8 War Cries
War Cries
The sky was streaked with crimson and indigo as the three riders burst from the forest. They galloped ahead of the creeping shadows, the sun’s last rays slipping behind the mountain peaks, taking Amrien’s protection with them.
A screech echoed from behind.
Vaelira bent low over Millie’s neck, urging the mare faster. Hooves pounded against the road, kicking up dirt and rock, each strike in rhythm with her hammering heart. Far ahead, along the base of the mountains, torches flickered to life, tiny pinpricks of orange in the gloom.
“Faster!” Jurah shouted. There was the sound of steel being freed from a scabbard. “Go!”
Vaelira turned in the saddle. Jurah had wheeled his horse around, his sword raised as he charged back towards the forest.
Ahead of her, Eli slowed. The sunset bathed his back in gold. “Ride ahead!” he called, turning to follow Jurah into the shadows.
Her mind raced. They were buying her time to escape, but if it hadn’t been for her, they would be safe behind the gates of Allen by now.
She hauled Millie to a stop, unslung her bow, and turned. She kicked the mare hard, drawing an arrow in the same breath, before galloping straight towards whatever creature had decided to brave the dusk.
As she neared them, a dark shape took form. Crouching low to the ground, the demon snarled, snapping as the two men circled. It was worse than anything she could have imagined. Its maw gaped open, its rows of razor-sharp teeth slick with black drool that slid over its lipless mouth.
It lunged for Eli’s horse, jaws snapping with a reverberating THUNK like an axe blade on wood. The horse didn’t flinch.
The demon lashed out again, claws slicing the air.
Vaelira loosed her arrow. The shaft drove into a black eye with a wet thud. Its head snapped towards her, the arrow protruding from the socket. It shrieked deafeningly and charged.
Millie reared with a wild scream, lashing out with her front hooves. Vaelira’s bow fell to the ground as she clung onto the saddle, the mare landing hard. There was a sickening crunch.
The creature collapsed beneath them, skull caved in, its four limbs twitching violently. Its long talons clawed the earth, attempting to drag its ruined body towards her. Millie stepped backwards into the last slither of light, the sun a deep red glow over the mountain ridge.
Jurah dismounted, his blade swinging down and slicing through the thick flesh and bone of the demon’s neck. It went still. Its body shifted slightly, like black sand under the tide, then it was ash, floating away on the wind.
A shriek sounded from the forest.
Another answered from the mountains.
Soon the air was filled with the unearthly war cries of demons closing in from all sides.
Vaelira’s eyes streamed as they thundered towards the towering gates of Allen. The shrieking of the demons was relentless, each overlapping the other to make a single, sickening scream. She imagined black talons piercing the skin of her back, teeth ripping into Millie’s flanks.
Jurah surged ahead, his voice booming. “In the name of His Royal Highness, open the gates!” he bellowed. “Open the gates!”
The great doors groaned open. Too slowly. They were going to ride straight into them.
Jurah kept his pace and Vaelira could do nothing but surrender the reins as Millie followed, the mare just as aware of the imminent threat as her rider. They shot through the narrow gap, knees almost brushing the gates as they barrelled into a large courtyard.
“What in the Abyss were you thinking?” Eli demanded, reining his horse to a sudden stop and dismounting.
Millie shifted as he approached. Vaelira looked to the gates, the threat outside worrying her more than the one bearing down on her, but they were already shut, and salts, they were at least twice the height of Anhaven’s.
Jurah rode up and swung down, planting himself between her and Eli.
“People are watching,” he said, a warning in his voice.
Eli stilled, his jaw clenching as he glanced at the curious faces gathering in the courtyard. Behind him, a second pair of gates swung open, revealing a torchlit road winding between buildings. A man in a sweeping robe descended the stairs, slightly out of breath and leaning on a thin cane.
“I’ll handle this,” said Jurah, hurrying to intercept the newcomer.
Vaelira dismounted, flinching as her boots echoed off the hard ground. She let a hand rest on Millie’s flank and squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on steadying her breath as the all too familiar panic swelled.
Eli exhaled sharply. She found him glaring at her, his mouth pressed into a thin line. They’d be discussing this later then.
