52. CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
Katell’s horse flinched as a hare dove between its legs, the smaller animal desperate to reach the safety of a remaining patch of grass. Reassuring her mare with a pat, she brushed smoke from her eyes with the back of her hand and stared at the long column of Rasennan soldiers trudging through the torched lands.
“I don’t understand.” Arnza was the first to break the heavy silence that had fallen upon the Black Helmets since green pastures had given way to a scorched, smouldering nightmare.
“Their fields, their harvest, why would the Westerners burn it all?” he asked. “How will they survive winter?”
“They won’t.” Atticus’ Gifted eyes searched the horizon for any sign of danger. “But the Western chiefs aren’t thinking about all the mouths they’ll have to feed come winter. They want to slow down the enemy, at any cost.”
Arnza gaped at him. “But they’re sacrificing their people!”
“Enough.” Tia sent him a reproachful glare. “Dalmatius warned us this would happen. You know what Westerners are like. Stop acting like a child.”
The younger soldier scowled, but he kept his mouth shut.
The countryside was a painting of desolation. No field, bush or tree was left untouched, and their charred remains crumbled to ash beneath the horses’ hooves. The foot soldiers wrapped cloths around their mouths to avoid breathing in the grey dust kicked up in the air. Although Katell kept her distance, a thin sooty layer soon covered her whole body.
The Sixth Legion continued onwards, marching at a steady pace until a deep trumpet blew ahead.
“That’s us,” Atticus announced, spurring his horse forward.
The rest of them followed, trotting towards the front of the long column where the legate, accompanied by his guards and a handful of officers—including Dorias—rode.
Katell had barely seen or spoken to the praefect in the days following their kiss. She’d slipped out of his tent and joined the others at the north gate, all packed and ready to leave. Seeing the signet ring on her finger, all the Black Helmets, starting with Cinto, had congratulated her on joining their ranks. Only Tia had remained as sour as ever, saying nothing.
Pinaria, transported on a cot in the back of an oxen-pulled supply wagon, had requested that Katell stay with her and recount in detail how the Westerners’ attack had ended. Once the legate had given the order to leave, Dorias had joined the front of the column while the Black Helmets had positioned themselves to protect its flanks.
Katell wasn’t sure what to make of Dorias keeping his distance, but she chose not to think about it. By the Moon, she was a soldier—a Black Helmet—not some lovestruck maiden. But perched on his stallion in full armour with his cloak flowing behind him, Dorias’ commanding presence was undeniable, and it made her stomach dip. He was engaged in conversation with a pair of sentinels who’d just returned, and broke away as the Black Helmets approached.
“They found a village up ahead,” Dorias announced. “It’s the only way through the hills, and although it seems deserted, it’s also the perfect place for an ambush.” His black stallion circled the cohort, its mouth frothing. “We will ride ahead and make sure no Westerners are left. Ride close to each other and keep your eyes sharp.”
Dorias’ gaze fixed on Arnza, who nodded back.
“This is not our land. These are not our gods, and we are not welcome here.” His steel gaze met Katell’s. “But we are the Empire’s Black Helmets and we will not be sent away so easily. They attacked our camp, they broke the treaty, and now we will return the favour.”
They took off as one, horses galloping down the ash-covered path, trudging up a thick cloud of smoke. The main road wound through a valley flanked by barren, craggy hills.
The horses slowed to a trot, and a tense silence fell upon the group. Dorias had been right—whatever village lay in wait could be the perfect trap.
Dorias glanced at his second-in-command. “Atticus?”
The bulky soldier dismounted, his eyes shimmering with a deep amber glow as he faced the smouldering ruins ahead.
“No sign of movement,” he said after a moment. Unsheathing his sword, he advanced without a word towards the village.
Katell dismounted too, taking her helmet from her saddlebag and slipping it over her head—it had taken a few adjustments from the legion’s blacksmith to create a more comfortable fit. She then fell in line with Arnza and Larth, sword in hand.
Dorias ordered they split up and search the deserted village for survivors. A wooden palisade atop a defensive earthen mound lay shrivelled and blackened on the ground. Wisps of smoke curled from the gardens, and a few thatched structures were still standing. A single cobbled path, littered with items the villagers had dropped in their haste, ran down the length of the village.
A dead pig blocked it ahead, a swarm of flies buzzing around its dark red insides strewn across the cobbles.
Arnza wrinkled his nose at the stench. “Ugh, disgusting!”
Katell counted a dozen blackened torches among the ruins. The Westerners had burned the village on purpose to delay the Rasennan army and to stop them from taking their food and supplies.
But where had the villagers gone? How would they survive?
When a stray dog rounded the corner, Arnza jumped. Nose to the ground, it passed them by, sniffing the ruins.
