Wards
COLSAR
When he forced his eyes open again, the barrier stood only a short distance away.
Its pale surface shimmered faintly against the gray sky while rotting bodies gathered along its outer edge, their ruined hands dragging across the light with dull scraping sounds that carried through the falling snow.
None of them crossed. Whatever ancient power guarded the island still held.
Colsar tried to push himself upright. The effort sent pain spreading through him in slow waves.
Several bites along his flank had already begun to darken, the flesh swollen and hot despite the winter air.
The deeper wound across his abdomen pulled unpleasantly when he shifted, and the blood that had soaked his fur during the final stretch of the crossing had begun to stiffen against the cold.
For a time he remained where he had fallen, breathing slowly while the snow drifted down around him.
Sound reached him through the haze soon afterward.
Voices carried across the quiet hum of the wards, at first distant and indistinct and then gradually clearer as figures approached the inner side of the barrier.
Armored guards emerged from the mist of falling snow, their pale cloaks moving gently in the wind as they studied the ward line.
Their attention lingered on the restless mass of corpses clawing against the outer surface of the barrier before shifting toward the wounded creature lying just inside its protection.
Colsar tried again to rise.
His forelimbs trembled beneath him before giving way, forcing him to brace awkwardly against the frozen ground.
The movement drew the guards closer. One of them crouched near the edge of the barrier and examined the injuries along Colsar’s ribs with cautious attention, his expression changing as he took in the depth of the wounds.
“He’s been bitten,” the man said quietly.
Another guard studied the swelling flesh along Colsar’s flank and then glanced back toward the undead pressing against the wards. If the corruption spread, he was as dangerous as anything outside the wards.
Colsar lifted his head despite the dull fog creeping through his thoughts. “The princess,” he said, dragging the words through his throat. “I need the princess.” He vaguely realized there may be more than one princess. “Asharin,” he added.
The guards exchanged uncertain glances. One of them shook his head with a quiet exhale, clearly more concerned with the spreading infection than the request itself.
“You’re not speaking to the Queen Heir,” he replied. “You’re barely able to stand.”
Two of them stepped forward anyway, each taking hold of Colsar’s arms and hauling him slowly to his feet.
His hind legs struggled to support his weight once they released him, and the effort of remaining upright left him breathing heavily while the distant towers of the island city blurred together beyond the drifting snow.
He had reached it, and that single thought remained clear even as exhaustion pressed at the edges of his awareness.
They began guiding him toward the bridge that led deeper into the island city. Colsar resisted weakly for a moment, forcing the words through his throat once more in a hoarse insistence that barely rose above the wind.
“She needs to know.”
The captain of the patrol had arrived behind the others by then. His attention lingered briefly on the barrier where the undead continued their useless assault before returning to the wounded figure standing just inside the wards.
“He crossed the barrier,” one of the younger guards said quietly.
The observation shifted the mood of the group at once. The captain studied Colsar more carefully now, measuring something in his mind while the winter wind stirred the banners above the gate towers.
No outsider had ever crossed Alarna’s wards by force.
“Take him to the palace,” the captain said after a moment. “We’ll keep him below until the physicians determine whether the corruption can be contained.”
The word dungeon formed slowly through the haze clouding Colsar’s thoughts.
If they locked him away before Asharin learned he had come, she might never know how close he had been.
They began leading him across the narrow bridge toward the island city.
Colsar forced his head up as they walked, the movement slow and heavy as exhaustion pressed more insistently against him.
The city unfolded gradually before him as they passed through the outer gate, pale towers rising above terraces that overlooked the frozen water while warm lamplight shone from windows along the harbor.
The quiet order of the streets felt distant after the months he had spent crossing wastelands filled with the dead.
He barely registered any of it clearly.
His attention remained fixed on the palace rising above the inner district, its white towers visible even through the drifting snow.
Asharin was somewhere within those walls.
The guards brought him through the palace gates and into a courtyard where several more soldiers waited to meet them.
Voices passed quickly between the men as the captain explained what had happened along the ward line.
Colsar heard fragments of the exchange through the dull fog pressing against his mind.
He had come through the barrier. He had been bitten.
He needed to be taken below before the corruption spread.
Inside the palace the corridors stretched outward beneath high arches while lamplight reflected softly across the polished floors. Servants stepped quickly aside as the small escort moved through the hall, their quiet movements blending into a blur as Colsar struggled to remain upright.
Then sound reached him from deeper within the palace, many voices speaking together in the low murmur of a court in session, the noise drifting down the corridor ahead.
One of the guards swore under his breath. “We cannot take him below through the central hall.”
“Too late,” another muttered.
Their grip tightened on his arms as they pulled him forward, dragging him toward the hall that led to the throne room.