by David Estes
“Grey!” Shae said.
“Wait here,” he said.
“No, Grey—”
He marched forward, blocking out her further complaints. Several of the soldiers who’d retreated from the canyon were milling about. Grey went right up to one of them. “What is happening? Why aren’t you fighting?”
The man stared at Grey like he had grown a third eye. “There is too much to see, too much to feel. How does one choose when the options are endless?”
“What?” He wasn’t making sense, so Grey chose another soldier and asked the same questions.
“They fight, but should we? It’s all we’ve known. Do we choose together? Do I choose myself? I am aimless.”
Grey was getting nowhere, and the sounds of battle were intensifying. There was something strange about these soldiers, but he couldn’t pinpoint what exactly.
The rattle of cart wheels announced his sister’s arrival. Shae was pulling the cart, Erric gritting his teeth in pain as they hit each bump and ridge. Kyla was helping them. She said, “What’s the situation?”
Grey shook his head. If only he knew. He didn’t know what to do now that they were here. Clearly, these soldiers were Terans, ex-slaves most likely. These were the people they wanted to help.
Kyla lowered the cart and approached him. She touched his chin with her hand. “We fight,” she said. “That’s what we’ve always done.”
He knew she was right, but these men and women had already been through so much. How could he command them into a battle they had no responsibility for?
One by one at first, and then in larger groups, his men and women stepped forward. They raised their weapons in the air, battle cries on their lips.
They want to fight, Grey thought. As do I, he realized. He was done letting creatures like Wrathos attack him. No, it was time for him to do the attacking.
“How close do you need to get to…do your thing?” he asked his sister.
Shae and Erric exchanged a look. Erric said, “As close as possible. We can sense them, but not touch them yet.”
The fatemarked, Grey thought. They are here. But which ones? Bane? He hoped not, but nodded firmly. “Fine. Men! Women! Protect my sister and your king at all costs. Treat their lives like your very own.” He paused for a moment. “Be fierce!”
And then they charged, passing through the lines of confused soldiers.
Seventy-Seven
The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons
Rhea Loren
Rhea had only one priority as the battle resumed:
Protect my child.
With that in mind, she dodged the charging Phanecians, ducking under the blasts from their metal weapons, fire spouting from their tips. She was almost trampled by a horse, but managed to grab a dropped spear and use it to cause the beast to rear, toppling its rider from its back.
The man rolled over and found his feet, glaring at her. “You,” he said.
A rush rolled through her as Rhea saw who it was. Her original capturer, the general of Sousa, who had killed Nod and nearly killed she and Gaia. She remembered when he had knocked her unconscious. She remembered his threats.
And she remembered her own:
I will kill this man.
But that threat had been empty, and she was a woman with child on a battlefield full of seasoned warriors, including this man. “Please,” she said, dropping the spear.
He stalked toward her, fingering the edge of the blade strapped to his wrist. “I don’t care who you are. Bane is a fool. But do not fear, I am no monster. I will make it quick.”
As he leapt into the air, Rhea thought, So shall I, dropping to a crouch and snatching up the spear, which she thrust into the air, bracing for the impact. The man’s eyes widened and he tried to change his trajectory, but it was already too late, the tip piercing his breast, just over his heart. The spear snapped from the impact and Rhea toppled over backwards.
The man’s body thudded beside her, his eyes trained on hers. Staring without sight.
She didn’t wait around, shoving to her feet, racing onwards. She tripped over a fallen soldier—or what was left of him; he’d been the victim of one of the many explosions. A blade was strapped to his wrist, which lay in a pool of blood. Rhea scrambled over and worked at the knots while soldiers stampeded past her.
The blade tore free, and Rhea grasped it as she stood.
A wave of dizziness crashed over her and she almost fell. It was all too much. The heat, the battle, the nausea…
“No,” she growled out loud. I am Rhea Loren, First of My Name. I have conquered the north. I have summoned a monster of the deep. I have survived too much to give in now.
She gritted her teeth and waited for the vertigo to subside, taking one cautious step forward, then another. Well, not forward, but back, swimming upstream against the tide of Phanecians. They ignored her, intent on meeting the army to the south.
Soon, she was alone, the last of the rearguard passing her. The shouts faded. The echoes of explosions became distant thunder. My child is safe. There is still hope.
The sound of marching footsteps arose from the desert beyond the mouth of the canyon. And she knew.
She knew.
The west-east alliance had arrived.
Rhea could’ve run, but she did not. She stood, facing their perfect, unbroken lines without fear. She’d been the one to bring them here, after all.
The two armies shared the frontlines in equal measure. On the left was the western infantry, their flagbearers holding the rearing stallion high with pride. The red-clad furia were among them, many of the women with scarred faces that matched Rhea’s own. On the right marched the easterners, a mix of Orian and human legionnaires, their armor pristine and gleaming.
Rhea searched the crowd for familiar faces. Sai. Gareth. Ennis, are you here? Do you still hate me?
She hoped he did. It was what she deserved.
But the soldiers were a nondescript blur of gray and steel, one face blending into the next. A command was issued and they stopped, their chins held high, their stances identical.
