46. CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Achilly gust of wind rolled down from the mountains, flattening the tall grasses surrounding the legion camp and rattling the wooden palisade by the north gate. Streaked in silver moonlight, the plains below rippled like the surface of a river.
Katell pulled her wool cloak tighter, her chain mail vest clinking underneath. The top of the sentry tower was unusually cold for a late summer’s night. The warmth from the torches along the parapet walls only reached so far. Below, pointy wooden stakes filled the ditches, casting monstrous shadows with needle-like claws that stretched towards the darkness.
A single bronze band bit into the delicate skin of her wrist. Dorias had insisted Katell discard the dampener for good, but she’d refused. Her control might have improved, but during her night watch atop the camp walls beside a dozen or so other sentries, the bracelet made her feel safe. And more importantly, it kept the other soldiers safe.
“Be sure not to fall asleep or you’ll get flogged.” Pinaria grinned, her petite form drowning beneath the legion’s standard woollen cloak and chain mail armour.
Katell huffed, glad for her companion’s presence. She didn’t think she could spend another night keeping watch, alone with her thoughts. “I heard those who fall asleep sometimes get stoned to death by their own unit.”
The Rasennan woman’s smile slipped. “But not us Gifted. We’re too precious.” She stepped closer to the flames, the firelight catching in her chestnut curls. “Although I have a feeling Dalmatius would save you from any harsh punishment. He seems to have taken quite an interest in you.”
Katell arched an eyebrow beneath her black helmet. It pressed uncomfortably against her scalp despite the felt padding inside. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like Arnza.”
Pinaria snorted and glanced back at the plains below. After a dozen days spent in close quarters, a genuine friendship had developed between them, unlike with Tia, who preferred to keep her distance.
Or stick to the company of men.
Another strong gust of wind curled around the sentry tower, and Pinaria raised her arm in a feeble attempt to shield her face from the cold. “Dalmatius picked the worst night for guard duty,” she grumbled, straightening her long cloak. “With this much wind, it’s hard to see anything.”
The sentiment was echoed among the other sentries posted along the parapet.
Katell surveyed the tall grasses dancing to the wind’s rhythm. Beyond the plain, the forest-covered mountains were pitch-black.
“If we’re stuck out here for the rest of the night, we might as well make the most of it.” A mischievous glint danced in Pinaria’s eyes. “Tell us more about how you met our Undefeated praefect.”
The other sentries straightened, a spark of interest crossing their features.
Katell shrugged. “There’s not much to say. I was a slave in Bruna’s arena. Dalmatius freed me and offered to teach me how to control my Gift.”
“Bruna’s arena?” Pinaria whispered. “That must have been… awful.”
A couple of sentries exchanged looks, but no one said a word. Katell had an inkling why. Dorias had once explained that Bruna’s fighting pit had an infamous reputation all over the Empire.
“Dalmatius helped me as well.” Pinaria broke the silence, keeping her gaze trained ahead. “After my parents sacrificed everything to Laran for my Gift, I was lost. My hands thrummed with magic, whether I willed it or not. One day, I hurt my father by accident and decided to stay at the temple, too afraid I might harm another person again. Dalmatius found me and offered me a new home and shelter among the legion. He did the same for Tia. Her own father had sold her to a brothel in Kisra. Don’t mention it to her, though. She doesn’t like to talk about it.”
Katell wouldn’t have mentioned it either way. Her throat tightened as she grappled with the realisation that her fellow Black Helmets had endured similar pain and suffering. In that moment, she began to understand how this band of warriors with no common homeland had held together, forging close bonds under Dorias’ leadership. A makeshift family where she could belong.
Once, she thought she’d found that special bond with Nik and Sinope back at the arena. But now, Sinope was dead, and Nik—her heart still pinched whenever she thought of the blond warrior—Nik had made his choice.
Pinaria heaved a sigh, shuffling her sandaled feet. “I guess Praefect Dalmatius felt the need to help others, the same as the Emperor did for him.”
“The Emperor?” Dorias hadn’t mentioned him since their first encounter at the arena.
“Yes, it’s Emperor Caius Tarquinius who saved him from the arena,” she continued, burying her hands inside her cloak. “He saw Dalmatius fight with courage during a festival held in his honour and gave Dalmatius a rudis—that wooden sword we all train with. It represents freedom for a fighting slave. Then, at the Emperor’s demand, Dalmatius joined the army and made a name for himself. He’s one of the best fighters, and with his Illyrian Gift, the gold breastplate, he’s invincible. He brought the Sixth Legion many victories. When he became praefect, the Emperor invited him to Laran’s Great Temple in Kisra, and he came back with the Gift of fire.”
