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There were too many. A dozen at least, compared to their six.
Wren couldn’t fight. And two of the three Guardians had no Naarvian steel.
He glanced at Torj, who held his war hammer in one hand and a sword in the other. Their party backed away from the advancing wraiths until they formed a tight circle at the centre of the attack.
Wren let out a muffled cry of horror. Wilder realised she was the only one in their company who had yet to see a wraith, but there was no time to pity her. Thea was ready at her side, her own sword poised to strike, her other hand grasping Malik’s dagger of Naarvian steel.
Wilder subtly moved his stallion in front of hers.
The creatures that crept towards them hissed, black shadow leaking from their elongated, sinewy frames, from the brutal talons at their fingertips. There was nothing half human about these monsters. These were pure servants of darkness, evil incarnate intent on spreading poison across the world.
‘We have to get to the woods,’ Wilder murmured under his breath, praying to the Furies that Thea could hear him. ‘We make a break for it. They’ll follow, but we can use the close quarters of the forest against their numbers, against their wings.’
He heard her shift in her saddle. ‘Say when.’
Wilder flexed his fingers around the grips of his swords. ‘When.’
He led the charge through the circle of wraiths, slicing and whirling his blades to carve an opening for their unit. Torj followed suit, and with screams of rage and pain, the wraiths’ formation broke apart, enough for Thea to lead Wren, Cal and Kipp through the gap and straight for the woods.
Shadow magic lashed at Wilder, but he deflected the whips with his great swords, managing to slit the throat of one wraith and sever the hand of another. Darkness swept in to heal the wounds.
‘To the woods!’ he shouted to Torj.
The two Warswords surged after their charges on horseback, their stallions’ hooves like thunder against the earth as they sought to put as much distance between them and the monsters as possible.
Coils of darkness struck out like vipers, but Wilder severed them just as he had the creature’s hand, allowing the woodlands to close in around him and Torj. Thea and the others weren’t far ahead.
‘We use the tight space against them,’ Wilder said when he reached them, scanning Thea for any sign of injury. She seemed unharmed. So far. He felt himself slip into the cold, calm commander’s role. ‘Set the horses free. They’ll only get injured here. Cal, you use your bow to pin them down with arrows in any way you can so Torj and I can slay them with Naarvian steel. Kipp, you be our eyes from above. You have our backs, at all times, do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Kipp was already reaching for one of the trees, seeking a better vantage point.
They all dismounted, coaxing their horses deeper into the forest. Wilder felt Biscuit’s hesitation, but he gave him a slap on the rump and sent him off with the rest before turning back to their party.
‘Wren, you stay hidden,’ he said. ‘No magic, you hear?’
‘But —’
‘It will only attract them,’ Thea cut in. ‘You have to listen.’
Wilder nodded. ‘Thea?’
‘Yes?’
‘You move as my shadow and carve out any hearts in my wake with your dagger. Are we clear?’
Thea palmed her blade, a feral glint in her eyes. ‘We’re clear.’
A crashing sound in the nearby trees told Wilder that the wraiths had nearly caught up. ‘Everyone in position!’ he bellowed.
There was a flurry of movement, and then the wraiths were upon them again.
Wilder found that deep, dark place within where he knew no fear, where instinct ruled every movement, where he became the Hand of Death. As the monsters advanced, so did he.
He cleaved through the creatures at the vanguard, slicing tendons at the backs of their legs, slitting throats so that Cal could pin them with arrows and Thea could carve their black hearts from their grotesque chests. He heard their shrieks, felt the blistering lance of pain as their shadows whipped at him, but he didn’t stop.
Wilder became one with his swords.
He surged from wraith to wraith, losing himself to the rhythm of death and chaos. He might not understand the world around him, he might not understand how to process all that raged within, but this? This he understood.
