“They’ll follow her in any form, sir. As long as Melantha is present—fully manifested or no more than a whisper in the air—the dead will march on the orders of their queen.”
The dead.I practically scoffed. Such a common, everyday name for her mystical, otherworldly beasts.
Melantha’s soldiers weren’t like the ghouls of Beggar’s Moat—weak and festering, strong only for short bursts when riled by their prey. The Army of the Dead was relentless—the vicious dead, resurrected and animated by the darkest, most ancient magick imaginable, driven by a singular purpose:
To consume everything in their wake.
And she wielded this power not only through her own army, but throughanycorpses she happened upon, in any realm, no matter how long ago those poor souls had passed on. Melantha had the power to call upon them all—including my own ghouls—bending them to her will and turning them against us.
“Darkwinter invades from the north,” I said, pacing the dark chamber. “Melantha and her gruesome army from the south. Rebels eat a million tiny holes in the realm like a fucking cancer. One by one, the dead of Midnight—ourdead—will answer the call of the dark goddess, and we will become nothing but fodder for the…” I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, willing myself to pull it together. As hopeless as our situation appeared, it would do no good for the generals and guards to witness a breakdown. Now more than ever, I needed to be strong. A leader. A tyrant, if that’s what the situation called for.
I was close—sofuckingclose to achieving all that I’d set out to achieve. The realm was within my grasp, and I would not let these vile enemies waltz into my home and unraveldecadesof planning. Of sacrifice. Of pain.
“Who beyond Vanderham’s Wall still has the courage to fight?” I asked, my voice cold and impassive once more. “To stand with the armies of Midnight? To stand with their commander?”
After a brief commotion of comparing notes and ruling out the factions we absolutely couldn’t trust, the generals came to a consensus.
We were, in a word, fucked.
Oona named a handful of factions whose loyalties hadn’t yet turned, but they amounted to little more than an army of renegade demons and weak humans who’d do anything to commute their sentences in Midnight. We also had the ghouls of Beggar’s Moat, bound to serve their commander for eternity, but what good would they do against Melantha’s forces? Even with constant feeding, my ghouls wouldn’t last more than a handful of minutes against the true Army of the Dead. And though we hadn’t yet been tested, there was a good chance that if the dark goddess called upon them, they’d answer, turning on me in an instant.
“What of the gargoyles in Stone City?” one of the other generals asked. A fair question, as most of them had remained somewhat politically neutral, making themselves available to the highest bidders as needed.
“Mercenaries,” Oona confirmed. “Most of them can be bought, but they won’t come cheaply. Not for such a dangerous task. And if Darkwinter decided to make a better offer, they’d easily turn.”
“We need more allies,” I said. “Fighters. Not riffraff and mercenaries.”
A shuffling of feet. A clearing of throats. A general murmur of agreement, yet none of my generals offered any viable solutions.
How could they? They hadn’t risen to their ranks by spoon-feeding me lies and wishful idealism.
“We will reconvene tomorrow evening to review any new intelligence we can gather,” I announced, a sudden bone-deep weariness gripping me from head to toe. “Tonight, I want all of you to return to your posts at once. Apprise your troops of the news about Melantha, as well as the ongoing threat from Darkwinter. All of us must work together to recruit as many others as we can to this cause, by conscription, coercion, or any means necessary. Our realm—our very home—is at risk. If we fail to defend her now, then…”
I glowered at each of them, every single soldier and hired guard positioned around my table, ensuring they understood exactly what was at stake.
They didn’t need me to speak the words.
A shudder rippled through the room as all of them undoubtedly contemplated life under the reign of Melantha—an unhinged dark goddess with an army of ghouls at her command. In the face of such a gruesome alternative, the vile acts perpetrated by the legendary Keradoc of Midnight looked like mere party games.
Certain they understood, I dismissed the room, gesturing for just one of my advisors to remain—Oona, my Lieutenant General. My most trusted.
The warlord’s daughter, always eager to serve her father and homeland both.
The old guilt churned anew.
Ignoring it, I said, “Give me your honest assessment. Are thereanyin Midnight still willing to risk their lives for the realm? Soldiers, mercenaries… hell, at this point I’d enlist mothers and children if I thought they could help.”
Oona’s eyes flickered with something that looked a lot like frustration. Like anger. I’d never seen it in her before, and the sight of it sent fresh worry blazing through my chest.
“You know this realm better than anyone,” she said, her jaw ticking, her eyes fixed on me. “Do you honestly think there are others? People willing to fight and die for us? Foryou? After—” She bit off her words, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe the gods had damned her to this fate. To this bloodline.
To me.
“Speak plainly, Oona,” I commanded. “You weren’t raised to shrink in the face of conflict.”
She met my eyes again, her own steely and unflinching. A sight to make any father proud.
“Our armies—your very generals and personal guards—are no more loyal than the factions sniffing around the wall willing to trade a lifetime of servitude for safe harbor in Amaranth City. All of them are forced to do your bidding under threat of torture and death—by the wilds of Midnight or by their commander himself. You cannotpossiblyrely on soldiers like that to defend us. Totrulydefend us. If you don’t see that by now, then neither I nor your other generals can help you.Sir,” she added with a belated salute.
