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“Can you shoot them?” Denny asks me.

“I can, but the arrow will go right through. There’s not any…meat to them.”

We watch in horror as they climb on top of each other, making a bone scaffolding that’s growing taller by the minute.

Audra leans over the wall, throwing a white-hot fireball at the undead soldiers. It sends them falling, and their bones scatter when they hit the ground.

“I’ll find more of my men,” she says, satisfied.

But so many accompanied Henrik and Ayan. I’m not sure how many elven soldiers are left in the city.

I look across the landscape and draw in a startled breath. There are thousands of them—hordes upon hordes of skeletal warriors stumbling toward the city.

“We have to find Camellia,” I say. “That’s the only way to put an end to this.”

“But how will we defeat her?” Audra asks. “Pranmore is with Henrik.”

Camellia planned this. Carefully, maliciously. She lured our soldiers away from the city so she could attack Cabaranth with her undead army.

“Your Majesty,” a guard says from behind us, looking relieved to find Lawrence.

“Tell me it’s good news,” the king says, sounding like he’s about to set fire to the city himself.

The guard blanches.

Lawrence growls, “Just get on with it.”

“The golems in your storeroom have come to life. They killed the guards, and they’re going through the castle.”

“The golems in the storeroom don’t have energy crystals in them,” Lawrence says slowly.

The man gives him a helpless look.

I lean against the curtain wall, watching as the skeletons put themselves back together and continue to build their tower of bones.

It’s going to be a long night.

24

HENRIK

I hate blasted mages.Just when you get close, they run. If that’s not enough, when you have them cornered, they summon a plethora of undead, from wraiths to skeletal warriors. Pranmore easily disbands them—they recoil from his life magic. But they’re a nuisance, and it makes finding the true enemies far more difficult.

I’m bloodied from their spells, my armor singed and blackened from their unnatural fire. Bartholomew and Pranmore look worse for wear as well, but we’re still alive, so I’ll count that as a win.

The Woodmore has saved our lives several times tonight.

“Henrik,” Ayan says, fighting his way through the throng, breathing hard once he reaches us. Strands of dark hair have fallen around the High Vale’s face, clinging to the sweat on his brow and cheeks. Blood trails down his temple, and there’s a concerning gash in his arm. “The golems…they’re different.”

I growl as one of Camellia’s human soldiers charges me, the clang of our clashing swords lost in the din. Once he falls, I turn back to Ayan. “What do you mean they’re different?”

“They’re not powered by energy crystals.”

“What?” I demand.

Pranmore raises a ward, blocking us from a rogue spell that fizzles against the boundary in bright green flames.

Temporarily protected, Bartholomew takes a moment, bending at the waist and gulping deep breaths of air. He’s fought hard tonight and made me proud, but he lacks stamina. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll last.