Chapter 39 #2
His fingers found another arrow, but it was too late. A shadow loomed at his flank. He twisted. Jodhar was already there, broadsword cleaving toward him. He barely ducked in time, the blade whistling past his head. Sand scattered as he rolled, coming up on his feet in one fluid motion.
His hand closed around the hilt of his dagger. A curved Asadian blade—light, fast, made for precision over brute strength. Not his preferred weapon, but in close combat, it would do.
Jodhar grinned, eyes flashing with glee. “We meet again.”
Alarik didn’t waste breath on words. He lunged. Steel met steel, the force jarring through his arms. The clash of blades echoed across the dunes, but there was no time to revel in the fight.
More mercenaries dismounted, surrounding him in a tightening ring.
He counted at least two dozen. Against one.
Jodhar struck again, his broadsword swinging heavy and brutal. Alarik sidestepped, slipping through the attack with practiced ease. His counter was swift, blade carving a shallow line across Jodhar’s ribs. The mercenary hissed but recovered quickly, striking harder, faster.
Jodhar fought like a man with nothing to lose.
But Alarik fought like a man with everything at stake.
Then, he caught movement from the edge of his vision, a hint of gold. Kaelen was pushing off the boulder.
Alarik gritted his teeth. “Stay back!”
But Kaelen wouldn’t be Kaelen if he listened to orders.
He was already moving, his scimitar in hand.
His movements were slower than usual, his body heavy with exhaustion, but true to his Sunborn legacy, his strikes were no less lethal.
His blade caught the nearest mercenary in the throat, cutting him down.
Another came at him from the side, thinking he was easy prey. Kaelen pivoted, steel flashing. Blood sprayed across the sand.
Alarik exhaled sharply, focusing. A mercenary lunged for Kaelen’s back. He ran and intercepted, his dagger cutting deep. The man crumpled with a strangled gasp. There was no time to regroup. More pressed in, their strikes fast and relentless.
They weren’t going to win this. Not like this.
Fighting back-to-back, they moved in unison, every motion sharpened by instinct. But for every enemy they cut down, two more seemed to be taking their place.
Alarik risked a glance toward Reiya, making sure she was still safe, still hiding behind the boulder.
But she wasn’t .
She was scanning the battlefield, searching for an opening. Her gaze snapped to the mercenaries’ horses, still tethered together just beyond the fray.
Keeping low, she crawled across the sand, gripping a fallen spear in her hands. She reached the horses just as a mercenary noticed her. He lunged, but she swung the spear like a staff, her movement erratic but she caught him across the temple. The man crumpled.
Alarik’s lips parted slightly in surprise.
She wasn’t done. Yanking the limyerite crystal dagger from her skirt’s pocket, she severed the lead horse’s reins and gave it a hard smack on the flank.
The animal shrieked and reared, its sudden movement startling the others.
Hooves thundered as the remaining horses panicked, breaking into a wild, stampeding frenzy.
The ripple of chaos gave Alarik and Kaelen the opening they needed.
He lunged, slashing through another opponent. Kaelen ducked a swing, driving his sword into the next before swaying on his feet. The mercenaries faltered, thrown off by the stampeding horses and the sudden turn of battle.
Alarik’s focus sharpened. He grabbed Kaelen by the arm, hauling him backward toward the ridge. His hand around Kaelen was wet and sticky with blood. His brother had been wounded; they needed to regroup.
But Jodhar wasn’t finished.
With a guttural roar, the mercenary charged again, sword raised high. Alarik turned just in time to meet the blow, steel clashing with a deafening ring. The impact rattled through his arms, driving him back a step. Sand kicked up around their feet as they circled.
“Running?” Jodhar spat, face red with fury. “That’s what I thought.”
Alarik’s jaw clenched. “Never from you.”
Jodhar lunged, striking low this time. Alarik deflected, the edge of the blade grazing his hip.
Pain flared, but he pushed through it, pivoting smoothly.
His counterstrike came fast—sharp and clean—but Jodhar parried, their blades locking.
For a breathless second, they stood inches apart, sweat and grit clinging to their skin, hatred simmering between them.
“You’re slow,” Jodhar sneered. “Must be all that crawling after that Omega.”
