Chapter 31 #2
“Go? But you’re barely back!” Pinaria argued. “Why Dodona anyway? What’s so important?”
“A friend of mine was taken there.” Katell snatched the sheathed sword propped against the straw bed and thrust it at Pinaria. “Someone important. I need to save her before Tarxi—” She broke off, unable to voice the worst.
Pinaria stepped forward, firelight flashing off her chain mail. “We’re coming with you. You can’t confront Tarxi and his legion alone.”
Arnza nodded, determined. “Whatever you need, Kat. We Black Helmets stick together.”
Their loyalty was a bright candle in the dark. Part of her wanted to shelter it close, while the rest of her wanted to shove it away before it cost them their lives.
“No. Out of the question,” Katell said. “What I’m about to do could get you both in serious trouble.”
“We can argue about it later,” Pinaria snapped, tucking her helmet under one arm and slinging her pack over her shoulder. “All three of us need to leave the camp. Now.”
Katell opened her mouth to protest, but Arnza stepped closer, shadows slicing across his face.
“We don’t trust Tarchun. After you vanished, he spoke of attacking villages in retaliation.
When we questioned him about harming civilians, he flew into a rage and confined us here.
” His jaw clenched, eyes darkening. “Then, two days ago, a cohort from the First arrived.” His mouth twisted.
“If anyone’s going to raze a cluster of villages to the ground, it’s them. ”
Unease coiled in Katell’s gut. Tarchun acting on his own was foreseeable, but the First’s arrival? That meant something else was in motion. Something planned.
She exhaled slowly. “Fine. Let’s go.”
A tight smile curved Katell’s lips, gratitude swelling in her chest for the two people willing to risk everything for her.
They moved swiftly through the camp towards the supply tent, slipping past the dim glow of watchfires and the low murmur of distant sentries.
Inside, the smell of oiled leather stung her nose.
With Arnza and Pinaria’s help, she gathered what she needed—saddlebags filled with rations, a rolled map of Achaea, and two daggers she strapped to her belt.
The camp was still quiet when they hurried into the stables.
The air was thick with hay, leather, and sweat, undercut by the earthy scent of dirt and straw.
Horses shifted in their stalls, hooves scraping wood.
Katell ran a calming hand along the warm neck of a bay mare as they loaded the saddlebags.
But before they could saddle another, the rhythmic thud of heavy boots broke the stillness.
Katell’s head snapped up. Tarchun filled the doorway, Praefect Ennius at his side, two dozen armed soldiers at their backs. More poured in through the rear entrance, sealing every exit.
They were surrounded.
Katell shot Pinaria a pointed look, a silent command to be ready with her magic if it came to that. Her own hand hovered near the hilt of the Achaean sword at her belt.
Then she straightened, meeting the legate head-on.
“Praefect Viridia,” Tarchun greeted with a slick smile. His armour gleamed in the torchlight as he plucked off his red-plumed helmet and tossed it towards Ennius. The praefect caught it with a scowl, but Tarchun, oblivious—or uncaring—of his right hand’s disdain, didn’t so much as glance at him.
The legate stood with shoulders back and chin lifted, basking in the moment. “You’ve returned and are already leaving so soon? I had a feeling the Tirynthians would reconsider once we threatened to wipe out the villages.”
Katell’s eyes narrowed. “There was no need to go to such lengths. I would have escaped eventually.”
Tarchun scoffed, closing the distance, the press of soldiers behind him making it clear he felt untouchable. “Don’t be so na?ve. The First is already on its way. Those villages were doomed whether you were released or not.”
Her stomach twisted. She pictured flames, screaming, the charred remains of homes. So many innocent lives would be lost. She set her shoulders, refusing to look away. “The Tirynthians honoured your deal. Call the cohort back.”
“Oh? And why would I do that?” He leaned in, close enough that the sour reek of wine hit her nose. “You forget your place, praefect. You were sent here because your loyalty was questioned, and now look at you—back without a scratch.”
Katell’s jaw tightened. “What are you implying?”
A cruel glint lit his shimmering eye. “Only those with good intentions can pass through the barrier.” His tone sharpened. “You no longer consider Tiryns—or its people—your enemy.”
Her breath caught. The people inside—Alena, Nik… He was right. Her sister wasn’t the enemy. Neither were the Black Helmets. Not even Dorias. The realisation sank like a stone in her chest.
Her once-clear allegiances had blurred into something far more complicated.
Around them, soldiers shifted, closing in like wolves tightening their circle.