They stared at her.
There was a commotion and the lines broke as a man burst through the lines, running toward her.
Ennis! she wanted to scream, but she held her tongue when she saw the expression he wore. Anger. Vengeance.
She didn’t move, waiting.
Another gave chase behind him, and Rhea’s breath caught. He wasn’t her defender, but still, she’d longed to meet the king of the east under different circumstances. Gareth Ironclad shouted something at Ennis, but her cousin ignored him, closing the distance with long strides, his sword churning at his side.
She didn’t move, though she could feel tears pricking her eyes. I should let him kill me.
If it was only her, then she would let him, allow poetic justice to take its course. But it wasn’t just her. Her love for her unborn child trumped justice and revenge and the myriad other emotions spiraling from her cousin’s sprinting form.
She raised the dagger stolen from a corpse.
And then Ennis was upon her, slashing down hard, not pulling the blow. She barely managed to block it, but the dagger flew from her fingers as she fell back. A swatch of her dirty clothes fluttered to the ground beside her.
She had determination and a fierce protectiveness for her babe, but he was a career soldier, and there was no element of surprise. He knew all her tricks, what she was capable of. The fight was over before it had begun.
His jaw was tensed, his mouth a line of indifference. The tip of his sword pressed to her neck. “I loved you,” he said, and she could see the unshed tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and for the first time in her life, she thought she meant those two words. Not just on their face, but in the core of her soul. They needed to be said a thousand more times to a thousand more people for them to count.
Her biggest regret was that she wouldn’t have the chance.
�
��It’s too late for sorry,” Ennis said, his lips quivering.
“I know,” Rhea said, her eyes never leaving his, even as the corner of her vision saw Gareth skid to a stop.
“Ennis, don’t,” he said. “You don’t want her blood on your hands.”
Ennis’s head half-turned toward the eastern king, once Rhea’s captor. “You’re defending her? She imprisoned you. She murdered her own cousin. Her sister. So much blood on her hands… And the lies. It has all been a lie.”
Gareth said, “I know. But I saw her do something different. I saw a different side of her. I know you’ve seen it too. And the child is innocent. Don’t punish the child for the sins of its mother.”
Every word was like a slap, even the good ones, for she didn’t deserve them.
Ennis’s grip tightened on his sword. “I won’t fault you,” she said, staring into his eyes. “I could never fault you. Not anymore.” It wasn’t an attempt to save her own life, nor her child’s. Finally, she felt stripped of everything, as naked as the day she was born.
She felt nothing. She felt everything.
She saw the moment of decision flash before his eyes and she closed her own. Steel slashed down. The sound was louder than she expected, blade cutting through hard bone.
She gasped, her eyes flashing open. She felt nothing, but couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t—
“Go,” Ennis said. “Sai would imprison you, but even that is too good for you. If you survive this battle, you can choose your own path. Don’t waste it as you have before.”
Rhea stared at him, not understanding a single word.
“Go!” Ennis screamed, grabbing his sword and wrenching it from the earth into which he’d stabbed it.
I’m alive. Rhea fought the size of her belly and gravity and shoved to her feet. She turned and ran back toward the battle, leaving the dagger behind.
Seventy-Eight
The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons
Jai Jiroux
Jai wasn’t a violent person by nature, but something had snapped in him.
His father’s murder. His mother’s disappearance. Years of watching the oppression of the Teran people. His failed alliance with the Black Tears. His own time as a slave. His escape. His second chance.
The Kings’ Bane using the Phanecians in a bid to rule the Four Kingdoms.
He fought like a dragon, countering the aerial assaults of the phen ru masters with his own mastery of phen lu. After each defensive maneuver, he’d go on the offensive, wounding or killing his foes. From time to time, he’d spot one of the Black Tears fighting, but with the grace of phen sur, the womanly dance transformed into something deadly. Sonika. Shanti. Others, their black tears appearing to drip from their cheeks as they moved.
The Terans fought hard too, relying on strength of will where their training fell short.
But it wasn’t enough. Jai fought back revulsion as the bodies piled up on both sides. He was forced to step over them, around them, or on top of them. The latter path turned his stomach.
This was necessary. This evil. Rebellions were bloody in their nature. Those who died would save the rest. He had to believe that.
A Phanecian soldier leapt from the side, twisting in midair, the blades strapped to his ankles flashing silver. Jai raised his blade and warded off one blow, two, falling into perfect stance naturally.
The man died too easily.
Still, they were losing, badly, outnumbered and outfought.
But then Jai saw him, the man at the core of it all. Everything else seemed to disappear as he stalked toward Bane, who was slowly drawing his dagger out of a Teran man’s chest. There was something strange about his movements. He looked…out of breath. He’s tired, exhausted even.
I can end this.
He didn’t care that Bane’s back was to him, or that it was a craven way to kill; this murderer deserved nothing less. Yes, he’d killed the Slave Master, Vin Hoza, but he was now killing Jai’s people. His friends.
He closed in, raising his sword, aiming his strike for the center of Bane’s dark cloak, to sever his spine.
