Each bursts from the earth with the sound of thorns shrieking as they grow. I’ve seen a gate similar to this before, one created by the seed Caspian gave us for his revelry day party.
I ignite the Lance of Valor from the queen’s token.He’s near.
From the first gate pour creatures the color of old meat and moldy bread. Goblins. Dozens of them, hundreds. Rotting bark for skin, sharp teeth in too-wide mouths. Some crawl on all fours; others sprint on backward-bending legs. Their armor is a mockery—scraps of bone, stolen metal, helmets made of hollowed-out skulls. Their eyes glow yellow and bright, like frogs peering out of a swamp.
A larger goblin emerges riding a snarling grinjaw with a broken mandible. He points at our ranks and lets out a roar.
The horde screams back and charges.
There’s a tug on my arm, and I turn to face Dom, his golden eyes flashing. “We should try to lure them out of the Briar. We can’t fight in there. That’s his territory.”
I shift away from him, then raise the lance high and shout to the battalions, “Burn the Briar to the ground! Go, now! For Autumn! For the Vale! Charge!”
Flames roar to life along the front line as our mages advance. Bows notch. Oil canisters roll. The fire is coming.
But even fire must fight to survive in the Briar’s shadow.
My soldiers rush forward, pushing back the first ranks of goblins, driving them into the Briar. The smell of smoke assaultsmy nose as a barrage of flaming arrows takes hold in the brambles.
My brother stares at me with a betrayed expression. “I do not fear death, little brother,” I say, “nor should any who stand with me. I control who lives and who dies, because I control the flames. The Briar will burn, and Caspian will be ashes within it.”
Then I crack my reins and surge into the fray.
My army crashes against the Briar like a golden tide. Arrows scream through the sky, torches fly, oil slicks the ground. The first line of goblins shriek and scatter as flames lick the outer edges of the thorns. The Briar itself seems to wail, a low, keening sound that rises from the brambles, as if the land resents our presence.
It’s like entering a forest. The towering briars swallow daylight. Thorns slash at my skin and armor, and walls of violet and black twist around our flanks. It is a labyrinth within. My horse shudders beneath me, but I urge her on. Out of my peripheral, I see soldiers trapped between pockets of briars and fire. The goblins know this terrain. They scramble along the thorns like insects, springing from above, tearing men from their horses with jagged knives and shrieking laughter.
I spear one monster through the throat, another through the gut. Blood spatters the ground. The light that makes it through is fractured, strange—purple and orange and flickering as if the realm can’t decide what time of day it is.
A roar shatters the air.
Something massive barrels toward me: a goblin that’s twice the size of the others. It’s the one I noticed earlier, mounted atop a grinjaw with a dangling mandible. It swings a club.
I try to dart out of the way, but it’s too late.
Crack.
Pain explodes across my shoulder as the club hits me. I fly from the saddle, slam into a patch of thorns, and roll hard onto the scorched ground. My horse bolts, screaming.
The goblin grins down at me, its mouth a mess of drool and shattered teeth.
The Green Flame answers my call before I realize I’ve summoned it. It bursts from my outstretched hand, cold and unnatural, glowing emerald against the violet thorns. It wraps around the goblin and its mount, swallowing them whole.
They don’t even have time to scream.
When the fire fades, only bones remain, charred black and smoking.
My soldiers freeze, staring at me. “Fight,” I rasp. “Keep fighting!”
They obey.
I stagger to my feet, giving myself a shake, ready to unleash another spray of fire, when a silence rings through the battle, an unnatural hush in the middle of the storm.
A new thorn gate slashes upward from the ground. This one grows slower, more deliberate.
From its center steps the Prince of Thorns.
Sleek, composed, without a hint of armor. He wears a fine tunic embroidered with silver thread and a cloak of black velvet draped over his shoulder. He moves like he’s stepping onto a ballroom floor, not a battlefield.
