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‘Will you follow us into the very heart of evil and help us drive it back into the black fissure from which it came?’
All around Thea, men struck their shields with their weapons, the beat strong and steady; the rhythm of a war drum. The sound found its way into her blood, moving in time with her pulse and feeding the crackling energy in her veins.
‘Warriors of Thezmarr,’ Hawthorne called again. ‘The destiny that awaits us amidst the rubble is one of glory, should you want it enough. Rage with me, rage against the darkness and emerge victorious protectors of the midrealms once more.’
The war drum beat on, building and building with each powerful word. Thea hadn’t realised she’d been clutching her fate stone so hard her fingernails had cut into her palm. She tucked it into her shirt and unsheathed her own blade, the steel gleaming in the little remaining light as she struck it against her shield.
‘And so we test the fates again,’ she murmured.
Hawthorne’s horse reared onto its hind legs and the Warsword thrust his swords into the sky. His command barrelled into their forces like a breaking wave.
‘Charge!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Thea’s horse surged forward with the rest, all thoughts emptying from her head as she was swept up in the sea of warriors charging towards the darkness.
The hooves of two hundred horses trampled the heather in a thunderous assault. For a second, Thea forgot about the hierarchy of warriors and her fate. Instead, her chest swelled with a mixture of fear and pride.Thiswas the spirit of Thezmarr,thiswas what it meant to be part of the guild, and there was no denying she was a part of it now.
Her shouts were swallowed by the rest as they galloped in a frenzy towards the ruins, the three mighty Warswords as the vanguard.
But as their forces closed the gap between them and the enemy, Thea could not only see the ribbons of shadow, but finally the creatures from which they rippled…
Her heart seized.
Cloaked in black mist, the beings were not of this world. Once, they might have been men, but no longer… Their bodies had been elongated; each figure towering to what she could only guess to be eight to ten feet in the air. They had strange, sinewyframes, with claws for hands and curled, antler-like horns protruding from their heads.
‘Bear right!’ Esyllt’s voice cut through the horror. ‘Bear right, now!’
Thea and the rest of her unit did, splitting off from the other half of their forces and charging around the outskirts of the ruins to circle their prey.
Therheguldreapersshrieked at the diversion, and at the Warswords, who broke away from the main force and charged straight for them. There was no mistaking the twin blades raised at the front.
Darkness now flowed freely from all five of the creatures. Thea could feel its iciness and malice from several yards away.
‘Halt!’ Esyllt’s cry sounded as their forces met on the other side.
Thea’s body went taut as she drew her reins up short with clammy hands. The Thezmarrian cavalry surrounded the ruins, where the capital’s city walls had fallen long ago, watching on as the Warswords leapt from their horses and launched into their attack.
It was three against five.
Therheguld reapersmoved as shadows. One moment there, a hair’s breadth away from the kiss of a blade, the next they were somewhere else; a whisper of what once had been, darkness lashing out like a whip.
Thea could taste their insatiable thirst for blood and destruction.
‘Firebearers! Archers!’ Esyllt called. ‘At the ready!’
Thea surveyed their forces as burning arrows were nocked and bowstrings creaked.
‘For the love of the Furies don’t hit our own!’ the weapons master bellowed. ‘Loose!’
Arrows of fire rained down on the monsters, coaxing outraged shrieks from their withered throats, splitting their focus, distracting them from the main attack.
Why are the rest of us just standing here?Thea’s mind screamed desperately. Her ribs were too tight and her insides felt hollowed out. There was nothing she could do from here, nothing but watch as the Warswords flung themselves at the unworldly creatures.
Time slowed.
A ragged gasp lodged in her windpipe as Hawthorne, wielding his twin blades, stalked towards the largest monster. He moved with the power of the Furies, their gifts of speed, strength and agility thrumming from him. Springing into an attack, his swords were nothing but blurs of silver against the black power raining down on him. The Warsword blocked the lashing darkness and rolled beneath the creature, slicing the backs of its legs.
