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Throwing himself out onto the parapet, Wilder saw the problem.

Darkness billowed, and at the centre of the wall, Cal was strung up like an animal, shadows binding his wrists and ankles, another tendril curling around his throat. He was held in midair, his body fighting the onslaught of whatever nightmares the wraiths were forcing upon him. His mouth was wide open, screaming, but no sound came out.

With a shout, both Wilder and Torj surged for him.

Together, the Warswords cleaved through the shadows with their steel. A dozen images swarmed Wilder’s mind – Malik, Talemir, Thea, all at the mercy of the reapers, all suffering. But he gritted his teeth and fought the visions back, just as he battled the lashing tendrils of obsidian, severing them and freeing Cal from their clutches.

The young Guardian fell, knees crunching on stone as he landed on all fours, gasping for air, tears streaming down his face.

Wilder whirled around, anticipating the wraiths descending at any second.

They didn’t.

Instead, the shadows dissipated around them, revealing the remains of Cal’s archery unit. Many were lifeless on the stones, their eyes frozen wide in shock, their mouths agape with silent screams. But there were a few in similar states to Cal, dry heaving, hands around their bruised throats.

‘Everyone up,’ Wilder ordered, twirling his blades. ‘Cal,’ he barked. ‘On your feet.’

‘Yes, sir,’ he rasped. Eyes still streaming, Cal staggered upright, reaching for his bow. ‘Archers!’ he wheezed, his voice hoarse, broken. He shot Wilder an apologetic look. ‘You may have to give the order.’

‘That I can do,’ Wilder said, turning to the handful of archers. ‘Your men and women are dying down there! Nock!’ he bellowed.

The men struggled to their feet, but did as ordered.

‘Draw!’

Wilder scanned the parapet, horror dawning as he did. For as the shadows fell back, they revealed long spikes lining the walls, and impaled there…

Bile rose up the back of his throat, but he forced it down, forced his attention back to the trembling archers.

‘Loose!’ Wilder shouted.

The first volley of arrows rained down on the monsters below, their tips treated with sun orchid essence, bursts of gold exploding in the courtyard. Wilder prayed to the Furies that Cal and his comrades aimed true.

He lifted his sword, motioning to the new wave of howlers breaking into the courtyard. ‘Again!’ he roared. ‘Nock… Draw… Loose!’

Screams echoed from below, and the metallic tang of blood drifted in the air.

Torj was moving towards the stairs. ‘I’m going to see about the catapults. They should be raining fire upon this shithole by now.’

Wilder merely nodded and returned his attention to the archers. He desperately wanted to be down amid the fighting, but from the look on Cal’s pale face and his lack of voice, they needed someone to rally them. Wilder only hoped they hadn’t yet spotted the spikes… He made sure not to look himself, so that he didn’t draw their attention that way. There were enough horrors below, let alone those that surrounded them.

‘Nock!’ he called again. ‘Draw!’

He watched the archers do as he bid, their bowstrings pulled taut, their chests expanding.

‘Loose!’

This time, when the arrows rained, so did rocks and flaming balls of twine, courtesy of the catapults beyond the walls. It seemed Torj had found them and taken them under his command, wreaking havoc upon the fortress that had once been their home. Glass shattered, and the thunderous roar of a turret crumbling echoed across the parapet.

‘Take cover!’ Wilder shouted to their own forces.

Fire and stone pummelled the fortress, and Wilder could take it no longer.

‘Callahan.’ He gripped the Guardian’s shoulder, forcing Cal to meet his gaze. ‘You’re the Flaming fucking Arrow. These men are yours to command. Command them.’

Cal’s expression hardened. ‘Yes, sir.’

Wilder didn’t wait. He sprinted once more for the stairs, hearing the echo of Cal’s firm orders as he rushed to rejoin the fray.