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The enemy charged with the wind at their backs. We held our position, our feet firmly rooted to the ground as the army who fought for the Old Gods collided into mine.
I tugged my shield to the side, rendering a fist-sized gap as I shoved my sword through it—feeling the iron blade sink deeply into my enemy’s flesh. I pulled on my sword, utilizing my shield as leverage to tug it free. I closed the gap, took a breath, and then forced my sword through again. Wash, rinse, repeat.
“Forward!” I bellowed.
A mighty grunt arose from my army of five thousand, as we gained—the ground shifting from mud to mud mixed with blood to the corpses of our enemy.
The wall was holding. I took a deep, necessary breath. We might win this one . . . if he didn’t show up.
But my thoughts of victory were short-lived.
I heard the phantom horses, monstrous beasts that had no place thinking they were horses at all. The galloping of their hooves grew louder. Louder. Until it was all I could hear, like thunder sprung from the clouds—coming to strike us down.
They barreled into our front line, throwing the soldier beside me flat on his back, running him over as they stampeded through, creating gaps in our otherwise impenetrable wall.
Before I could order someone to close the line, a boy—too young to be fighting in this war—grabbed a shield and jumped in beside me. He looked up at me, young eyes full of fear and determination. I didn’t have time to question what he was doing here, didn’t have time to get him out. Not when we were in battle.
The best I could do for him—for all of them—was to fight.
More horses stampeded into our wall, throwing my brethren back, leaving us exposed, allowing the enemy to penetrate through—the boy suddenly gone.
“Hold the wa—” yelled my general, his voice cut off. I looked behind me just in time to watch him fall to the enemy’s blade, his head swiped clean from his neck in one final, fatal swoop.
“No!” I screamed, my gloved hand outstretched.
A horse barreled into me, its sinister red eyes burning into my mind.
I flew backwards, my head smashing into something that was far harder than my helmet. A sharp sound pierced my hearing, followed by a constant ringing—the sounds of battle muffled out. I could feel the warmth of my blood seep down my neck as I stared up at the swirling, cloudy sky. Massive white doves circled above—reinforcements, they were coming—Aurelius was coming. We just needed to hold on. A little longer.
I closed my eyes, willing them to clear. I needed to find my sword, to fight. When I opened them, they were no better than before, and the thrumming in my ears refused to ease. I grunted as I rolled onto my side, every bone in my body singing out in pain, begging me to stop, to rest. But I was relentless, and somehow, someway, I rolled onto my stomach. Saliva mixed with blood gobbed from my mouth. I spat it out.
Black combat boots entered my vision before a hand, ringed with black and silver metal, tipped my chin upwards, forcing me to look up, to look at him, the tips of his canines glinting in the daylight. “Your blood sings for me, Little Goddess.”
“Blood King,” I grated between clenched teeth, my hand aching for the hilt of my sword.
He grabbed my arm roughly as he hauled me to my feet, his body so much larger than mine. I was reminded of his ancient, unparalleled power—he was the original predator, from his towering height to his muscular build to those dark, obsidian eyes. And then there was his hair—black as a starless night. He wore it up, weaved back and tied, the sides shaved—battle ready.
“I’ve been searching for you.” His finger stroked my dirty cheek. I recoiled from his touch. My movement caused him to tip his head back and laugh, revealing those infamous canines.
The bastard was enjoying this.
Powerful, black wings unfurled behind him, the height of them double his own. Like his hair, they possessed that same black-blue color, and their shape, the outlay of the feathers, reminded me of a raven’s.
He pulled me against him, his hard edges as unyielding as his arm around my waist. I struggled, tried to shove him away, but his strength was insurmountable. His wings slammed upwards, and when they came back down, they severed the air as if they were a blade made of steel. The motion carried us off the ground and up towards the clouds.
The battlegrounds winked out of sight, and my bloodstained world turned an azure blue. Reaching the peak of a mountainside, on the lip of a drastic cliff, he landed.
I peered over the edge, my heart aching as I surveyed the bloody battlefield below. From this vantage point, it was like watching a bunch of scrambling, warring ants, their colonies sorted by the color of their armor—the relentless, obsidian army slaughtering the army of snow.
From this vantage point, I realized . . . we were going to lose.
I glared up at him with the veracity of the God of Hatred. “Is this why you brought me up here? To gloat over your victory? To make me watch as my loyal men die?”
“Partly, yes. Although, your judgment paints you as a hypocrite.” The Blood King pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Tell me, when you murdered my men, when you bathed in the spray of their blood—” He flashed a wicked smile. “—how did that feel? Did it feel good, darling? Did you take joy when you ended their lives and delivered them back to me? Because I think that rather strange. I would think that would counter the very point of your existence.” Darkness swirled in his sinister eyes. “Goddess of Life.”
I spat in his face. “You bastard. I did not take joy in it. I am the keeper of life. The guardian of the living. When you declared this war, you forced my hand. With every life you forced me to take, it has served but one purpose—to build my hatred for you.”
He clicked his tongue, and I wondered if I’d struck a nerve. Tipping his head, he brought his face closer to mine. “What a pity. I thought you were rather fond of me. After all, goddess, you swamp my realm with so many, many gifts. Continuously, you send them to me—second after second, day after day, year after year. So many beautiful, departed lives.”