Katell kept a hand close to the hilt of her sword. “Let’s keep going.”
The wind picked up around them, howling through the valley and carrying the scent of rain. She searched an abandoned leather workshop with rows of hanging skins, then moved to the first intact house she found, peering through the open doorway.
The walls, made of hardened clay and straw, seemed familiar. Her fingertips stroked the rough material, and a feeling shot through her.
A distant memory.
The walls were always cool to the touch but uncomfortable to sit against. Bits of straw always stuck out, poking through her tunic—
Katell stopped short, her mind reeling.
What were those memories?
She stepped inside the dark house, taking in the mess. Someone had already rummaged through it. The furniture was overturned, and fur blankets were tossed haphazardly everywhere she looked. Two wooden chests lay on their sides, spilling their contents across the packed earthen floor.
One chest, in particular, caught her attention. Its design was similar to the one Damocles had kept at the foot of his bed.
The same knotted pattern carved into the sides—
“Kat!”
She clicked her tongue. No matter how many times she’d told Arnza not to call her that, he never listened.
When she stepped out, he was further up the path, standing with Dorias and Larth, who waved her over.
“We found the villagers.” Dorias pointed over his shoulder towards the wide barn standing on the far side of the village. “They’re all huddled in there, afraid. Atticus and Thocero are with them now, but none of them speak Rhaetic. I’ll get Cinto to translate and find out what happened here. You three will scout the rest of the village for any enemies.”
“The place is empty,” Arnza noted.
Dorias levelled an unwavering stare on him. “Did you check every house?”
Arnza hesitated, then answered, “No.”
“Then go. Now.” His tone left no room for debate.
With a chuckle, Larth grabbed Arnza by the collar and pulled him away.
Once they found themselves alone, Katell sensed Dorias’ gaze resting on her face, its fervent heat like a flame against her skin. They hadn’t spoken to each other all day, and now his undivided attention sucked all the air out of her lungs.
He closed the gap between them, his voice deep and low. “We haven’t trained in a couple of days. How’s your strength?”
Biting her lip, she reached for his wrist and tightened her grip in a teasing manner. “Fine. Under control.”
“Good.” The rough pad of his fingers traced the curve of her cheek, and her heartbeat drummed faster. “Do you regret it, our kiss?”
“No,” she said, holding his gaze. “I… I thought perhaps you did.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t seen you since.” She hated the way she sounded so… needy.
A smile touched his lips. “I’ve been busy, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about you all day.”
Her stomach fluttered, and she struggled to find her voice. “You didn’t come just to tell us about the villagers, did you?”
He curled his hand around the nape of her neck and leaned forward, lips to her ear. “No. I wanted you to myself for a moment.”
Her breath caught as his warm lips glided down the curve of her neck, setting her skin ablaze from within.
He drew back, a mischievous glint in his eye when a shadow fell over them. Dark grey clouds rolled through the valley, blocking out the sun, and a sharp gust of wind swept up dust and ashes.
Dorias glanced up at the sky in concern. “We should hurry. Otherwise, we may need to shelter here for the night.”
Katell squeezed his hand. “We’ll be quick.”
“Keep your guard up.”
She nodded and hurried back towards Arnza and Larth’s departing figures. They continued searching the ruins until they reached the end of the path, blocked by the remains of a collapsed gate.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the air grew crisp.
“I don’t like it one bit.” Arnza shielded his eyes from the forceful gusts that whipped around them. “The Western Lands are known for quick changes in the weather, but this is ridiculous. We should head back soon.”
Larth pointed at a final cluster of huts. “Only those left. I’ll scout the biggest one, you check the other two, and then we’ll head back.”
Arnza nodded, and they split up. Katell unsheathed her sword and kicked open the wooden door to the thatched hut that seemed intact. The messy interior looked identical to the others.
She squinted in the dim light, her sword raised in case of any hidden enemies. Half a loaf of bread wrapped in cloth lay forgotten on a low table. Water dripped from an overturned jar. Baskets of flowers were strewn before an empty fireplace, and two beds of furs filled the remaining space.
A streak of lightning lit up the room in a greyish-white glare. In its wake, a tall, hulking figure came into view in the corner. Something with gleaming eyes and a feral grin.
Katell jumped back, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin.
“Who are you?” She tried to inject some strength into her voice, but every instinct told her to run. Magic, suffocating and raw, swelled within the hut. Her sword shook in her hand.
The cloaked figure took slow, deliberate steps towards her, and icy dread shot through Katell’s heart. Twisted shapes sprouted from its head like horns, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
As the figure drew nearer, the distorted horns seemed to intertwine like the gnarled branches of a tree.
