57. CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
Atunnel of smoke billowed from the funeral pyre into the brilliant blue sky.
Katell stood upwind, staring at the blazing flames that licked the stacked wood and the corpse on top—Cinto.
Incredibly, Dorias had survived the Westerners’ attack. He’d sustained many injuries and lost a lot of blood, but he’d survived. Arnza, Tia, and Atticus had applied pressure on the cuts covering his legs while Katell had remained frozen, fear gripping her heart, until Thocero’s healing magic had saved him.
Larth had been sent to warn the waiting legion of the attack, and Legate Ancharius himself had shown up after a while with more healers to assist. The unnatural storm had died down, the skies had cleared, and the legion had marched onwards. Thocero and the healers had followed, whisking an unconscious Dorias away.
Katell had stumbled across Cinto’s body, buried beneath the pile of warriors she’d dispatched in her fury. Without a word, Atticus had lifted their dead companion in his arms, and Larth and Arnza had set fire to the barn.
None of the Westerners had survived; Katell had made sure of it.
“Do the Eluvites even burn their dead?” Arnza asked, his voice quiet.
Atticus shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He was one of us.” He clenched his square jaw tight, a haunted look in his amber eyes. As second-in-command, the weight of failure lay heavy on his shoulders.
They’d been lured into a trap none of them saw coming. An illusion that showed armed warriors as innocent villagers. A cruel ruse that even Atticus’ Gift hadn’t perceived.
Arnza’s shoulders sagged, his complexion pale and drawn. Unable to comprehend how everything had gone so wrong, he’d cursed and yelled at first, giving voice to the rage blistering within all of them. Beside him, Tia’s eyes brimmed with tears while Larth stood at her side, his hands balled into fists.
Katell hadn’t known Cinto as long as the others had, and yet he’d been welcoming to her and helped her around the camp. A kind soldier with a crooked smile. She should have gotten to know him more and asked him about Eluvia.
He hadn’t deserved to die the way he did.
The flames grew in intensity, eating at the wooden stack until it cracked and caved in. As she stood with her cohort, the five of them mourning their fallen companion together, a feeling of unity washed over her. A strange yet comforting warmth, like a distant memory of home.
One by one, they sat by the horses, resting and tending to their wounds in silence while the funeral pyre burned.
Once the sun sank below the horizon, and only ashes and glowing embers remained, Arnza gave a final prayer, and it was over.
Atticus knelt on the ground, scooping ashes into a clay pot while the others watched. Katell hadn’t saved Cinto, but she’d saved Dorias and would continue to protect her cohort no matter what the Western gods threw at her.
“Let’s leave this nightmare behind and rejoin the legion. The hillfort isn’t far now.” Atticus stared at each of them, then climbed onto his horse. “We ride hard until nightfall. Keep an eye out for our enemies. It’s clear that they’ll stop at nothing to destroy us.”
Sitting atop her horse, Katell scrubbed at the dried blood crusting her armour and skin in vain. Without a stream or river nearby, she had no hope of cleaning herself.
They took off as one, galloping through the valley. She peeked over her shoulder once more at the smoking barn and gritted her teeth.
Try and save them if you can.
Whatever lay ahead, the Westerners and their gods would pay for their treacherous ruse. The Black Helmets would never forgive them for taking one of their own, and neither would Katell.
Following a night’s rest, they arrived at the hillfort not long after daybreak. The morning sun ascended the sky, bathing the Rasennan camp in a warm glow. Two wooden palisades encircled the hill completely, cutting off the Westerners from any outside reinforcements. It was impressive how quickly the soldiers had transformed the valley with defensive fortifications. Then again, the Empire boasted a long legacy of military organisation and siege tactics.
As the cohort approached, rows of ditches filled with sharpened stakes greeted them. They rode through the first palisade gate, flanked by two watchtowers. Beyond, dozens of soldiers milled about the muddy terrain, digging more ditches between the two wooden stakewalls.
