Page 84 of Memory of Ashes

They advanced on the small army, Casyl leading the charge as his father stayed back to watch and fight through Casyl. He preferred using him to his pet beast. Maybe it made him feel more involved, vicariously experiencing the battle through Casyl. The beast was a beast after all.

He wondered for a moment what it would be like to be in its mind.

Elthar’s banner waved in the distance. His soldiers stood ready to fight them. They were either brave or foolish to stand against such overwhelming numbers rather than flee.

They charged. The front line of infantry crashed into the enemy like a tsunami.

All they had to do was push them up the mountain, back through the rift, and watch as the archers finished them. That was when Casyl realised it was a trap. His body continued to fight, oblivious, swinging his sword from his horse, as he danced around enemies. They were avoiding him. No one engaged him unless he pursued them. Then his view of the battle changed. The full extent of Elthar’s army was revealed as hidden troops appeared from either side of the battlefield, closing around Tiryn’s men. The small army had been a decoy.

It took a moment for the king to realise what was happening, but when he did, his body froze. He could feel the king’s panic as it squeezed his mind.

Only Tharos could have concocted such an illusion. Had he planned all of this?

A thrown axe struck his armour and buried itself in his chest. The impact knocked him from his horse. He had no control over his body, but he could still feel every consequence.

He stood and tore the axe from his armour, leaving a gaping hole behind. Then he was running towards his father.

Elthar’s army consumed them. There was no space to run or fight as they crowded in. The ground became a bog. Men were slipping in the mud, fighting more with their fists than weapons, as there was no room to swing them.

His body tried to push through the men, desperately trying to reach the king, but he couldn’t get through the mob. He slipped and went down into the mud, his face buried. There was a weight on top of him as others fell. He scrambled up onto his knees and tried to get his footing, and then he saw it was too late.

The king was mobbed and dragged through the battle towards the rift, his men powerless to stop it. Ruven had him; his strength and speed were unmatched.

Casyl followed, pushing his way through the fighting men. The king was desperately trying to save himself.

By the time Casyl reached the rift, Ruven had dragged his father through and pinned him to the ground. He thrashed and raged but could not free himself. Amelia stood to the side.

Amelia.

Awareness flooded back as Casyl regained control of his body. His skin tingled, and warmth rushed through his veins. Even his breath felt more natural. He stretched his fingers as his hands and limbs became his own again.

“Casyl?” she whispered.

He gazed at her. Her eyes searched his face.

“It’s me.”

He knew what he had to do.

He walked over to his father and stood looking down at him. The king became still in Ruven’s grip.

“Casyl, kill him!” his father ordered.

Did Tiryn honestly believe that, after everything he had done, Casyl would help him?

He looked down at his father lying on the floor. One man had caused so much suffering.

“Casyl?”

The king’s face changed when he realised that he’d lost his control. He looked old for the first time. Casyl almost pitied him. He was his father, but the image of all those innocent people, murdered, lying in the streets, made him, a hardened warrior, feel sick.

“Everything I did was for our people,” the king snarled.

“Everything you did was for you.”

“They inherited everything we lost,” Tiryn said. He turned to Amelia. “You have never watched children born without the gifts their ancestors possessed. The humans live above our Lifesource, burn it for power and call us monsters for wanting back what made us whole.”

Casyl looked at Amelia.