Chapter 50 | Sephania
Sephania
I take my troop of hard-fighting citizens east of the cathedral hill, to our right, aiming to cut off the retreat of the humans scampering across the backlit ridge. Nerves are frayed, everyone is tired and blood-spattered, eager to see the faces of their loved ones again.
Lukain and his Grimsons launch west, to find the Nuhavians running in that direction. Together, our army encircles the hill, attempting to sever any chance of escape for our infernal enemies.
As we barrel through dilapidated roads and crumbling architecture, I glance northward to the hill and see a vicious knot of fighting taking place.
Silverknights glitter in the moonlight, blades flashing.
Dark shapes join the fray—black-clad specters moving gracefully, attacking the green-robed Faith Ward bloodsuckers.
I spy Lady Helget ripping into a squishy Buver with her bare claws, rending out its heart with a swipe through the chest, before moving onto the next while voicing a shrill battle-cry. Her three mates surround her, swords drawn, creating an impenetrable wall of flesh, steel, and teeth.
Good, I think, with the wind tickling my face as I veer back into the fog, seems we have the north sectioned off as well. Our reinforcements have arrived.
Through the thick eerie mist, I hear sounds of fighting up ahead. Grunting, wailing, ripping flesh. Cries and . . . blasts? That certainly sounds like stones crashing together.
A rush of heat wafts against my face, blowing my hair about. I pull up short and tighten my grip on my swords, as an army of boots thuds the cobbles near me. “Ready yourselves!” I shout to them.
We burst through the mist—
And find Vallan Stellos arcing another explosive through the sky, launching it at a building crawling with vampires. The explosions stuns us all, a momentary freeze for a heartbeat before the boom rocks us on our heels.
The structure collapses in on itself, the second story falling into the first.
Vallan’s axe comes out next. He charges in wordlessly, soundlessly, swiping left and right as he makes his way through the smoking ruins of the building.
I can only see him through the windows, as the massive vampire falls into his bloodrage.
His attacks are so powerful he sends bloodsuckers flying through the smoke-clogged air left and right as he cleaves through them.
Body parts sail, blood rains down all around him.
Vall is joined by Tymon Aldion’s treasonous rebels, the bloodies who believed in Skar’s revolution. He has the situation well in hand, so I rush past the building and move to the next—
Where I see a small human body being pushed into the front door. I let out an involuntary gasp and shout, “There! Focus there!”
Garroway, who is the only mate still with me at the moment, yells my command louder so all the humans can hear me through the chaos of the war zone.
We make our way over just as Faith Warders stumble into view around the sides of the house, seething and baring dripping fangs at us, trying to bar our path.
My swords rasp as I take off one vampire’s hands at the wrists, the bastard trying to reach too closely to me.
It screeches and whines, while Garro runs in and jabs his daggers into its heart.
He slides the body away and spins to the next, backhand stabbing it through the skull, straight into its melted brain.
I’m right behind him, gritting my teeth, hearing the Green Road butcher and other humans rip into the vampires with their farming tools, their spears, their rakes, their shovels.
They’re doing as much to prevent any vampire from getting too close to me as anyone else, and it creates a tunnel of space for me to charge into the building.
There, in the main room, three vampires wait, holding the line while a man behind them ushers younglings onto a stairwell that leads down into the house’s basement. Likely to a tunnel beyond that will lead them out of the Faith Ward.
I won’t let that happen.
The man ushering the Nuhavian hostages wears a dingy white robe of the Truehearts, and my heart squeezes at the sight of his betrayal to his own kind.
As I kick the door off its hinges and rush in to take down the vampires between us, he spins round with a shocked look on his young face. “You shouldn’t have come down here, Hellwhore!” he screeches, rushing forward with a dagger in hand.
My eyes dance past him, to a girl’s head jutting out from the floorboards, peeking over at the last moment before he closes the board over her with a thunk. There’s a glint of glass reflecting from her face—spectacles.
Imis! My mind screams, because I can think of no other who would be wearing protective eyewear.
I want to keep this man alive, interrogate him, and then flay the skin from his body.
But keeping him alive will be difficult, because as he runs awkwardly past the vampire faithful in front of him, one of them lashes out and snaps her jaws around his neck.
