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This is my sin. More blood on my hands.
He felt so very weary. And tired of fighting.
A lifetime of fighting with no end in sight.
As he drew closer, Rowan caught sight of his own banners. He glanced about, wildly confused, as the snarling black wolf of his sigil flew from lances and waved in the night.
Edrick cursed; his destrier whinnied and paced uneasily beneath him, sensing his building anger. “What is this madness?” Crudely armored soldiers hurried through the town on foot with torches in their hands. Rowan could make out the shapes of slain bodies littering the ground.
“Impostors,” Rowan snapped. “Murderers.” Indeed, they were flying his standard and killing the townsfolk in his name.
But why?
“Order our men to surround the village,” he said, his voice heavy with anger and disbelief. Rowan pulled Sunbeam’s reins and sank his boots into his haunches. “Enough!” he said as a bloodcurdling cry shivered through the night. “I won’t stand idle. Not while people are still alive. I’m going down there now. Get the guard in a horseshoe. We want to take them by surprise. Now.”
Rowan kicked Sunbeam, and he was off. The destrier galloped down the steep hill and into the shadows. A column of men followed him, wrapping the side of the town in a half circle.
Two foot soldiers, who’d been busy looting corpses, jerked to their feet as the village center burst into bedlam.
“The Black Wolf! Look alive! It’s the Black Wolf!” one man stupidly screamed in warning. Rowan’s name was the last thing he ever said. His longsword cut in an upward arc, slashing through tendon and muscle and flesh. The man died on his sword before he even hit the ground. Sunbeam’s pounding hooves killed the second soldier.Rowan galloped through the village as he and his men cut down the ill-equipped soldiers left and right who’d been busy terrorizing the town moments before.
Smoke appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He fought beside Rowan, an extension of himself, leaping through the shadows and tearing out throats and entrails.
He caught sight of Edrick, slicing down men with a calm efficiency that Rowan had always admired.
Rowan tugged on Sunbeam’s reins in incredulity, causing the horse to rear onto his hind legs. The world was burning.
It was hell on earth.
Rowan glanced about helplessly, curses on his lips, smoke and ash in his eyes. He kicked Sunbeam’s flank, and the horse obediently flew forward despite the sounds and scents of death.
Then the ground seemed to sail up at Rowan, knocking the wind from his lungs. He lay in the dusty darkness as Sunbeam stomped in agony and the homes and shops flamed around them.
Rowan cursed again, his longsword drawn, as he rose onto his feet. Being in full armor was no easy task. He rushed toward Sunbeam, who was panicking and tossing his great dark head.
An arrow jutted from his powerful rump, and the scent of death and smoke had unleashed something feral in the beast.
His hooves pounded against the dusty ground as he paced and tossed his head with pained sounds. Rowan could see the terror in Sunbeam’s eyes, where the fire reflected.
A foot soldier ran at him—Smoke easily tackled the man and tore out his throat. Rowan grabbed Sunbeam’s leather reins and soothingly ran his hands over the horse’s side. He gazed from behind Sunbeam, where Smoke’s glowing ember eyes stared back at him.
“Hush, boy, hush,” he murmured to Sunbeam. “It will all be over soon. I?—”
The swish of an arrow cut through the night. Rowan freed an anguished cry as the shaft went through one side of Sunbeam’s head and out the other. The horse staggered on his feet for half a heartbeat before crashing to the ground, where he lay dead.
Rowan screamed again, a heart-wrenching sound that was torn from deep inside him. His sword drawn before him, he scanned the darkness and carefully edged away from Sunbeam. A dark pool of blood gathered beneath the horse’s snout and stained the dirt.
Rowan crouched beside his fallen companion and gritted his teeth. He ran his palm over the horse’s silky muzzle. Smoke tossed his head back, his muzzle dripping blood and strings of flesh, and howled.
The night vibrated with the sound.
Rowan’s men buzzed around him, some tending to the wounded, others drawing water from the well and vainly trying to extinguish the burning buildings. The impostor soldiers either lay dead, dying, or had been scared off.
Rowan came to his feet and moved forward, quick as a lightning strike. He drew a lance from the earth. His standard fluttered at the top, the black wolf whipping against the black and starless sky. Rowan grabbed the reins of a panicked, riderless horse galloping through the smoky town. He mounted in a single, swift movement, his banner in hand, and then raced through the ruins. The inferno that raged around him crackled and hissed, casting eerie, dancing shadows upon the scorched earth.
The horse reared onto its hind legs as Rowan pulled hard on the reins. He halted before one of the shops. Flames traveled across the straw roof, and inside, screams resounded and made Rowan’s blood curdle. A line of fire blocked the door. By God, someone was trapped inside and burning to death.
Rowan cursed, then leaped off the horse. An enemy came at him; Rowan plunged the lance through the man’s chest, where he hung lifted off the ground. The lifeless body was suspended for a moment before Rowan withdrew the lance with a cry, sending the corpse crashing to the earth. He ran to the house without sparing another thought, those bloodcurdling screams calling out to him.
