5. Mare
Mare
The haunting song, the painful wail that heralded Galasvar's demise, hummed in my ears. The dragon's throat warbled—this creature sang our dirge.
I closed my eyes and felt its teeth brush my cheek. But either death was swift, or it did not come.
Peeling, my eyes open, I saw the beast rear its head. Its double wings spread wide, covering the square in their black veil. The song changed. The steady hum became frantic, pulsing beats—sharp notes that stung like lashes in my ears.
Then it stopped. The hum returned, and the dragon lowered its wings. The claws pinning me down lifted. I propped myself up on my elbows, barely able to breathe.
Dipping its head, the beast nuzzled my cheek gently.
My lungs seized. The weight in the dragon's eyeless glare shifted—from death to acceptance. Recognition. It tilted its head, regarding me like an old friend.
Carefully stepping off me, the dragon backed up before taking off into the skies. Wind and dust blew over me from the force of its ascent. I could see it until it escaped the torchlight and returned to the shadows, becoming one with the night.
The monsters surrounding us moved at once. Panic restarted my heart, my lungs. Dragging in ragged breaths, I searched for Liam and found him collapsed a few paces away.
I crawled to his body and curled myself around it like a shield.
My protection was unwarranted. The monsters marched past us, as if we did not exist at all.
Shaking, I lifted myself off my brother. Liam carefully rose, wounded arm tucked against his chest. He watched the procession with a mix of relief and horror.
"Were you playing dead?" I breathed.
"Figured I might as well try," he whispered back, voice weak.
It shouldn't have worked. When beasts crossed the border into our lands, they killed with precision, like a pack of wolves hunting their prey. It took an entire unit of men to bring one down.
They had spared Liam by choice.
We fell silent, eyes glued to the shadows stalking away. Dark wings covered the sky as the vultures and dragons ascended. They flew south, into shadow. Back whence they'd come.
Slowly, the hum faded away, leaving the dying town in a noiseless grave.
"Killian," I gasped, rising to my feet.
"Mare, wait—" Liam protested, reaching for me.
I slipped from his grip and ran back to the square where we'd left the Paragon behind. The remains of a massacre awaited me.
The stench of burned flesh and fur choked the air. Dead monsters—piles of charred darkness—littered every corner. Stumbling over the bodies of men and beasts, I found what I sought.
And my heart sank.
Silver armor, splattered with blood, shone in the dying light of the stars. Kneeling beside the Paragon's body, I rolled him over. The blood wasn't his. His armor was unbroken; no wounds tore his flesh.
Throbbing purple veins covered his face and trailed through his neck. The shadows hadn't bested Killian. He'd overextended—used every ounce of his magic, of his life, to keep us safe.
I sat back on my heels, staring at the disfigured face of a Paragon. Of a man who'd been alive mere minutes ago.
Paragons did not die often. Most only relinquished their titles when old age arrived to claim them.
Silence was all that remained. The sound, or lack thereof, was so unnatural, so wrong, I knew in my heart nothing else lived in this place.
Liam and I were the only survivors.
A gentle thrumming broke the hush. My eyes flicked to the black blade lying at Killian's side.
It had fallen dull. No longer did it shimmer with violet light. But I swore I'd seen the metal tremble, if only for a moment.
A footfall startled me from my thoughts. Liam limped to my side. His pale green eyes swept over the scene.
"Mare . . . " His voice cracked. "We have to get away from here."
"Away?" I echoed.
An unspoken question lingered between us. Neither of us voiced it.
Why had we lived?
The blade thrummed again.
I couldn't drag a man's body across the countryside, but I could carry his blade. Paragon weapons had been the pride of the Empire for centuries. I could not risk one getting destroyed or lost.
Taken by the darkness.
Reaching out, I grasped the hilt and dragged the heavy steel toward me. Flashes pulsed behind my eyes. Of the death, the blood . . .
and the way that dragon had looked at me, before sparing my life.
Wrapping both hands around the blade, I drew it into my lap. "Liam," I said, barely a whisper.
"He . . . " Liam swallowed. "He protected us. Made sure someone survived."
I glared at him, and he met my gaze with equal intensity.
If anyone—anyone—learned the shadowspawn had spared us, we would be condemned.
A pyre would await us if the fates were kind.
If they were not . . .
"Mare," Liam repeated, grabbing my shoulder. "Please."
His fingers dug into my skin. Pleading. Terrified.
I rose, carrying the blade with me. My eyes first fell upon the fallen Paragon before rising to the horizon.
A black pall spread across the sky, across the border of Ceortha. The army of monsters had emerged from its bounds, and just as quickly, slipped back into its embrace.
Since its inception nearly a thousand years ago, the church has spoken of a great tide of shadow left behind by the gods: a test, a trial. So long as it poisoned our world, eternal night would reign, and the light would never return.
Nobody remembered what light was supposed to look like. Ceortha had proven insurmountable. Early incursions into its depths to chart its territory had failed. Over, and over.
One day, it would swell, the priests said, like an ocean tide burying the beach. At its head, the source of our woes—of evil—would arrive, though it would not appear so.
The harbinger of darkness. The last enemy standing in the way of our lost god.
Surrounded by the viscera of the dead, I recalled the way the dragon had looked upon me. The way it had nuzzled my face—the way a dog might its master’s. The way every monster had avoided me, spared me.
Gods . . . Tirnanog had vanished after my birth. I’d always considered it a mere coincidence, but what if I’d been the cause? What if, blind and oblivious, I’d carried a curse within my breast all these years?
The creature that would herald our end . . . was it me?