Jurah and the man spoke in hushed voices. The man’s long grey hair swept over his shoulders, his eyes darting between Jurah and where she stood with Eli. After a final nod, the man disappeared back through the inner gates and Jurah rejoined them.
“Leave the horses here. They will be taken to the stables,” he said. “Our things will be brought to our rooms.”
“Who was that?” Vaelira asked, trying to keep her tone even as blood thrummed in her ears.
“Lord Laudous Tilbrooke,” Eli said, his voice still hard. “Lord of Allen and third cousin to the King.”
“Quite a mouthful.”
Eli snorted and walked towards the town’s inner gate, not waiting for them to follow.
Lamps hung from high posts on either side of the cobbled road, casting their way in warm light.
Vaelira gazed in wonder at the two-story homes lined on either side of them.
All of them were attached, like one impossibly long building carved into neat sections.
In Anhaven, the only two-story structure was the barracks, if you didn’t count the wall.
The sheer size of Allen was unlike anything she had seen before.
They saw only guards as they walked, and Vaelira wondered if the town had a curfew in place. Such measures had been taken in Anhaven before, but usually only when there had been a breach in the wall, and as far as she could tell, these walls were the most secure in all of Eastvale.
Eventually, the rows of homes broke to reveal a meticulously manicured garden surrounding a large house, an iron fence and matching gate separating it from the street.
Eli pushed the gate, and it swung open on silent hinges. He climbed the front steps without looking back.
Vaelira stared up at the giant house. It was almost as large as the barracks back in Anhaven.
“It’s mine,” Jurah said, giving a sheepish smile.
Vaelira narrowed her eyes at him.
“Sometimes the capital gets too hectic. Even for me.”
Vaelira stepped into a grand entrance hall.
The walls were built from massive blocks of whitewashed stone, the crystals from the ornate chandelier casting light from high above.
An impossibly wide, cream and red-carpeted staircase rose ahead, splitting at the midpoint and curling back on itself as it ascended to the upper floor.
She looked down at her filthy boots, at the polished floor of smooth white tiles. She glanced at Jurah, relieved to find his boots just as dirty.
On either side of the hall, closed double doors muffled the sounds of quiet movement.
“It’s the staff,” Jurah said. “Come, I’ll show you to your room.”
They’d be leaving at first light, yet staff were preparing rooms for them. The Lord Commander of the Royal Guard must be more important than she’d realised.
She eyed him suspiciously as he ascended the staircase. She grimaced at the traces of dirt he was leaving behind. He looked over his shoulder, gave her a guilty smile, and jerked his head for her to follow.
He led her down wide hallways carpeted the same as the stairs, crimson swirls running through the cream. The panelled walls were covered in intricate patterns of soft greens and gold, large paintings covering the upper half and reaching almost to the ceiling.
Jurah stopped in front of a set of double doors with polished gold handles, then pushed them open.
The bedroom was larger than any she’d seen. In fact, it was larger than her entire cottage. Jurah ducked out after showing her which door led to the washroom, an amused smile on his face as she stared slack-jawed at the sheer scale of it all.
An enormous bed dominated the room. Four polished posts of dark wood stood at each corner, pale blue curtains hanging from the carved canopy above.
The wall was painted a deeper indigo, with delicate flowers that snaked their way from the floor and up the walls, tapering off before they reached the ceiling.
Cream curtains stood drawn across the windows, the fabric so thick it blocked out any torchlight beyond.
She shook her head slowly, as if the movement might help her make sense of it all.
But nothing could make sense of this. If this is what the Commander of the Royal Guard called a second home, she could hardly imagine the salary that came with the title.
He wasn’t even the highest-ranking Commander in Eastvale.
That honour was reserved for Commander of the King’s Guard.
She had known Caerthalyn was a city of wealth, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined.
Shaking her head in disbelief, she removed her boots and left them by the door. The rest of her clothes followed. She locked the door with the twist of a heavy key and padded barefoot across the plush carpet to the washroom, only to come to a stop again.
A gleaming white bathtub stood against the wall.
An elegantly curved polished copper pipe arched over its rim.
Above that, a lever. She pushed it. There was a gurgle, then a rush of water.
She jumped back, peering down. The water drained out of a hole in the bottom.
She found a stopper and pushed it into place, watching as the tub began to fill.
It was incredible, and far more efficient than heating one pail at a time over the fire.