“That’s only half the story,” an older sentry chimed in from behind, his voice gruff. “If you’re going to tell the Undefeated’s story, you have to tell it right.”
Pinaria pursed her lips. “I didn’t think she’d want to hear that part.”
The stern-faced sentry’s voice grew sharp. “It’s the whole reason we’re here, isn’t it? Despite the peace treaty both sides signed following the Rebel Queen’s defeat, the Westerners still came into our lands and slaughtered our people.”
Katell had no knowledge of these attacks, but then again, her ignorance of Rasenna was becoming more evident every day.
Unease crept through her gut. “The Westerners broke the peace treaty?”
Pinaria clammed up, but the sentry answered in her stead. “As reward for his service to the legion, Dalmatius was given lands along the Rasennan western coast, not far from the city of Velch.”
He jerked his chin at Pinaria, who averted her gaze.
“Each year, soldiers go home during winter to tend to their lands and families, and then return in spring.” The sentry’s rough voice quieted. “Dalmatius had already left his pregnant wife and child when the Westerners came.”
The knot in Katell’s stomach tightened.
“The Westerners were no fools. They waited for the Rasennan soldiers to leave their homes before they attacked. They sailed from the Island of Kyrnos and came in the dead of night. Women and children were slaughtered in their homes, defenceless and unprepared. The whole coast was set on fire, including Velch. By the time news of the attack reached the capital, it was too late.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth before.” Pinaria’s voice was barely a whisper against the wind. “It wasn’t mercenaries who attacked Turan’s temples. It was the Westerners. They set her temples on fire and assaulted the priestesses before burning them alive.”
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes still haunted by the memory of the attack. Katell hesitated, torn between duty and reaching out to her friend in support. Still, Pinaria’s pained expression tugged at her heartstrings, and she inched closer.
“I didn’t have any magic back then,” Pinaria went on. “All my family and I could do was hide. Hide while the Westerners killed and burned everything around us. My sister…” She broke off and swallowed. “My sister, her husband and their two children hid in one of the temples and were burned alive. Many sought refuge with the goddess, but none survived.”
The wind howled, and the palisade groaned in protest. Katell’s cloak whipped around her, and the sudden chill in the air stung her face.
She was at a loss for words. All of Damocles’ stories depicted the Westerners as heroes. Sinope had revered the Rebel Queen as much as the Huntress.
What would they say now?
The raw pain carved in Pinaria’s blue eyes mirrored Katell’s own sorrow. They had both lost people they loved.
The sentry stepped closer, peering over the palisade. “This wind… it isn’t natural.”
“What?” Pinaria was at his side in an instant, staring out into the cloudy night. “I don’t see anything. These lands are neutral, the Westerners would be fools to attack—”
An arrow cut between them and pierced the sentry through the neck. He staggered back with a gurgling noise and collapsed to the floor. In the next beat, the other sentries jumped into action.
“Attack!”
Bells rang out below, mingling with the familiar twang of bowstrings.
Pinaria unsheathed her sword, but Katell shoved her to the floor as a storm of arrows whizzed through the night sky and descended upon the camp. Strangled cries and screams filled the air, and sentries fell dead from the watchtower.
“Attack! Attack! To your units!” Shouts echoed through the courtyard below. “Guard the gate!”
Shrill trumpets and horns tore through the camp. A moment later, the parapet trembled beneath their feet, and a collective roar sounded from the plains.
“We need to head to the gate.” Katell unsheathed her sword. “Whoever’s out there, they’re trying to smash their way in. Head for the ladder but keep your head down.”
Soldiers rushed forward to hold the thick wooden gates, while officers bellowed orders left and right. Finding the ladder, Katell climbed down first, then helped Pinaria. She descended, shaking, while her gaze darted about the courtyard, taking in the chaos. When she set foot on the ground, a deafening explosion swept through the camp and knocked them to the ground.
The air whooshed out of Katell’s lungs. She gasped, her ears ringing. Through the fog in her mind, horns blasted, and hundreds of roars answered their calls.
Pulling herself to her knees, she clamped down on her rising panic.
“Laran’s shield, the Westerners are here!” Pinaria staggered to her feet, her face ashen as she stared at the broken gates and the oncoming enemy forces. “We’re surrounded!”
Katell grabbed her sword. “Then we’ll fight our way through. Come on!”
They rushed towards the raging battle at the gates. Fierce warriors with long hair and beards charged through the gaping hole in the wall. They held swords, daggers or axes in one hand and flat shields in the other. They were an eclectic bunch wearing a variety of coloured tunics and trousers, rounded helmets, leather armour and chain mail.
A far cry from the legion’s uniformity.
Katell didn’t know what to make of them until they came at her, and her instincts kicked in. She defended herself, pushing the warriors back, but was hesitant to kill them outright.
