31. Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Erix
Alza did not slow as we barreled into the outer ring of tents, but even with eyes watering from the wind of our flight, I could tell the encampment was hanging on by a thread.
Tents were half collapsed and hastily erected.
Horses and hunting dogs had dull fur, where they were so often cared for even before the humans.
I crashed into the center of the encampment to a chorus of shouts.
Lord Koen was already emerging from his tent, as if he expected my approach—perhaps he had.
Right on his heels, with braids swinging and eyes wide, was Neven.
Seeing him sent a jolt of both relief and apprehension through me—he had barely recovered from his ordeal when I left him, but here he was seeming relatively safe and whole. Yet Aderyn…
“Erix!” he exclaimed before a horrified look crossed his face. “The others—”
“Are safe. But they need help if they are to remain so.”
As I spoke Lord Noc and Vidar emerged from their tents as well.
I barely waited for them, telling them of how Keera led the other clans against the army and diving into the explanation of our battle—how the riders could attack from the rear to claim the oasis while the army was distracted, enveloping Viltov’s forces.
Lord Noc only frowned, while Lord Koen’s expression grew grim.
“We’re not in a position to attack,” Koen said. “Viltov has harried us for weeks, and our riders are tired or injured. We’ve only survived by evading them in the desert, but our supplies have grown thin, and the warriors are thirsty and tired.”
Frustration burned in my chest, hissing and spitting like a growing fire. It was fed by the sudden feeling pouring down the bond and flooding my skull: The call of battle from Keera. She was charging into danger, and I was not at her side.
I had promised I would meet her there with my own forces in tow, but I would fight across the battlefield by myself if I had to.
“They will only grow thirstier and more tired if we do not take the oasis,” I urged. “Do not let riders of the other clans die for nothing.”
Lord Noc opened his mouth as if to argue.
“We will fight.”
Shock washed over me as the interruption came from Neven.
“The man who has encouraged us to retreat and wants peace more than anything now calls for war when we are barely standing?” Koen asked, his tone full of surprise, but not argument.
“Retreating isn’t about avoiding the battle; it’s about waiting for the moment that gives you the biggest advantage in a fight. And right now, with our friends—our families—risking their lives? That moment is here, and we must seize it before it is too late,” Neven spoke, gesticulating widely.
Lord Noc narrowed his eyes at him, his tone far more derisive than Lord Koen’s had been. “Wise words for a weaver.”
“I may have picked up a thing or two in all my years of tailoring dresses for a queen,” Neven deflected. “But I doubt a lord would appreciate his people knowing that a weaver would choose to fight when he would not.”
If the rush of battle in my chest from Keera hadn’t stolen half my attention, leaving me half praying to the desert that she would be all right long enough for these clans to muster an attack, I might have laughed. Neven had quickly outmaneuvered the lord, for he was right.
The Clans respected strength, and now was the time for the lords to show what metal they were made of.
“Muster every rider who can still hold a sword,” Lord Koen declared. “Today we will claim the water we desperately need, and if we cannot, then at least the desert will drink our blood so that some thirst might be quenched.”
I nodded sharply at him.
The camp sprang into action, the riders quick to arm themselves after days of retreats and skirmishes. The warriors might have looked tired, their swords scratched and dented, but I recognized the grim determination in their eyes.
“We must approach quickly, while the soldiers are distracted. Their camp at the oasis will only have the barest of defenses while the army is engaged with the other clans,” I instructed the lords. “We will slip in and take the water before charging at their lines from behind.”
“And if the distraction of the charge does not work?”
“Then we will still only have half an army to contend with, instead of their full forces.”
The faces of the assembled riders were grim, and there were less than half as many as I hoped, but there was no time to wait for more—and there may be no more to be had.
To my surprise, Neven mounted up on Cail’s back, bearing a sword I had never seen him carry before.
I pressed my lips together. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aderyn returning to find her husband injured in battle—or worse—after she had been so desperate to get to him in time.
We weren’t too late yet, and he was not the warrior she was.
I opened my mouth, but Neven cut me off.
“You told me that my wife is fighting in that battle. I will not be kept from her,” he declared. “I may have found a new home away from the clans, choosing a life of creating rather than destroying. But I was raised among them, and I know when it is time to draw your blade.”
I snapped my mouth shut. I would not let the word of any man—high lord or not—keep me from fighting toward my own wife. And I thought of the growing swell of Aderyn’s belly. Neven had created something that he didn’t even know of yet. Perhaps one of his most beautiful creations of all.
I almost told him of his child, but I swallowed the words down, instead replacing them with a silent vow that they would both survive to reunite, and Aderyn would share the news herself.
Neven nodded to me, and I nodded back. I would see them both safely through this battle.
As Neven melted into the assembled riders, I lifted my fist to the sky before them, drawing their attention. I may no longer be The Viper some of them recognized, but when I had shed that skin, I had allowed myself room to grow into something more. Something better.
Fear threatened to leak in that it may still not be enough, but I pushed it away. My doubts did not matter. I must be the leader these people needed or the life of every last soul in the desert would be lost—either by the swords of Viltov or the desert’s fury.
“We will ride quickly and quietly. We will not be able to avoid being seen, but if any archers among you have a shot at their lookouts, take it before they have a chance to raise the alarm. If we can catch them before they form ranks, our horses will trample them.” Alza pranced and tossed her head at these words, as if indicating she too were ready for battle.
I saw the handful of riders with bows checking their strings and selecting their arrows. I drew my sword.
