As I fight, Nilak swoops back and forth, raking the undead with her talons, snapping their heads off, and flinging them into the skies. Zenevieve calls out when I’m about to be jumped on from the back, or an undead is scaling the walls. I discover that if I knock down an undead soldier, one quick slam of my sword or boot while it’s starting to reform will destroy it for good. I takeout dozens, hundreds of undead that way, but I’m not always able to get to them before they’re back on their feet.
Inside the city walls, I can hear people shouting. Screaming. Sobbing. I block the terrible sounds out. There’s nothing I can do for them.
My shoulders ache. My eyes burn from all the smoke and ash. Blisters form on my palms. But I keep fighting because my only choices are battle or death.
As I grow weary, I start to make mistakes. I’m caught off-balance. I don’t pay attention to my blind spot. I’m sliced by a sword that I should have blocked. I can feel blood running down my left side, and it’s getting harder to see. To breathe. To fight.
I’m knocked off my feet and onto my back. My arms are trapped by shuffling feet. A sword is brandished point-down over my chest, and it’s being raised in two bony hands, by one of Maledin’s fallen soldiers, I notice bitterly.
“Fuck,” I mutter in a strangled voice. My arms are pinned, no matter how hard I wrench them. The blade is about to pierce my chest, and all I can feel is the deepest regret that my death is going to cause Zenevieve even more pain, after she’s already endured so much.
A shiver goes through the undead soldier. Every bone in his body trembles, and with a sigh, he crumbles into dust. The sword clatters harmlessly to one side.
The weight leaves my arms, and I’m able to sit up. All around me, undead soldiers are blowing away on the wind, leaving their rusted armor and weapons behind.
Nilak lands, and a slender figure slides in an ungainly rush toward the ground. Then Zenevieve runs over to me, sobbing and calling my name. She falls to her knees in front of me.
“I thought you were going to die. I thought it was going to kill you. Stesha, are you all right? You’re covered in blood.”
“I’m fine. They’re just scratches,” I say distantly, still looking around in disbelief. “Areyouall right?” I quickly take her hands and peer into her face, and I’m relieved to see she’s unharmed.
“Is it over?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” Over my shoulder, I shout as loudly as I can, “Keep these gates sealed. Wait for an all clear.”
I get slowly to my feet, sword in one hand, Zenevieve’s fingers clasped firmly in the other. I can hear shouting from within the city, and I don’t know if the people are fighting undead or fighting fires. Outside the gates, I don’t trust that it’s over. Zenevieve, Nilak, and I are on high alert as we watch and listen for the shuffle and moans of the undead.
“Do you think Isavelle and Zabriel managed to kill the lich, and that’s why the undead army crumbled away?”
“I don’t know. It’s possible, but we have no way of knowing until the king and queen return.”
Zenevieve’s voice is tight with worry. “Alpha, what if they return with green flames in their eyes?”
“Then we will deal with it.” I squeeze her hand reassuringly, though I have no idea how we could do anything in the face of such a disaster.
As the eastern sky lightens, we’re able to take a better look around. There’s not an undead in sight. The gate has nearly been worn through. I doubt it would have held for much longer.
As the sun rises over the horizon, the gate creaks open, and soldiers carrying beaten-up swords and civilians brandishing garden implements and axes peer carefully outside. Then the gate is fully open, and people are lowering their weapons and smiling, blinking in the light of the new day.
A battle-worn soldier with blood pouring down the side of her face salutes me. The soldiers behind her do the same. Beyond them, the injured are being tended in the streets, andthe dead are being laid out, but there are not so many dead as I feared. Fires are being put out with buckets of water.
A woman seizes my hand with both of hers and holds it tightly. She’s dressed in scorched civilian clothes, and her hair is thick with ash. “Thank you, dragonmaster. Your dragon was our protector all through the dark night. We knew we should keep fighting as long as we saw her above us. We all cheered for her during the Dragon Games. She’s our angel of the northern gate.”
I look at her in surprise, and then the faces of those around her. These people of New Maledin saw Nilak fighting above them and took courage from her, just as the people of Old Maledin would have done.
I think it must be all the smoke and ash in the air, but my chest is suddenly very tight. “Nilak is proud to have served you, as am I and my mate Zenevieve.”
“Is that her name? Nilak?” the woman asks. “She will always be an angel to those of us who live by the northern gate.”
“But what is an angel?” I ask, perplexed.
She looks uncertain. “I hope it doesn’t offend you, dragonmaster, but they are divine protectors that the Brethren taught us about.”
I shake my head. “I am not offended. Neither the Brethren nor the Maledinni own divine protection. My dragon is honored by your esteem.”
Beside me, tears are streaming down Zenevieve’s face as she looks around at the survivors: scorched, bloodied, exhausted, but alive. “You have all been so brave. It must have been terrifying for you.”
The woman lets go of my hand and uses a clean corner of her apron to dry Zenevieve’s tears.