Alarik’s eyes flared. He drove forward with a snarl, knocking Jodhar off-balance—but before he could press the advantage, the ground beneath them gave a sudden, subtle shudder.
They both stilled.
Then, the first warhorn blared across the sands—low and thunderous.
Alarik turned. From the ridge beyond the dunes, banners unfurled—green and gold flashing like fire under the sun .
The Asadian royal army had arrived.
Relief surged through him, sharpening his focus instead of dulling it. The mercenaries faltered, their ranks shifting with uncertainty. A second horn blast cut through the lull, followed by the thunderous charge of cavalry.
Jodhar’s sneer vanished. His gaze flicked toward the oncoming soldiers—calculating, yet desperate.
Alarik didn’t give him time to think. He lifted his blade, steady and sure. “Now, we can fight properly. One on one.”
Tensing, Jodhar’s gaze darted over the battlefield as the mercenaries wavered. But he didn’t break. He wouldn’t run. His eyes locked onto Reiya, peeking out from behind the boulder where she’d taken refuge with Kaelen.
Alarik saw the moment Jodhar moved. The brute Alpha surged toward her, cutting a direct path through the chaos, intent on reaching her before the full force of the royal army crashed down upon them.
Alarik intercepted, his curved steel flashing as their blades met in a violent clash. Sparks flew, the impact reverberating through the desert air. Jodhar’s wild grin faded beneath Alarik’s relentless strikes. Step by step, he was driven back, his bravado crumbling into frustration and desperation.
All around them, the mercenaries scattered beneath the army’s advance, the clash of steel filling the desert as the soldiers corralled the remaining forces. The troop tightened their formation, shielding them as the battle shifted in their favour.
The battlefield narrowed to just the two of them, locked in a brutal rhythm of steel and sand. Jodhar was driven by pride and desperation, his strikes wild but powerful.
Their blades met again, the force of it shaking through Alarik’s arms. The mercenary twisted, using his bulk to shove him. For a fleeting second, his foot slipped in the loose sand. Jodhar seized the opening, driving his shoulder into his chest and sending him hard to the ground.
His gritted his teeth as he fell, rolling to avoid Jodhar’s downward strike.
The blade buried deep where his head had been just moments before, spraying sand in every direction.
Grit scratched at his eyes, and he blinked rapidly against the sting.
He came up swiftly, crouched low, his free hand digging into the earth for stability.
His breath came in sharp gasps, sweat glistening on his brow.
Then, with a surge of energy, he lunged. His blade sliced across Jodhar’s thigh, cutting deep. The mercenary stumbled, cursing as Alarik pressed the advantage. His strikes came faster now—short, brutal arcs meant to batter down Jodhar’s guard.
Alarik’s next strike was a downward slash, knocking Jodhar’s sword clean from his grip. The blade spun through the air, landing with a dull thud several feet away.
Jodhar froze, his chest heaving, eyes wide with disbelief as a sword hovered inches from his throat. Alarik’s hand didn’t tremble, the blade steady.
“Who sent you?” He demanded. “What do you know about Castiel Vaelmont’s plans?”
Jodhar sneered, blood staining his teeth, dripping from his lips. “You think I’ll talk? Kill me. You’ll get nothing.”
Alarik sword pressed against Jodhar’s throat. “As much as I want to, you and your men are coming with us. You’ll talk, one way or another.”
He opened his mouth, the command to detain Jodhar and the rest of the mercenaries ready on his lips. But before he spoke, the air snapped—a high, keening whistle slicing through the din.
His instincts screamed, but it was too late.
An arrow streaked past—too fast to follow, too precise to be chance.
It buried itself in Jodhar’s skull.
The hulking mercenary jerked, a flash of disbelief crossing his face before his body gave out, collapsing to the sand. The sound of it—the thud, the finality—echoed louder than the warhorns.
Alarik froze, heart hammering.
Stillness gripped the field. Every eye turned toward the fallen man.
He whirled around, scanning the dunes. His pulse raced. There was no sign of the archer. No flicker of movement, no raised bow among the soldiers on the ridge. Only the wind stirred, tugging at the green and gold banners overhead, and silence clung to the moment like a breath no one dared release .
