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A glowing sphere hurtled through the air and struck the arachne square in the chest, before it exploded.

A familiar flash of gold momentarily blinded Thea, and she shielded her eyes. The screech of the arachne had her clutching her ears, the rest of the battlefield doing the same as the monster disintegrated, flecks of gold covering its writhing body.

Torj stared open-mouthed at the melting corpse, his hammer suspended in midair in shock.

Thea looked from the startled Warsword across the battlefield, to where Wren was slinging vials of sun orchid essence at the enemy.

‘You’re welcome, Bear Slayer,’ she shouted across the chaos, pitching another potion right into the heart of an enemy unit.

Torj shook his head in wonder, and Thea grinned at Drue.

With Wren’s help, they forced the enemy back, slaying howlers and arachnes. To Thea’s horror, miniature vine blights were catapulted into their forces, and for a moment she was ripped from the present. She was back at the great lake, sobbing through the pain as she cut off her own arm, the searing agony of the vine blight’s grip unlike anything she’d ever felt.

‘Thea!’ a sharp voice sounded.

Wilder.

He was at her side, concern etched across his handsome face.

‘Vine blights,’ she managed.

He didn’t question her, only took off towards Farissa. Thea knew he’d take care of them.

Shaking off the nightmarish memory, she spotted the gleam of gold armour at the back of the force and spurred her mare into action. She squeezed her horse’s sides, picking up speed, cutting her way towards King Artos, a snarl of vengeance on her lips. He could join Sebastos Barlowe in the underworld. He would die at the tip of her blade —

A roar filled the air, the sound reverberating through the ranks with a shudder.

A gasp caught in Thea’s throat.

What could only be a frost giant staggered towards them from the mountains. The creature was one of epic proportions, its skin as pale as the snow-covered depths from which it had emerged. With every lumbering step, and every bellowing roar, the ground trembled, and an icy shiver raked down Thea’s spine as she took in not only the giant’s size, but the leash of shadow around its throat, and the enormous spiked club clutched in its meaty fist.

With one sweep of that club, men went flying, some impaled on the spikes themselves. Blood rained down on the army below, and black ice crept across the battlefield.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

WILDER

The enemy had a fucking frost giant. Wilder felt the blood drain from his face as he saw the enormous creature lurch towards their front line, crushing men and monsters alike beneath its great bare feet.

Panicked screams echoed through the forces. He braced himself. There was no way their lines would hold in the face of this.

‘Now might be the time for storm magic,’ Adrienne shouted from further afield.

Wilder was inclined to agree. Their numbers were dwindling, and of those who remained, many were frozen to the spot in terror, as black ice creeped across the gory landscape like a disease.

Slitting the throat of a nearby howler and gutting the next, Wilder sized up the frost giant with a deepening sense of dread. It was not the kind that was easily herded into the mountains with fire, as he and Talemir had once done in their younger days. Though it hadn’t been cursed like the howlers and arachnes, it was controlled by darkness nonetheless. A thick leash of shadow was lashed around the poor creature’s throat. Two more cords enslaved its wrists, while obsidian bled from its eyes.

It lurched towards them, its movements sluggish with resistance, as though someone in the distance were manipulating its movements, making it no more than a puppet to inflict destruction.

Which was exactly what the beast did. Its enormous spiked club cleaved through their forces in a bloody wave. Wilder knew he would remember the sight for the rest of his life – men impaled on the spikes, barrelling through their own forces.

They had to stop it before the battle was lost, before all that was left of their units was pulverised gore in the snow.

Carving his way through enemy lines and shoving his own men out of the way to close the gap between him and the giant, Wilder looked to the archers. On the ridge, Cal was leading the unit, a volley of arrows spearing through the air towards the creature. But the shadow that leashed the beast swallowed the assault in a billowing mass of darkness, protecting the giant.

There was only one thing for it.

Wilder scanned the skies. Spotting Talemir flying overhead, he whistled, loud and sharp enough to cut through the tumult. Wilder signalled to him, praying to the Furies that Tal understood.