The priest’s valiant wailing turns into a wet gurgle as his artery sprays blood across the wooden floorboards and he collapses from the weight of the vampire on him. His legs start to twitch. His eyes widen, grow even larger, and then go sightless as his squirming and twitching ceases.
There’s a sick slurping sound from the hungry vampire hovering over him. They’ve been trained not to let any human priests fall into our hands, I think sourly. “Shouldn’t have trusted the Damned,” I mutter, and then behead the vampire feasting on him before it can look up at me.
I make quick work of the other two with Garro, using my shortsword in the tight confines of the room, while Garroway is in his natural habitat with his daggers.
Once they’re dispatched, I growl and lift the loose floorboard, tossing it aside.
Five humans of various age stare up at me in awe. The first I see is Imis, with her arm draped over the younger boy Skent in a firm gesture, like a big sister protecting a defenseless younger brother.
There’s pain in my heart, a squeezing that nearly brings me to my knees. I’ve been wading through this hellish swamp of battle for hours now, and to finally see grimy human faces staring back at me makes my eyes burn with tears. “Imis! Are you hale?!” I cry out.
She nods wordlessly, tears streaming down her face. Her chin trembles. Garroway kneels and helps the humans out of the basement, checking for vampire bites along the way.
There’s a swift reunion in the ramshackle house that’s barely being held up by sticks and prayers. Human fathers and mothers—fighters in my rebellion—wrap their arms around the loved ones who were stolen so viciously away from them.
If nothing else, I feel this night is a victory because we’ve reunited some of the Nuhavians with their families. There are still more humans out there being kept hostage in this massive ward, but something tells me our time is running short.
When I make it outside into the cold night, swiping sweat from my forehead, I’m confirmed of that fact.
A familiar face appears through the thinning fog, a sickly green color cast across her face from a nearby lamppost, highlighting the deep scar on her cheek.
“Zefyra!” I yell, and we embrace swiftly.
“I come as a forward scout to Aramastun’s army, Sephania.” She sheathes her sword. “The Night Judge is not with the army, but their ranks are about to sweep across this ward from the west, in their thousands.”
“Then we’d best get going, as planned,” Garro says.
“Any idea where Aramastun is?” I ask.
Zefyra shakes her head. “No clue. He’s sneaky like that.”
Before I can ponder that too deeply, Vallan storms over, behind Garroway.
His dark armor is lathered with dust, blood, and what I grimly think looks like bone fragments.
He takes a moment to dust off his broad shoulders and cloak with his gloved hands.
“Cleared most the buildings eastward. Stopped tossing explosives when I realized humans had come this way. We recovered twelve living Nuhavians, as well as five bodies.”
I grimace, nodding curtly, wondering if those bodies came as a result of his lobbed explosives.
He can read my expression as well as anyone. “Five bodies killed from vampires when they saw us coming, silverblood,” he says pointedly.
I wish I could say it’s a small relief. But their mode of death doesn’t matter. They’re still dead, which means families I brought here to fight will return home hopeless, lost, and without their family members.
“We need to sound the alarm for a retreat,” I tell my group of leadership. “Sister Zefyra, thank you for the intelligence. You’d best get back to your unit before they realize you’re gone.”
She breaks into a bow and rushes off into the fog.
Garroway says, “I know where the tunnels are located—the same ones the Truehearts used to bring the hostages into the Faith Ward. We can funnel the army through there, continuing east and south, and pop out at the base of the Olhavian Peaks. Should let us circle Aramastun’s army before they even realize we’re back in Nuhav. ”
“Splendid,” I say, turning toward the cathedral hill. The fighting there has slowed. It seems like the vampires are beginning to retreat against the onslaught of Silverknights and bloodsucker rebels at Helget’s command.
Silverknights and vampires fighting together. Never thought I’d see the day. I know the truce is only temporary. They will be enemies again before long. But for a single night, a girl can dream. And admire.
Piercing howls jolt my system, coming from all around the Faith Ward, in every direction. They are the kind of bloodcurdling wails that come from a broken heart or a sudden death in the family. Soul-rending, ear-piercing, body-shuddering.
I glance with wide eyes at my mates. They shrug, just as confused. On the hill, many of the remaining enemy vampires are grabbing their skulls, widening their maws, crying out to the heavens. It makes them easy targets for the Silverknights to finish off.