That shot hadn’t come from a trembling recruit. It was calculated. Cold. Fired by someone who knew precisely where to aim—and how to disappear.
He sheathed his sword and turned, striding toward Reiya and Kaelen.
His brother sagged heavily against her. His golden complexion had turned to that of a parchment.
Her arm was locked around his waist, her other hand pressing against his wound.
Blood seeped between her fingers, staining the fabric of his tunic a deeper red.
The venom still coursed through his system, and now, another wound was added to his weakening body.
Alarik reached them in three strides, slipping his arm beneath his brother’s to take some of the weight.
“You’re reckless. You should’ve stayed behind the boulder,” he admonished.
Kaelen’s lips curved into a faint smile, his usual charm dimmed but not extinguished. “Too stubborn to die,” he rasped. “Can’t really let you . . . fight alone and . . . take all the glory.”
Alarik grinned. Then, their eyes lingered on Jodhar’s lifeless body.
“They didn’t want him talking,” he said grimly, his voice low and tight.
Reiya’s eyes were fixed on the arrow that had silenced him so decisively. “Did you see the archer?”
He shook his head, lips pressing into a thin line. “Too much chaos, but it was undoubtedly deliberate. I will instruct the captain of the guard to send men to search our surroundings.”
He turned when he heard the measured approach of footsteps. A shadow fell across the sand—a tall, broad figure moving with the quiet authority of a seasoned soldier. The man’s leather armour bore the green and gold sigil of the Asadian royal army, dust clinging to the edges of his dark green cloak.
Tension left Alarik’s limbs, but he didn’t allow himself to sag beneath it. Instead, he adjusted his hold on Kaelen, freeing one arm just enough to clasp the man’s forearm in a firm warrior’s handshake.
“You and your men,” he said, “arrived like a damn miracle, Marzius. I’ve never been more relieved to see anyone.”
The man’s dark eyes swept the battlefield—Kaelen’s bloodied state, the mercenary corpses strewn across the sand, horses needing to be corralled, the clear aftermath of a hard-won fight. He took it all in with a calm, assessing gaze before speaking.
”Princes.” His voice was low, measured, and as steady as ever. “It’s good to see you both alive. Upon receiving your message, the king ordered us to find you without delay. Thankfully, we succeeded.”
Kaelen let out a wheezing laugh, though it quickly turned into a cough. “Alive, just a little worse for wear, Marzius. Still, I’m glad the Sparo reached my father. I was beginning to think it was intercepted.” He huffed, managing the ghost of a smirk. “Or eaten.”
Alarik exhaled, shaking his head before turning to Reiya. “May I present Princess Reiyana Elidris of Aethonia.”
To her, he said, “Ketra, this is Captain Marzius, commander of the Princes’ Guard—one of the bravest and most reliable men in Asadia.”
Marzius’s sharp gaze shifted to Reiya at the endearment, though he made no comment. He inclined his head in a respectful bow.
“Princess.”
Reiya nodded in return. “Thank you for coming when you did, Captain.”
Marzius gave a curt nod. “The men are preparing shelter. A healer is already waiting to tend to the Tazahrin’s wounds. Please, follow me.”
But before moving on, the captain gazed mildly at Kaelen. “I hope this incident will serve as a reminder if you still insist on travelling without guards in the future, Your Highness.”
Kaelen huffed a weak chuckle, his voice hoarse but still laced with wry amusement. “You won’t let me forget about this, will you?” He winced as he pressed a hand to his bleeding wound, then added dryly, “You’ll fuss every time I want to take a short ride to the market for orange juice.”
Marzius shook his head, muttering about reckless princes under his breath before leading them toward the healer.
Alarik shifted Kaelen’s weight and moved to follow Marzius. As he did, he caught Reiya’s gaze. Her attention lingered on a single detail, sharp and unyielding, as if the rest of the battlefield had faded around it.
Was it Jodhar’s corpse ?
No—it was the arrow lodged in his forehead.
A faint breeze stirred, drawing his eyes to the blue cord tied just below the fletching, the colour standing out against the blood-darkened shaft. Alarik hadn’t noticed it before, but Reiya evidently had.
Her expression was too still, too focused, schooled into neutrality.
She’d seen something that alarmed her.
For now, he said nothing.