Atticus led them along the central path to a second fortified gate and announced their names. The doors opened with an aching groan, and they dismounted, leaving the horses to stable hands before weaving through neatly lined tents on foot.
Soon, Dorias’ tent emerged ahead, and Thocero greeted them at the entrance with bloodshot eyes and dark circles beneath them. “He’s alive, but he’s weak and needs rest.”
Relief flitted through their group, and the tension in Katell’s shoulders and back eased.
“I want to see him.” Tia tried to push her way through, but Larth snatched her arm, holding her back. Katell narrowed her eyes. Tia had no more right than anyone else to see him, and besides, Dorias was likely asleep.
Thocero stifled a yawn. “He’s resting, Tia. You can visit him tomorrow.”
Her gaze sharpened, but she held her tongue.
Atticus clapped Thocero on the shoulder. “Good work. Now get some rest, you deserve it. Arnza, Larth, go set up the tents. Tia, go find Pinaria in the infirmary—she probably hasn’t heard the news yet.” When he turned to Katell, he paused. “You should wash up, then help the others.”
“Actually,” Thocero said, waving a hand towards the entrance, “Dalmatius wants to see you both first.”
Tia clicked her tongue, then stormed after Arnza and Larth. Katell paid her no mind. The Southern Beauty could pout and scowl all she wanted, but it didn’t change the fact that Dorias treated her just like everyone else, regardless of her desires.
One day, Katell would address the matter of Tia with him, but first, he needed to recover.
Inside the tent, the smell of blood hit her nose, and she squinted in the dim candlelight. A young soldier leaned over Dorias’ desk, sorting a stack of scrolls into neat piles.
He shot to his feet, saluted Atticus, and then returned to his task.
Dorias lay on his cot in the far corner, propped up against furs and cushions, wearing only a loincloth and cloak. The rest of his broad frame was bandaged in linen spotted with blood, in particular his legs. His skin was a pale grey in the candlelight, and if Katell hadn’t known better, she’d have believed him dead.
The clank of their armour woke him, and he dragged a rough hand down his face.
“You finally made it.” His deep voice was a breathless rasp. When he tried to sit up, pain flickered across his face. He dropped his gaze, jaw clenched.
Katell had the stark impression that he refused to show any sign of weakness in front of them. She rolled her eyes and knelt by his cot to help him. “Don’t move, you’ll reopen your wounds.”
Atticus passed her a cup of water from a side table, and she brought it to Dorias’ lips. He took a few sips before pushing it away.
Atticus examined the bandaged wounds, and his expression grew pinched. “You look on the brink of death.”
Sitting hunched over, Dorias let out a sardonic breath. “If it weren’t for Katell, I’d no doubt be following Vanth to the Underworld.” A low chuckle escaped him, yet the gleam in his eyes waned, replaced by pain.
“We should let you rest and recover.” She checked the bottles littering the side table. It was hard to see him so frail. “Didn’t Thocero give you anything to help you sleep?”
“He did as much as he could.” Dorias sank back against the cushions with a groan. The sheen of sweat covering his pale face unsettled her. Back in the arena, she’d seen many warriors in a similar state, and none had made it through the night.
Then again, Aurelius had refused to heal them unless they were Gifted.
The tent flaps ruffled, and two hard-faced soldiers slipped through, flanking the entrance. An older man dipped inside next, dressed in fine armour over a white tunic stitched with golden thread. He removed his red-crested helmet and tossed it to his guard before approaching Dorias’ cot.
With a face etched with the marks of time and framed by greying temples, the Sixth Legion Legate, Quintus Ancharius, emitted the austere aura of a seasoned commander who’d navigated many battlefields.
He nodded to Atticus, who saluted with a closed fist to his chest and a bowed head. Ancharius spared Katell a glance before he zeroed in on Dorias.
“Dalmatius, my friend, how are you feeling?” Concern threaded his rough voice.
The young soldier attending Dorias was quick to bring the legate a chair, but Ancharius waved him off. “I won’t be staying long.”