“Now ride, and fight until we meet our brethren on a field of our fallen enemies!”
We set out, a long train of riders armed to the teeth and ready for a raid. This is how the clans of the desert fought—quick and lethal raids with little warning and unmatched ferocity. Calix could hide behind the shining lines of his army all he wanted. We would find a way through.
The shape of Viltov’s camp appeared on the horizon. Tents were clustered between palm trees, surrounding the glittering pool of the oasis—likely the only water source for miles. We needed to capture it if we were to survive.
What drew my eye though, was the cloud of dust beyond it. Battle raged, turning the peace of the wilderness into chaos. Even from this distance, the clashes and screams carried through the hot air.
Keera was in the middle of that chaos. The string in the base of my skull tugged me toward her, as if it tried to bind us together, but I shook my head. She had left me with the task of capturing the oasis, and when I met her on the battlefield, it would be with that victory in hand.
There was a scurry of movement in the camp ahead. Individual forms started to become visible as we barreled closer. A soldier on the closest edge spotted our approaching line, his posture immediately stiffening.
Before I could shout an order to one of the riders or let the magic rise in my chest, Lord Vidar who rode off my shoulder nocked an arrow and let it fly.
It whizzed past my ear with a penetrating hiss and arced impossibly far across the distance between us.
Even as the thrill of the charge thundered through my chest and the knowledge of the battle in the distance made every inch of my body buzz, a bolt of admiration shot through me.
The lords of the desert were not to be trifled with.
Then we were only fifty meters from the edge of their camp and closing fast. The small guard that had been left behind could hear our approach now, and scrambling broke through the camp as they rushed for weapons. But it was too late to form lines.
We were only twenty meters away. Ten.
I raised my newly forged sword into the air, but before it could drop, lightning split a cloudless sky.
The crack of thunder echoed through my chest loudly enough I thought I had been struck.
But my arm fell unhindered toward my first opponent as the fibers of power pulled taut around me.
The earthy, metallic smell of magic filled my senses as we crashed through the camp, cutting down all in our path.
I roared with the rush of battle and the realization that the desperate rush of magic had come from Keera. Frantically clinging onto the tether between us, I crashed through the camp. As long as I could hold on to that, I would know she still lived.
And no matter what happened, I would not sever that bond again.
The stifling heat of the air and the blinding light of the sun seared through me as if matching the intensity of the fighting—the desert contributing her fury.
My sword rose and fell, coated with blood in a matter of moments, but my arm did not tire.
Maybe it was that the blade was so much lighter and more balanced after being reforged—or perhaps physical discomfort did not concern me anymore.
Only retaking the water and leading the riders to meet the other clans.
Tents burst into flames around me as riders fired flaming arrows, decimating Viltov’s supplies.
“Toward the water!” I shouted over the din, my voice carrying over the crash of swords. I raised my sword to rally the riders to me, and they followed. By now, our momentum had slowed, as our horses were forced to weave between date palms and closely packed armaments.
The pool of water that would be these clans’ salvation shimmered in the sun within view, but the guard around it was much denser. The initial surprise of our attack was lost, and the remaining soldiers were armed and waiting for us.
Horses screamed, and the smell of hot blood baking in the desert sun filled the air with a choking scent. But we could not stop.
I kicked Alza into the best gallop we could muster in a confined space.
She surged forward at the barest of commands, sure footed enough to accelerate even over fallen soldiers.
The riders nearest to us followed, their horses following orders I had not given out loud, as if spurred into action by Alza’s own charge and the pull of magic that connected me to the desert’s flame in their mind.
With a deafening crash, we collided with the line of foot soldiers nearest the water.
Pain bloomed in my side as I brushed past one of the long spears, the blade just scraping my ribs.
The wooden handle of the weapon broke under the force of my next attack, and its wielder fell to Alza’s striking hooves.
The riders beside me slashed and let out wild fearsome cries as we fought toward the water’s edge. Thirst and desperation were powerful allies, lending strength to their blows that let them cut through the enemies’ thick armor.
The lines of Viltov scattered like dust on the wind, but the roar of victory in my throat died as a growing feeling of unease washed over me. It was a cold trickle of water down my spine, sharp and unsettling against the roaring fire of battle.
Something wasn’t right.
We hadn’t encountered any cavalry, although Calix had shown his willingness to chain and subjugate our forces before.
And where was their commander? An army of this size might be led by Calix himself, but I had seen no place where he might be protected and directing the battle—leading the charge with a sword was not his style.
The ground shook as lightning struck again. I whipped my head in the direction of the noise. In the middle of an endless sea of soldiers—writhing and churning in the throes of combat—Keera sat astride Daiti.
A drop of blood ran down her cheek from a cut over one eyebrow, and the earth around her was charred and blackened. She was the lightning and the storm.
And all of Calix’s forces surrounded her.
Somehow, she had been separated from the riders in the charge.
Between our two forces, the armies of Viltov were slowly crushed, but it would not be enough.
The rings of soldiers separating her from us were at least twenty deep, and among them were the riders astride stolen horses.
She would not want to hurt the mounts, forced to fight against their will, but they would have no such qualms.
They were focusing all of their energy on her.
Viltov could retreat back to Kelvadan if they lost their water, but none of that would matter if Keera fell.
Nothing would matter.
As the men around me continued the fight to the water’s edge, Alza and I broke ranks and plunged into the fray.
She would not face this army alone.