Why exactly were these Westerners attacking the camp?
And where was Dorias?
Glancing up, Katell spotted Pinaria among the fighting mass of soldiers by the gates. Katell swore under her breath, ready to drag her back to safety, but a handful of Rasennan soldiers rushed to Pinaria’s side, huddling around her in a rehearsed manner.
Pinaria focused on the shimmering silvery purple light erupting between her hands. It expanded like a bubble, enveloping her, then the soldiers protecting her.
She stretched out her hand, and the purple light pooled across the muddy ground like liquid fire. It raced towards the gate before rising in the air and flooding the hole where the north gate once stood. The shimmering barrier shone like a purple beacon against the night sky, cutting off the Westerners and leaving them stunned.
A seasoned warrior with flaming red hair spat on the ground and hurled an axe at the palisade. The curved blade hit the shimmering wall with a clang, then fell to the ground. Pinaria grunted, and Katell wondered how long she could uphold the barrier. Dorias had once warned her that using a great amount of magic at once could exhaust a mortal’s body, though Katell had yet to experience it after exerting her strength.
The Westerners trapped within the camp didn’t bail or try to run. Instead, they charged with a collective roar, armour clanging. A handful of them broke away, heading straight for Pinaria.
Panic flared within Katell, and she fought her way through the chaos, desperate to reach the gate. The Rasennan soldiers at Pinaria’s side were fighting with courage, their attacks executed with perfect coordination. Still, too many Westerners had slipped through, and the Rasennan shield walls were swarmed from all sides.
A sudden impact struck Katell from behind, and she landed on her arm and shoulder with a grunt. A flash of steel caught her eye, and she twisted her body on instinct, avoiding an attack. She retaliated with a swift kick to her assailant’s knee.
A blond Westerner, bearing tufts of beard hair along his jawline and a crooked nose, stumbled back with a howl. She jumped to her feet, her shoulder screaming in protest. The bronze dampener glinted around her wrist, and she cursed herself for wearing it.
Her attacker recovered fast and lunged again. She sidestepped, but a shadow at her back caught her off guard, and a sharp, stabbing pain erupted in her side. Another Westerner had sliced her clean through the gap in her chain mail. With a fierce breath, Katell drove her elbow into his face, then blocked the blond one’s blade.
Warm blood soaked her tunic, and she staggered, her strength failing.
The blond Westerner closed in on her, a maniacal grin stretching across his face. With one swift move, she seized a dagger from her belt and rammed it through his throat. Blood streamed down the blade, staining her hand. For a fleeting moment, their eyes locked, his wide with fear, before he tumbled to the ground.
Amid the chaos, something whistled through the air, and Katell ducked the swing of an axe. A new wave of attackers encircled her, and she fought back with her sword and dagger, rallying whatever strength she had left and pushing through the pain in her side.
A strangled cry caught her attention. Across the courtyard, Pinaria stumbled to her knees, her face contorted in effort. The soldiers guarding her were each locked in their own battle against Westerners, leaving her to hold the shimmering barrier at the gate, and another protective one around herself.
A Westerner approached the silvery purple wall from within the camp. Lightning crackled around his arms, into his fists, and he punched the gate with them. Beside him, another warrior, clutching a shimmering golden axe, struck the wall with a ferocious roar. Pinaria’s magic rippled under the strain but remained unbroken.
The Westerners kept hurling their Gifts at her barrier. Their magic skittered through the night sky like a thousand sparks, illuminating the camp with each strike and sending shivers down Katell’s spine.
She hurried towards Pinaria, her still wounded body breaking into a cold sweat. Pulling at her chain mail, she slipped her fingers beneath it, searching for the key to the bronze bracelet.
“Pinaria!” Arnza’s strained voice shouted above the sounds of battle. He recklessly rushed into the fray and carved a path through enemy lines, his golden shield knocking any resistance out of his way.
Pinaria spotted him and paled. “Arnza, don’t!”
The Westerners swarmed him like the arena’s felines had when cornering stranded prey.
Katell’s heart dropped.
Where the fuck was Dorias?
She hurled forward. When her fingertips brushed against the cold edges of her key, a solid body slammed into her. Pain like fire lanced up her side, and she hit the hard ground, stifling a scream. White spots filled her vision, but she clutched the cool metal in her hand, remembering her task.
From above, a bearded figure in chain mail spat foreign words at her.
She dragged the key to her cuffed wrist.
As it slipped into the lock with swift precision, her opponent’s blade pierced her shoulder at the edge of her armour. The broad sword sliced through muscle and crushed her bones. Bright, unyielding pain spread through her chest and tore a raspy scream from her lips.
