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“There was only one,” Vesper said again, raising his voice a little.
“What was it–” Lancelet started to ask.
And then the ground began to shake and the other children started to come out.
They emerged like rats from the doorways lining the room, some crawling, some lurching forwards, all moving towards us.
How long had these things–once children–lurked in the darkness, waiting? There was no doubt in my mind that these were the children from Draven’s story. But plague had not carried them off. Something else had befallen them. Something far worse. Something that should by all rights have been impossible.
I grabbed my dagger from inside my tent, quickly strapping it to my leg, then reached for my bow and quiver, as Vesper ran to his bedroll, scooping up his belts of knives.
Draven was shouting, telling us to stand together. He raced forward to take up a position in front of us, his sword at the ready.
At my back, I could hear Lancelet instructing Odelna to stay behind her. I turned to see her holding her sword and shield, her face a pale mask of terror.
All I could do was numbly nod, a pathetic attempt at encouragement.
The children descended upon us.
Draven whirled, slicing the head off the child nearest him with his sword. For a moment, the child's body writhed on the stone floor and my stomach heaved with nausea.
I slowed my breathing, forced myself to focus, then loosed an arrow. It flew across the vaulted room striking a girl in the chest. She looked no older than the living one hiding behind Lancelet who we had saved.
The girl stumbled, my arrow sticking out of her heart, and then, unbelievingly, continued coming towards us, her feet slowly dragging across the stones.
“Aim for the head,” Vesper shouted, his voice ringing out across the stones. “Aim for the head or we won't stop them.”
I nocked another arrow and drew back my bow string, then let it go. This time the projective burst through the little girl's head and she toppled to the ground.
I glanced back at Lancelet and saw my own dread mirrored in her eyes. I had just killed a child.
But if the child had reached us, what then? I was terrified that tonight I would learn the answer.
A group of children was nearing Draven. For a rare moment, there was something almost beautiful occurring. Draven moved his body with an effortless elegance that spoke to his skill and experience. His sword was an extension of his arm as he spun it through the air with deadly precision, flicking it cleanly through the neck of one unnatural child then another.
One leapt at him, surprising me with its sudden speed. Draven whirled, his blade flashing through the air in a blur of steel as he removed the child's head in one single, clean stroke.
I watched, transfixed, as he moved with a dancer's grace, every moment precise and calculated, as he did what he did best: Killed everything in sight.
“Morgan!” Lancelet's shouting broke through my daze. “Beside you!”
But Vesper was already in motion, his blades flying through the air as he met the pack of children closest to us head on.
I stood there for a moment, frozen, then raised my bow in the knick of time, loosing an arrow into the head of the child in front of me. Its skull split as it hit the ground. I couldn't tell if it had been a boy or a girl.
I glanced back at Lancelet. She had moved towards Draven, positioning the little girl between them.
“More are coming,” Draven shouted. “Prepare yourself.”
“There are too many of them.” Vesper's voice was panicked. Blade after blade flew from his fingertips, each one landing with perfect accuracy. But when his eyes met mine, I saw a hint of fear.
“Your powers,” he hissed. “Can you... access them?”
“I can try,” I whispered, my eyes widening. I had never consciously done so before. Even when the fenrirs had attacked, my instinct had been to pick up my bow, not open my palms.
As subtly as I could, I focused and pointed my hands at a child coming towards us.
I felt nothing. An itch on my palms perhaps. Nothing more.