“I’ve been better.” Dorias sat up a little straighter in front of his commander, a grimace tugging the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t believe the Westerners were capable of such magic.”
“We’ve clearly underestimated them,” Ancharius agreed. “The Senate believed that without the Rebel Queen to lead the tribes, the Westerners would break and revert to their squabbling ways, but another has come in her place.”
“You speak of Volcos?”
The legate nodded. His sharp gaze shifted to the young soldier, who promptly ducked out of the tent, and then focused on Katell. “Your newest recruit, can we trust her?”
Dorias’ heavy gaze met hers. “I trust her with my life. She’s the one who saved me.”
Katell’s pulse quickened, but she forced her expression to remain neutral.
The legate faced her fully, studying her from head to toe. “Is that why you’re covered in blood, Black Helmet? I can barely tell if you’re a woman or a beast. If you were the one who saved my favourite praefect’s life, then you have my thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow at the word ‘beast’, but Atticus cut her a warning look. The legate had already turned away as if she wasn’t worth further notice.
“You are correct. Volcos has brought the tribes together once more,” he told Dorias. “Our spies tell me the Western chiefs had planned to meet at the hillfort at the end of summer. They intend to attack Rasenna. We’re here to stop them, but can’t linger. We must take the hillfort before Volcos’ reinforcements arrive.”
That didn’t give them a lot of time. Dorias must have realised it, too, because his expression hardened. “We will. While I recover, Atticus will take over command of the Black Helmets. You can trust him to lead the men into battle.”
The legate glanced at the brawny second-in-command at Katell’s side. “I’ll have need of your cohort. Our spies have also caught sight of Megarian rebels within the fort.”
Katell perked up at the new piece of information. Although she’d learned plenty from Sinope about Megara and King Pandion, she hadn’t met any Megarians since Leukos.
“If the rebel scum is here to ally itself with Volcos, then the Emperor must be warned,” Ancharius continued. “I’ve already sent a messenger.”
Dorias nodded, his frown aggravating the lines of fatigue etched across his face.
“Rest now, my friend.” The legate clasped a hand on his shoulder. “There are other matters to discuss, but I’ll speak with Atticus for now. I hope to see you on your feet soon.”
Ancharius motioned to the entrance with a tilt of his head, then walked out, followed by his guards. Katell approached the cot again and helped Dorias lie back down.
Her fingers brushed against his bare chest as she let him go. “Rest. I’ll come to visit again.”
He gave her a faint smile, then closed his eyes.
She left with Atticus and found Ancharius busy reading a scroll outside, surrounded by no less than a dozen men.
“I’ll have need of you.” He thrust the paper back at his aide and strode over to Atticus with haste. “The Westerners spend their nights undoing our hard work in the valley, destroying the barricade we erected at the foot of the hill, and refilling the trenches. They send their Gifted to toy with us, and the few guards I can spare to keep watch are overwhelmed. We’re losing men every night.”
Atticus bowed his head. “The Black Helmets will help with guard duty.”
The legate’s stern gaze fixed on Katell. “I keep hearing great things about you, Black Helmet, and look forward to seeing you on the battlefield. But first, make sure to take a bath.”
Katell ground her teeth, but Ancharius left without another word, his guards flanking him.
Atticus stared at her blood-splattered armour and skin, and a low chuckle escaped him. “He’s right, you reek. Go wash up and rest. Once night falls, we’ll go hunt those fair-haired bastards.”
In the days that followed, Katell helped in the trenches, checked up on Dorias, and did some light training with Pinaria, freshly released from the infirmary. She saw only glimpses of her other companions, most of whom spent their nights guarding the palisades.
Rumours of Gifted Westerners circulated among the camps. The sheer size of the encampment and defence lines made it impossible for the legions to always keep watch, and the Westerners often eluded them. Every morning, another wall or set of trenches lay destroyed, and every night, crouched around their campfires, soldiers gossiped like old women about their shifts.
Katell didn’t pay any attention to them until dinner one night when she overheard a group mention a warrior Gifted with speed.