The Westerner let out a deep, mirthless chuckle, and warm blood pooled beneath Katell, soaking her back and hair. Gathering up the last dregs of her strength, she turned the key with a shaking hand.
The dampener clicked open.
And she smiled.
Magic, all-consuming and terrible, surged through her body like water bursting from a dam. Grabbing the blade pinning her to the ground, Katell yanked it out with a grunt.
The Westerner’s laughter died, and he stumbled back with wide eyes. The pain in her shoulder lessened to a dull throb while her skin knitted itself back together, and she got to her feet.
Her bloodlust returned with a vengeance.
The Westerner charged, and she lunged behind his shield and sliced the back of his leg, cutting to the bone. The warrior screamed, and she plunged her sword through his neck before wrenching it out again in one swoop. Thick blood splattered her armour and skin, and her grin widened.
Magic sizzled over her skin, healing every cut and bruise, and infusing her with renewed strength.
She sprinted to Arnza’s aid, blocking an incoming strike from an axe-wielder. Seizing the burly warrior’s forearm, she crushed it in her fist. His pained howl rattled her ears until she drove her blade deep into his gut.
He collapsed at her feet, and another Westerner took his place, striking her with a long steel blade. She parried his attack and, without hesitation, slipped a dagger between his ribs.
She took the Westerners’ lives, one after the other, slicing limbs and crushing bones. Their cries of agony sang to her like a hymn to death, and she rejoiced in them. Rejoiced in her enemies’ pain and suffering while tearing through their lines.
Her magic danced through the air, calling for more blood.
More violence.
More death.
The Westerners didn’t stand a chance. They trembled around her like helpless lambs ready for the slaughter.
A scream tore through the night, and Katell froze.
Ahead, Pinaria fell to her knees, blood dripping from her lips. Silvery purple magic flickered around her, then winked out of existence.
A Western brute, built like an ox, with a pointed helmet and a giant axe, was sneaking up behind her.
Katell’s heart stuttered. “Pinaria!”
She shoved a warrior out of her way and sprinted forward.
No!
She’d watched Sinope get snatched right under her nose. She wouldn’t let it happen again.
Not this time.
Westerners poured through the breached gates and collided with the Rasennans’ shield wall. Steel sang, and the ensuing chaos dragged Katell away.
Kicked in the face, Pinaria slumped to the ground.
Katell bolted forward, knocking a hefty, bearded warrior clean off his feet.
The axe-wielding brute was still towering over Pinaria, raising his giant weapon above his head.
“Pinaria!” Arnza roared.
Panic speared Katell. She forced her feet to move faster.
Faster!
The brute’s eyes gleamed, then disappeared behind a blazing wall of fire. Flames engulfed his body and devoured his armour and flesh. He dropped to the ground and rolled, his screams tearing through the sounds of battle, but the flames grew brighter and fiercer until nothing was left but smoke and ash.
“Praefect Dalmatius!”
“It’s the praefect. We’re saved!”
Rasennan soldiers shouted and rejoiced, fighting with renewed vigour.
Katell spun around, searching the crowd until her gaze met steel grey. Dorias strode into the fray, his Gifted golden breastplate shimmering into existence. Flames danced within his right hand while a ring of fire circled his feet.
His raw magic tore through the air, and the Westerners staggered back at the unnatural flames. A few even broke away, rushing for the gates.
Cinto headed straight for Pinaria while Larth, wielding his twin blades, guarded his path. Gulping uneven breaths, Katell met Dorias halfway. The courtyard was so thick with his magic, she could taste it in her mouth and nose. It made her feel safe, diminishing the threat of the Westerners’ brutality. With two Gifts at his disposal, it was no wonder he’d earned the title of ‘Undefeated’.
“Are you hurt?” Beneath Dorias’ helmet, his gaze roamed over her. If he was alarmed by the amount of blood that covered her bare skin and armour, he didn’t show it.
Katell shook her head, blinking at the bright flames that enveloped his hand but left his skin untouched.
His other hand curled around her neck, his thumb brushing her cheek. “Help the others get Pinaria to the healer’s tent and stay there. Leave the rest to me.”
Although the intimacy of his gesture caught her off guard, she leaned into his touch, welcoming his warmth. The intensity of his stare stirred something within her, then his features hardened, and he pulled away to join the raging battle.
Across the courtyard, Cinto picked up an unconscious Pinaria. One side of her face was covered in blood. Beside them, Larth’s blades twirled in his hands, humming with an ominous aura that made Katell’s skin crawl. The two men hurried back towards the camp’s centre, and Katell followed.
Soldiers moved out of their way, then closed ranks behind them to tackle the remaining Westerners.
By the time she reached the first line of tents, a raging fire had exploded against the night sky, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air.