As if sensing the attack, Bane spun at the last moment, moving unnaturally fast, blocking the strike with the edge of his dagger, raking it across Jai’s hand, cutting deep.
Jai dropped his weapon but managed to snatch it from midair with the other hand, taking two quick steps back as Bane tried to strike again. He moves like the wind, he thought, parrying another two slashes. He should be winning, his weapon superior, but the power of Bane’s mark—burning like a torch on his scalp—more than evened the odds.
Jai danced back again and Bane stopped suddenly, his chest heaving. “It’s Hoza I want,” he said. “Leave now and I’ll spare you.”
Jai had his disagreements with the emperor, but he didn’t have to think before answering. “No.” His justicemark pulsed in agreement, but Jai refused to focus on it, fearing it would call to the slave soldiers again. I won’t force them to fight. Not anymore.
“Yes.” The word wasn’t spoken by Bane, but from behind Jai. His heart sank when he turned and saw Falcon approaching. His leather armor was splattered with blood, his sword stained crimson. All around him the battle raged on, but it felt like they were in a bubble apart from the others. “I will fight Bane. It is my duty.”
“No,” Jai said again. “Phanes will need you to rebuild. You united the people. No one else could’ve done that.”
“Touching,” Bane said, stepping forward. “Why don’t I just kill you both?” With that, he leapt forward.
Jai caught the blow on the leather armor protecting his forearm, sweeping his leg around Bane’s knee. He was already gone, leaving Jai to catch nothing but air.
Falcon cried out and Jai whirled. The emperor’s blade was flush with Bane’s, each pressing hard. Bane was winning, finally thrusting him back and advancing as Falcon stumbled over a body lying behind him.
Jai launched himself forward, sprinting, leaping another body, diving hard, bringing his sword to bear…
Bane’s dagger clanked against his weapon, his shoulder crashing into his jaw. They went down in a heap, Jai landing on Falcon, Bane on Jai. Their faces were pressed tightly together, and this close Jai could clearly see the weariness in his foe’s eyes. His face was so pale he might’ve been a ghost, save for the dark bruise-like spots on his cheek. His eyes were bloodshot, like he hadn’t slept a night in his life.
Jai barely felt the blade, so clean was the cut. All he felt was a liquid warmth beneath his armor, spilling down his body. “Falcon,” he croaked. “Go to the army. Tell them what you have seen. You have to persuade them to make the right choice.”
Jai felt the emperor scramble out from underneath him, hesitating. Jai craned his head back to look at him upside down. “Go. My life is forfeit.”
The emperor hesitated, his lips knitting together. But then he nodded, turned, and raced away.
Bane shoved the blade in further and Jai screamed, his eyes falling back on his foe. Bane didn’t look satisfied, or victorious, or full of bloodlust. No, the one who was deathmarked looked only sad.
This man is misunderstood. Perhaps even he doesn’t know why he does what he does. The realization changed everything.
If Jai had understood earlier, perhaps he could’ve done things differently...
But it was too late for that. “Find your peace,” Jai said.
Bane cocked his head to the side. “You don’t hate me?”
Jai shook his head, feeling a trickle of blood spill from the corner of his mouth. Warmth flowed from his heel, seeming to pool beneath him.
Confusion spread across Bane’s face, even as Jai felt his body weakening. A sound came from a faraway place, a scream. He let his head flop to the side and he saw her, running toward him.
Shanti Parthena Laude. His Peaceful Maiden of Highest Honor. His love. His soul. Leaving her behind would be his greatest sadness.
With the last of the strength he had left, he
turned to look at Bane once more. “Don’t hurt her. Please. Don’t hurt her.”
Bane nodded once, and then was gone.
Shanti dropped to his side, on her knees, tears already spilling from her eyes. “Jai, we have to get you to a healer. Can you walk?”
Jai couldn’t even shake his head. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, fading. But not her. Never her. Shanti was as clear and bright as the sun on a cloudless day, her beauty not of this world. “I…” The words stuck in his throat, drowning in blood. He spat to the side.
“Shh. Don’t speak.” Her hand caressed his cheek, a breath of wind on a sweltering day.
None could stay his tongue, not even her. “I love you.”
That warmth… He knew the power of his mark was flowing back toward the army, not to force them to fight again, but to bring them the news of his death.
I die for them, he thought. I die for all of them.
Before Jai Jiroux died, he heard a cry rise up. It wasn’t the cry of an army of mindless slaves. No, it was the cry of those who chose to march to war.
And it felt like justice, at long last.
Seventy-Nine
The Southern Empire, the Bloody Canyons
Falcon Hoza
Falcon hadn’t needed to do anything. It was like a bowstring had been released, the slave army releasing a roar that sent shivers down his spine. And he knew:
Jai Jiroux was dead.
Somehow his death had snapped the soldiers out of their confusion, sending them back into action.
The sadness he felt was dwarfed only by the thrill of watching ten thousand soldiers trained from birth marching into battle. There were others amidst them, too, rugged-looking men and women wearing not leathers but salt-stained linens, as if they’d just walked out of the sea. He would’ve thought they were pirates, if he didn’t know better. There were no pirates in Phanes.