Her mind turned to Nik before she could stop herself. He’d chosen to remain a slave in Bruna’s arena, so how could he be in the Western Lands? Still, no matter how much Nik’s decision to stay behind had frustrated her, she couldn’t put him out of her mind.
Was he still being cared for by his patroness?
Was he alive?
Memories of their time together resurfaced while she toasted wheat flatbread over the fire. Soon enough, like a damn had been opened, memories of Sinope, and then Alena surged forth.
Katell had missed her sister’s birthday. Alena had always been so excited for such celebrations, but Katell had almost forgotten it. She’d barely thought of her sister in days. The sudden realisation brought her to a halt, and she almost scorched the bread she’d prepared for Pinaria. Grumbling under her breath, she set it aside and then moved on to the porridge.
She glanced up at the shrouded night sky, failing to locate the moon concealed behind thick clouds, and released a long breath. Perhaps it was time to confront the harsh truth and move on. With each day that passed, the likelihood of finding Alena again became a distant dream. Despite the profound ache in Katell’s heart, she needed to cast Alena from her mind and focus on the impending battle.
Tia’s voice filtered nearby. As usual, she sat among a group of admirers, chatting and laughing. She hadn’t spoken a word to Katell since the village and even went so far as to ignore her in their shared tent.
Katell had spent a lot of time together with Dorias since the attack, but she hadn’t yet brought up Tia in conversation.
Their shared kiss, however, plagued her thoughts day and night, and try as she might, she couldn’t keep Dorias out of her mind. Other soldiers, hoping for her company at night, had approached her, but she’d dismissed them all, their advances only deepening her longing for Dorias.
Once the sloppy porridge with strips of meat and asparagus was ready, she filled two bowls, grabbed the toasted flatbread, and brought them back to her tent. Tiny torches lit up the Western hillfort in the distance, and beyond it, a scattering of stars pierced through the veiled night sky. Damocles was somewhere among them, no doubt watching over her as she tried to navigate the truth within his damned web of lies: the Westerners, her Gift, and even the strange memories back at the village. The thatched houses had seemed so familiar… just how much had Damocles kept from her?
Irritation unfurled in her chest, and she shoved any thoughts of him away.
Pinaria sat outside their tent, tending to a campfire.
Katell passed her a bowl and sat on a wooden log across from her. “You seem better.”
Her friend dug into her food, her olive skin shining in the dim light. “I feel better.”
“You did well in training today.” Katell had enjoyed their spar, and it had left her famished. She dipped her bread into the porridge. “You just need to build up your strength again.”
“Bless Laran for Thocero. Without him, I would need weeks before I could fight on the battlefield.”
“Without him, you’d be dead.” Remembering Pinaria’s close encounter with death, her heart constricted.
Pinaria sighed. “And so would Praefect Dalmatius.”
They said no more, each lost in their thoughts as they ate. It had been a strange few days without Dorias around to order their small group. Atticus had taken charge, although between meetings with the legate, organising the Black Helmets’ shifts, and visiting Dorias, Katell had barely seen him.
The camp was unusually quiet that evening as more soldiers had been sent to patrol the defensive lines. With each passing day, the siege dragged on like an endless waiting game with no victor in sight.
Katell blew out a breath. “I don’t like sitting around like this.”
Pinaria paused, a spoon halfway to her lips. “Oh, you don’t need to stay with me. I don’t mean to be a burden.”
A chuckle escaped Katell at the dejected look on her friend’s face. “Not you, Pinaria. I mean sitting around here while we wait for the enemy to attack.”
“Ah, that.” Pinaria gave her a half smile. “Welcome to the life of a soldier.”
Katell huffed, stuffing more bread in her mouth.
“It’s better that we avoid battle until Praefect Dalmatius is back on his feet,” Pinaria went on. “Whatever happens next will be a tough fight, and we’ll need him. The Westerners are strong and like to use tricks and illusions.”
