque, but invaluable corrections.
He focused on close and long-range weapons usage, though fine-tuned his hand-to-hand ability as well.
Saer’s combat reflexes were innate, his strength indomitable, but lacked finesse, especially with the human armaments.
While his skills did improve, he remained below Wrath’s level of expertise—though he’d never admit as much.
He could punch harder than her, anyway.
Runeak’s vampires spied by night. Her captains led troops to scout and skirmish during the day. Each side of the conflict prepared for a greater battle. With each subsequent sunrise and sunset, tension built, an escalating and dense hum of energy about the war camp.
After a grueling morning on the practice meadow, Saer stepped into Runeak’s tent to find her muttering with a handful of her leads over the central table.
Despite the persistent coolness of morning, he always went armorless—and shirtless.
The tent flap settled behind him, and Runeak made a simple gesture, dismissing the soldiers.
Each gave her a bowing nod as they made hasty exits.
Saer wiped the back of his neck with a cloth and watched the officers depart. He waited until he and Runeak stood alone before turning his focus back on the demoness leaned over her war table. “Has something changed?”
“We attack tonight.”
Saer blinked. “What moved up your timeline?”
A smoldering noise rumbled in Runeak’s chest, her gaze fixed on the figurines upon her war table. “Complications.”
“What kinds of complications?”
Runeak’s eyes darted to Saer, though not a single muscle moved on her sinewy body. The effect proved dramatic, if unsettling. “They have reinforcements.”
“Troops or Draconic?”
The demoness shook her head. “Humans but…” Runeak paused to find the right word. “Elevated.”
“Elevated.” Saer repeated the word, hoping it made more sense coming from his mouth than hers.
Runeak nodded.
Saer fought to control his irritation. “Elevated how?”
Wrath dropped her gaze to the table with a frown. “They have means of attacking and defending without weapons or armor.” She paused again, and just when Saer was about to harass her to get on with it, Runeak continued, “Invisible shields against our fire and blood, made with words and writing.”
“Words and writing?”
“You ask too many questions.”
“You’re a horrible conversationalist.”
She released a subdued snarl. “We attack tonight. It will keep them from having more time to build up their weapons and protections.” Regarding Saer for a heartbeat, she dipper her voice lower. “You should fight with us, partake in the harvest.”
Did she mean it as an olive branch? Or a test?
“You know my answer.”
Runeak nodded, giving nothing away. “Then come and witness the battlefield before you leave.”
Because curiosity overtook him, he found himself nodding in return. “That, Runeakael, I can do.”
The officers received their orders and carried them out to Runeak’s precise specifications.
With the rest of the day, the encampment readied to march, saddling horses, reinforcing armor, and sharpening blades.
Torches were gathered by the hundreds to provide their leader with the strength she required for slaughter.
The blood drinkers rose from their shaded dwellings after the sun exhaled its last breath of light.
Runeak’s army numbered in the thousands, but her vampiric cohort made up barely one hundred of the count.
They would follow along the outsides of the marching army, away from the fire which held the potential to immolate them like so much kindling.
Tasked with blending into the shadows, they would attack the opposition, eliminating any of their enemy’s scouts.
The moon hung as a sliver in the sky, the night dark and forgiving of their movements.
Runeak’s soldiers began their march after dusk with instructions to refrain from uttering a single word to one another, even a whisper, while carrying unlit torches.
Through the dusk and well into dark, they traveled with their leader near the front next to Saer, each astride their respective mounts.
The war band circumnavigated the opposition’s encampment hours later to a vantage point on an overlooking hill.
Half the troops were commanded to stay back amongst the foliage while Runeak and Saer went forth to scout and confirm the state of the base.
Captains directed the other half to slink to the opposite side of the encampment for a flanked attack, if they could make it without being discovered.
The Daemoenica gazed upon the temporary dwelling from high above, covered in shadows and perched on their horses. Fires flickered between the tents. The opposition’s guards scouted the perimeter.
“Do these enhanced humans look different from the others?”
Coal eyes scanning, Runeak answered, “No.”
“You won’t know if they’re shielded until you’ve attacked them?”
“They can shield other creatures and items as well as themselves.” Wrath’s reply came short and carried a hint of impatience.
“So, no,” Saer answered, just as annoyed.
Runeak shot him a cold glance before returning her attention to the base.
“Do you miss Neyu?” Saer asked.
“What?” If she’d sounded irritated before, this time Runeak turned hostile.
“I believe I spoke plainly enough.”
The muscles in her jaw and neck tensed as Runeak turned the full weight of her glare on him. “Yes, Eldest, I miss Neyu.”
Saer noticed she spoke Neyu’s name softer, with reverence. He didn’t have much knowledge of the relationships between his kin, but truth carried in the statement. Even with the undercurrent of anger, he sensed twinges of pain and grief. “Then I ask you to come with me once this battle is finished.”
Runeak shook her head. “No.”
Just then, an alarmed cry, unmistakable, rose from the enemy base. More fires lit below. A flurry of activity erupted. On the other end of the encampment, Runeak’s army rushed forward.
The battle had begun.
Wrath turned and shouted behind, signaling the rest of her soldiers forward. Torches of Runeak’s army ignited in quick order, the entirety of the force—near and far—lighting up as though they stood back in the Hells.
She made a motion to dismount when Saer’s hand darted forward and grasped her elbow. Snarling, Runeak returned her attention to him.
“Don’t you desire vengeance, Runeakael?”
Runeak replied with a meaningful growl, “I have taken what vengeance I can.”