No, not horns. Antlers.
“You shouldn’t be here.” His voice was a deep rumble. He did not speak Koine, Rhaetic, or any other language she recognised, yet she understood him.
“What do you want?”
He edged closer, ignoring her question. “You’ve forgotten who you are, Katell.”
With a sharp breath, she backed away and knocked into the table. The man, creature—whatever it was—knew her name.
He vanished from sight, and her gaze darted about the hut in a frantic search until she sensed a presence looming behind her, causing the hairs on her skin to stand on end. She whirled around, leaping back just in time to evade long, spider-like fingers that reached for her neck.
“She did not Gift you so that you could fight for them.”
Her muscles seized up while her heart thumped against her ribcage. She?
The wind howled outside, lifting clouds of dust and ash. Lightning flashed again, revealing the pallid face of a man concealed behind shaggy black hair and ears that tapered into points, like those of a wild creature.
A set of razor-sharp teeth shone in the darkness, and Katell stifled a scream.
“The Rasennans cannot win. Try and save them, if you can.”
He disappeared, and when it was clear he wouldn’t reappear again, Katell slumped against the table, gasping for air and attempting to calm her racing heart.
Unease churned in her gut at the man’s parting words.
The Rasennans cannot win.
She needed to warn Dorias.
She rushed out of the hut past Arnza, who was waiting by the main path. Thunder rumbled overhead. Larth was nowhere in sight.
“We need to head back, now!” she shouted.
The Rasennan took one look at her face and ran towards her. “Kat, wait! What happened?”
There was no time to explain. She sprinted as fast as she could back to the tall building where the villagers had gathered.
Try and save them if you can.
Those words were a clear warning. She knew it in her bones. Something terrible was about to happen.
She bolted through the village, her lungs burning. Shielding her face from the unnatural gusts of wind, she neared the first houses she’d checked and stopped in her tracks.
The cloaked figure from the hut sat cross-legged on the thatched roof, watching her.
Next to him stood another man—no, a god. A mountain of muscle with a dark beard, his bare chest sizzling with lightning, which glowed in his eyes. Without a word, he plucked a fork of lightning from his torso and flung it into the air.
It streaked through the sky and illuminated the cloaked figure’s face. He sat grinning like a madman, his antlers throwing long shadows across the cobbled street.
Western gods—they had to be so deep in Western territory. Their raw magic pulsed in the air, choking Katell. The cold dread in her veins turned to ice, and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest.
What chance did the legions have of winning in the face of such overwhelming power?
“Kat!” Arnza raced towards her, pulling her from her thoughts.
He hadn’t seen the gods yet—or perhaps he couldn’t. Either way, she was running out of time.
Unsheathing her sword, she gathered her strength and took off again.
The barn, with its stone foundations and double-storey walls, loomed ahead, behind Atticus’ bulky figure. The Black Helmets’ second-in-command stood with Tia and Thocero, trying to calm down the horses frightened by the oncoming storm. The beasts no longer listened and tugged at their tied reins, heads raised.
“Atticus!”
But her shout was swallowed by the howling wind.
She hurried on, her every step infused with a burning need to reach the barn. The double doors were thrown wide open. Within, a crowd of ragged villagers watched the darkening sky.
Dorias stood close to the entrance, his Gifted golden breastplate gleaming amid the dreary crowd. Beside him, Cinto was conversing with a bearded Westerner and a young woman holding a baby.
Thunder boomed through the sky, mirroring Katell’s pounding heart.
“Dorias!”
Atticus’ head snapped up. His gaze met hers, and in the next beat, he dropped the reins and unsheathed his sword, barking orders at the others.
The horses galloped away, and Dorias turned at the commotion.
His gaze landed on Katell.
Lightning struck.
An otherworldly, pale light bathed the whole village, and an unsettling shift stirred in the air.
Within the barn, a blinding shimmer enveloped the villagers, and they vanished, unveiling Western warriors in their stead. Swords and daggers replaced babes and baskets; illusory rags and skirts became chain mail and shields.
Terror pierced Katell’s heart. “Dorias!”
Cinto stumbled forward, his mouth open in a silent scream. An iron spear sprouted through his chest, followed by a dagger buried in the bend of his neck.
Dorias jerked back, fire exploding from his hands, but it was too late. The Westerners closed in, a flurry of swords aimed for the praefect’s legs, and he crumpled to his knees.
A primal scream of fury erupted from Katell, and magic exploded beneath her skin, breaking free from her tight control.
A dozen warriors raised their weapons to stop her, but she barrelled into them, cutting through armour, muscle, and bone.
Try and save them if you can.
With a ferocious battle cry, Katell fought her way to Dorias and painted the barn red.