Katell’s hand went to her sword, but before steel cleared leather, silvery-purple light flared. Pinaria’s magic surged outwards, a shimmering dome sealing her, Arnza, Katell, and the horse inside its protective shell.
The soldiers froze, eyes wide, awe and confusion etched across their faces. Even Tarchun faltered, smugness slipping. Ennius stayed back, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Tarchun was quick to reclaim his swagger, stepping forward with renewed bravado. “The Emperor will be pleased when he learns how I exposed you as a traitor and secured Tiryns.”
Katell tilted her head, weighing his words. “So… Emperor Tarquinius doesn’t know about the deal? Or the villages you’re burning?”
A flicker crossed Tarchun’s face—subtle but telling.
He’d acted on his own. His smirk snapped back into place, and he let out a derisive snort.
“Of course not. The Emperor’s attention is on the slave rebellion in Dodona.
The First was sent to crush it, and a cohort was dispatched here as a precaution. I chose to put them to better use.”
Crush it?
Katell’s stomach clenched, but there was no time to dwell on Leywani as Tarchun’s men closed in. The first rays of sunlight carved long shadows across the wooden beams. Behind her, Arnza and Pinaria stood unwavering, shielded by the luminous dome.
Her pulse hammered as she scanned the advancing soldiers. Her voice sliced through the thick air, cold and relentless.
“You sent five hundred men to raid the countryside and slaughter defenceless villagers?”
Tarchun’s smirk stretched wider, the eerie gleam of his eye catching the dim light. “They’re rebels in the making,” he spat. “The legions do what’s necessary to maintain order. You, of all people, should understand that.”
“Achaea is an imperial province,” Katell shot back. “Those people are under the Emperor’s protection.”
“Not when they still worship the Twelve!” he bellowed, face flushing crimson, veins pulsing in his neck. “No matter how many temples we burn or priests we kill, they cling to their weak gods and refuse to bow to Laran.”
Katell’s lips curved in icy contempt. “You call them weak.” She stepped boldly beyond Pinaria’s barrier. Tarchun’s smugness faltered, and he recoiled. “And yet you implanted the eye of an in yourself—a Gift from the Huntress.”
For a heartbeat, shock flashed across his face before rage roared to the surface.
“The eye was a reward from the Emperor himself!” Spittle flew from his lips.
“My brother and I were honoured after we rounded up those barbaric Amazons following the war. And now, I get to bring him a traitorous praefect—Laran’s Chosen.
” His tone dripped with cruel satisfaction.
“Do you know what the Emperor will do to you? He won’t be finished until Vanth herself arrives to drag you to the underworld—”
Katell moved before he could finish. She seized the front of his gleaming armour, yanking him close. With her other hand, she ripped a dagger from her belt.
“Then why don’t you meet her first?” she hissed, each word sharp with venom.
In one ruthless motion, she drove the blade deep into Tarchun’s prized eye. The orb ruptured under her strike, blood spurting in thick streams, coating her hand and his face.
Tarchun let out an agonised, bloodcurdling scream. His hands clawed at the ruined socket as he crumpled, his cries echoing through the stables, drowning the gasps of the surrounding soldiers.
Many of the men froze, faces pale with shock. Then, snapping out of their trance, they jolted into action, hands flying to their weapons.
Katell was faster. She unsheathed her Achaean blade in one swift motion, its edge gleaming cold in the morning light. Her eyes swept over them as her voice cut through the chaos with icy calm.
“Don’t waste your lives for this coward,” she warned. “Trust me, against three Black Helmets, the odds aren’t in your favour.”
The soldiers hesitated, eyes flicking nervously to Ennius. For a moment, silence hung thick, broken only by Tarchun’s anguished wails.
Finally, Ennius uncrossed his arms, disgust flickering across his face as he glanced at his legate. He raised a hand, signalling the men to halt. “Stand down.” He beckoned to a few nearby soldiers. “You three—get him to the infirmary. Quickly.”
The men moved, casting wary glances at Katell while Ennius fixed her with a cold, calculating stare.
“Legate Tarchun defied the Emperor’s orders—and he got what he deserved,” he declared, though doubt shadowed his voice. “Laran’s Chosen has done no wrong. Return to your posts.”
The soldiers shifted, reluctant but obedient, and filed out of the stables. Two men hoisted Tarchun’s bloodied, limp form, their eyes lingering on Katell with a mix of awe and fear.
Only Ennius and two soldiers remained. Pinaria exhaled and let her barrier fade, the silvery-purple glow vanishing as if it had never been, leaving only tension in its wake.