The terrible village ambush came to mind, and Katell clenched her fists. The Westerners had been hiding in plain sight and had not only made them look like fools, but had also killed Cinto and almost taken Dorias down.
They had no honour.
Pinaria set her bowl aside and leaned closer over the fire, lowering her voice. “Arnza said Legate Ancharius kept the news of the village attack quiet. He didn’t want to scare the cohorts. However, the soldiers have noticed Praefect Dalmatius’ absence and believe it’s bad luck. Until he appears again, morale will be low.”
Their praefect held a lot of respect in the Sixth. He was the legate’s favourite commander, but beyond that, the soldiers looked up to all those gifted by Laran, and Dorias was the strongest among them.
The tension among the cohorts wasn’t solely a result of the siege, then; Dorias’ absence played a part as well.
“What about Atticus?” Katell asked. “He’s our leader now and seems well-respected.”
“It’s not the same; Atticus doesn’t have the same reputation. Dalmatius is the Undefeated, feared throughout the Empire. He saved the Sixth more than once from tough spots. You saw what he did during the Westerners’ attack on the camp.”
Katell nodded, then glanced at the dark hill looming over the camp. “He might have Laran’s Flame, but the Western gods are old and powerful, too.”
Although she’d tried not to think of them, it was impossible to forget the sight of the antlered god or the one wrapped in lightning. She’d witnessed what they were capable of, the magic they could wield.
Pinaria threw a handful of dry twigs into the fire. “Well then, let’s pray for the praefect’s swift—”
A chilling scream rang through the camp.
Katell jumped to her feet, her hand on the hilt of her sword. The scream wasn’t the usual sound of pain from an attack. It was one of pure fear.
“Pinaria, grab your armour.”
Her friend dived into their tent and dragged out her belongings. Other soldiers, huddled around their own campfires, drew their blades, scanning the darkness in tense silence.
Another scream echoed, closer this time, and an icy wind picked up through the tents, extinguishing half the fires. More shrieks followed.
Katell’s body went rigid. Her heart pounded against her ribcage.
“What’s going on?” Pinaria slipped the chain mail over her head and shoulders, and Katell helped her attach the leather shoulder straps.
Thick fog weaved through the rows of tents. Spooked, some of the soldiers bolted.
“Don’t run!” Katell shouted, unsheathing her sword. The fog grew, rising from the ground and swallowing everything in sight. “Keep your swords ready and stay together.”
“What magic is this?” Pinaria stood at her back, her blade raised.
She didn’t have an answer, but she did not doubt that it was another Westerner trick.
Dark shadows moved among the fog, and the hairs along the back of Katell’s neck stood on end. “Can you use your Gift?”
In response, a purple light sparked between Pinaria’s hands.
“Create a barrier around us.”
Magic burst forth, surrounding them both in Pinaria’s purple protective bubble.
“Something’s coming,” Pinaria whispered.
A dark form emerged from the fog, and Katell shifted her stance, shielding her friend. Her pulse drummed furiously in her ears.
A figure, tall and slim, approached the barrier of light and stopped. Her long, fair hair glowed a soft purple.
Pinaria paled. “A Westerner? In the camp?”
When the womanly figure swept through the magical barrier and the campfire lit up her features, Pinaria gasped.
Shock sucked all the air from Katell’s lungs. Her sword slipped out of her hands and fell to the muddy ground.
Not quite solid, not quite translucent, the pale woman in a short white tunic and gold belt approached. Her once beautiful shimmering eyes were gone, replaced by two gaping black holes.
“Katell,” she said. Blood dripped down her pallid cheeks.
“No.” Katell shuddered, a chill crawling down her spine and freezing her in place. “By the Moon, it can’t be. You’re dead!”
Pinaria grabbed her arm tight. “Who is it?”
A rush of emotions overwhelmed her, and her heart swelled. Memories rushed through her mind, leaving her breathless, unable to believe her eyes. The blonde Amazon she’d once called a friend and then killed in the arena stood before her again.
“Sinope…” Katell’s voice shook as she dared to utter the name. “…is that you?”