Page 101 of The Ashborn

Kienna scanned Elowen’s face, then turned to Moira. “You were in my vision, weren’t you?” Moira nodded. “How did you… I didn’t know you were a seer.”

Moira shrugged. “I think my daughter is. Please stay, Kienna. No one wants to see you die, least of all me.”

Kienna surrendered. Their words didn’t dissolve the overwhelming ache to be in battle protecting the people, but she understood. She sat, closing her eyes while calming her breath. Moira and Elowen sat on both sides, letting silence overcome them. Temptation slithered through Kienna once more. In the end, she searched for Connak. If she couldn’t be there, maybe he’d let her see it through his eyes.

Little busy here, he said.

She let anger slip away, scolding herself. He was a man at war after all. At least tell me you’re okay.

I’m alive, he grunted. The strain in his voice echoed. What she wouldn’t give to see it. To feed him power. To do anything helpful. She could only listen to the booms and shaking earth above, followed by the gasps of the people below.

—Connak—

Connak wanted Kienna’s presence with him. He would have pulled her into his world immediately, but he knew the distraction would kill him. What would be the point after that? He needed to keep his mind focused. The Umbrin were never going to relent, and the Vorthakai ripped through soldiers like they were nothing.

The Dove Port men struggled. Elvish soldiers took the greater brunt of the fighting. They pushed against the army to save those who did not have the strength to fight dead things. Connak’s attention fell on a young man as he shot the last of his arrows into the crowd. The man did his best to swing his sword as an Umbrin slashed it out of his hand, twisting its head unnaturally. The fear in the poor lad’s eyes tugged on Connak. The man wasn’t ready to die—not yet.

Connak dove from the roof of the building and tackled the beast to the ground. The Umbrin was on its feet as quickly as Connak, a dead Elvish man. Connak tried not to wonder how many years the Umbrin lived in the realm of dead things. He soon planned to return it to the ground.

The Umbrin pressed forward, slamming its jagged, crescent-edged sword down, the steel blackened and rippling like shadows. Connak did a double-take as he caught the Umbrin’s wrist to ensure it wasn’t a shadow-kissed blade. When he was certain it wasn’t, he twisted hard, dragging the Umbrin’s arm down and under. Bone strained with a sickening pop. The blade clattered from its grip.

With the weapon out of the way, Connak kicked backward, his boot driving the beast directly into the Dove Port soldier’s blade. To avoid any possible resurrection, Connak ripped his sword from his scabbard and, with one fell swoop, he cut the Umbrin’s head clean off. The grayed face of the dead creature dulled even further, a thick, tar-dark blood oozing from the severed neck.

The soldier’s face paled. “Shit.”

Connak placed a hand on the soldier’s armored shoulder. “Be strong.”

He leapt onto the shingles of the roof and disappeared.

—Tristian—

The sun retreated quickly. Deep, bruised clouds stole the sky. Rain threatened to fall, which would only impair their vision. The sun escaped the sky altogether. Not even the moon could light the city. Serenya did her best to light the streets with crystals, struggling as the Vorthakai tore them down at every opportunity.

A horn bellowed, summoning Niramelle’s Duskveil and Moonshard battalions. Tristian slashed his blade into a River Storm soldier. The man’s eyes filled with terror before Tristian cut him down, another life added to the list of forever regrets he would carry after battle. The soldier fell, his armor clamoring against the cobblestone. Tristian jumped over him and kicked into a Vorthakai. The mutated wolf foamed at the mouth, its black, matted fur clinging to its skin. Its maw was full of sharp teeth, eyes yellow. Tristian imagined the only thing this beast could see was blood. There’s no way it had rational thoughts of its own. How the king managed to create these beasts in such an enormous number was still beyond the Elvish comprehension, though Tristian had a few guesses.

“Behind you!” Jayel’ric yelled, shooting an arrow from the roof. It met its mark in the eye of another Vorthakai. The beast writhed on the ground, yelping and clicking before Tristian put it out of its misery.

A hawk’s screech drew Tristian’s eyes skyward as the streets quieted around him. The battle pulled him far from the center of the city, tucked away in the alleys of Dove Port. Soldiers lay dead all around him. Some River Storm men. Some Elvish. He leaned over one of his soldiers, still in his youth. His wife was expecting a child soon. Tristian sent a prayer to the Eternal Mother. The man’s wife would need support, as so many others would after this battle.

Support that the queen would neglect to give.

He stood and looked out toward the rest of the fighting. A shadow passed in the line of sight—a red-headed shadow. Tristian followed her, knowing Danek clearly didn’t succeed in his venture for her. In fact, Danek was above, riding a plank of wood through the air. He and Raelan commanded the wind like master mages, Danek flinging images of a massive beast into the air—a leviathan. The scene left Tristian with so many questions, but Baila’s presence needed his attention. Tristian stalked forward, barely into the light of the newly shining moon. Niramelle’s doing, no doubt.

Baila swayed through the mess of fallen bodies, gliding her sword against the skin. Shadows dusted the ground. Every dead body with heads intact arched up, contorting and cracking bones until the dead rose. Skin that once looked alive darkened to a sickly gray. Eyes that deserved to remain closed opened to blackness.

Tristian’s jaw clenched at the sight of it all.

River Storm would never run out of soldiers. That’s why the king never cared what sort of war tactics he had, never had a strategy. Not when he could raise every being from the dead in the end. An endless army. The shadow blade was far more ominous than Tristian realized. It was because of this that prophecies were in place. The world was in peril.

Tristian’s hand clenched his sword. He motioned to approach Baila, then stopped himself. He could choose to stay with her and attempt to stop whatever it was she was doing. He trusted his own strength in doing it. He tightened his fists. If he got nicked even once with the shadows, he’d be done. He had his doubts about her strength, knowing well enough that it was King Vaerin’s power he’d be fighting. It was a risk. Tristian had to make a strategic decision in the face of war, one that made his shoulders seize.

They needed to burn their bodies. Ryven’s Emberreign Battalion would need to return. They’d cycled out to preserve their energy, waiting again in the tree line. Tristian would have to ask them to give more than they could that night. Ryven would do it, of course. Any of them would. Tristian could only hope that leaving Baila to her own devices for a time would be the best decision. More bodies lay scattered about the streets. The more they left, the more she’d raise.

He was fast. He could do it and be back in no time. Tristian sprinted to the forest to reinstate his recovering soldiers.

—Danek—

Danek surfed the wind like a god of the skies, though the breeze and unlimited power coursing in his veins were muted by the sight below. Bodies burned in the streets. Everywhere he looked, flesh melted into stone. Even if the soldiers were gone from this world, it felt like an injustice to the people who put their lives on the line.