Page 79

“ T o Safety! To Trilion!” Rihad’s roar is so loud, I practically vibrate with it, and this time I know for sure that it’s not simply the weight of his voice carrying forth, but the amplification of dark magic.

It has the desired effect, though. The skrill attack on Trilion is still fresh enough in everyone’s mind that they don’t need this assault to actually begin before they respond to the danger.

As Rihad’s shout dies away, the crowd breaks as one and starts racing for the giant doors of the coliseum, while the only mounted horsemen—the Imperial soldiers—wheel around in sudden confusion.

Some of them are looking to the sky, others have pulled their swords, then they all, belatedly, join in the stampede for the doors.

Miriam and I move along with the throng, keeping our heads down as the skrill surge closer.

I lose sight of Nazar and the house lords almost immediately, but I don’t think Rihad has such control over his men that they will take out the priest of the Light or the savvy westerners so quickly.

At least, I pray to the Light for that to be the case.

We all eventually clear the great doors of the coliseum, and the racing villagers gain speed as they spread out across the plains, barreling toward Trilion.

I’ve lost Miriam, but I keep a keen eye on the horsemen of the Imperium—the more they wheel around in utter confusion, the more they draw other eyes too—especially with Rihad no longer leading anyone, anywhere.

It’s as if the plains have opened up and swallowed the traitorous former lord protector whole.

“It’s the Imperium!” someone shouts in the middle of the melee, the bold, booming shout of one of the First House guards. “We’re being attacked by the Imperium! Betrayed—we’re being betrayed!”

A new cry goes up from the fleeing villagers, and a burst of fighting men surges back toward us, moving fast. I recognize them at once as the men that Caleb had been training in the coliseum, the newly banded soldiers of the First House.

They’re too new to the politics of the Protectorate to follow anyone but their lord protector, no matter who wears the black and gold.

And they’re more than eager to prove their mettle.

These new warriors barge through the crowd, and I watch with horror as they tap their fists to their hearts, their arms surging high…

The air around us snaps tight, and suddenly the space between the fighting men and the retreating townspeople is filled with Divhs.

These Divhs are nowhere near as big as the mighty goliaths who had battled so fiercely in the Tournament of Gold, but they’re impressive all the same.

Most are the size of manor houses, some stretching three stories high, they take a moment to roar with unbridled battle lust, then go swinging about, looking for something to crush.

Unlike the great Divhs who fought largely separate from their human counterparts, the men guiding these smaller Divhs stay close, swinging up on to their backs and shoulders depending on where the greatest purchase is.

I can only imagine what this looks like to the Imperial soldiers—a horde of ravening beasts, carrying men brandishing swords, and heading straight for them.

The army of the Imperium doesn’t shrink away, however, their confusion disappearing like shadows beneath a brilliant sun. And with the skrill still boiling toward us across the sky, the only enemy they can focus on are the newly banded soldiers of the First House.

“No!” I race forward as Rihad’s fuller plan reveals itself to me.

First, he’ll kill as many soldiers as he can, both the unsanctioned banded ones not fully allied to him as well as the Imperial soldiers who would otherwise bear the tale of a Protectorate fully able to defend itself against all comers, including Imperial ones.

That’s not a message that Rihad wants to get out.

It’s also why he’s called on the strength of the skrill to swell his army of loyal soldiers and Divhs.

He no doubt sees all this as little more than a practice run.

But I can’t let it stand. I can’t let these Divhs, many of whom came into this plane at my behest, be used as executioners. I also can’t let the soldiers of the Imperium be slaughtered.

I may not be able to summon Gent to my aid, but I still have my band…and there’s a soldier in need of a Divh in this melee who may yet prove valuable to the cause.

A warrior uses all the weapons at her disposal, no matter who has forged them.

I break out into a run to where Rihad’s men are watching the churn of battle at a safe remove, but my father isn’t mounted.

He’s standing there with his hands balled into fists, his legs braced—a man eager to fight anyone, barely restrained.

For all his flaws, for all his issues, I know he would sooner die than see Gent the way Rihad has prostrated him.

And only with full vision can he ever understand the treachery of the man he follows.

I give him someone to focus his rage on.

“Father!” I shriek as I draw near.

“ You! ” He whips around, his face mottling as soon as he recognizes me. “Why can’t you stay dead?”

“Because you keep needing my help ,” I snarl back. Without hesitating even a moment, I grab his left forearm in a tight grip, bearing down.

The innate nature of my sentient band takes over.

Here is a warrior that I have chosen, a man who not only can fight with a mighty Divh but who has fought with a mighty Divh.

A slender tendril of my band rips free and burns its way down my arm, but the greater mass of my band stays intact.

It stays! I pray to the Light that means that I haven’t lost my connection to Gent forever, but for this moment, I can only stare into the startled face of my father and see the wonder that washes over it as he realizes what’s happening.

Reflexively he jerks back, no doubt wanting to reject this gift, considering who’s giving it to him.

But as a one-time warrior with a Divh of his own, put off by the one man who he thought could reband him, he can no sooner reject this connection then he can reject breath itself.

When the band seats itself tight around his bicep, I release him, allowing him to stumble back.

Lord Lemille of the Tenth now has a Divh of his own again, and that Divh is of my line, not his.

Light willing, that will make a difference.

The guards near me shift, and I finally see Rihad—who’s staring straight at my father, as if realizing something important has changed. “Lemille!” he roars, but I’m off again and running, diving into the fray of mounted warriors on their Divhs and horsemen. The skrill are nearly upon us.

For all the might and bulk of the Divhs, the soldiers of the Imperium are clearly well trained, and equipped with both long sword, short sword, and spears. The plain is littered with men —but only men so far—their Divhs flashing away back into the Blessed Plane as confusion reigns.

I barely avoid getting trampled in the churn of horsemen.

I shift at the last moment to allow the next warhorse to pass, scrambling to haul up a thrown spear that’s one of dozens littering the killing field.

The spear is heavier than I expect, its shaft rough against my palms, but I have no time to think—only act.

I swing around with a shout as the next member of Rihad’s personal guard bears down on me, his horse’s hooves punishing the earth.

He’s not looking at me, though, but at some other unfortunate villager, and his face breaks into a blighted grin as he raises his blade high.

Heart hammering, I lunge forward and swing the blunt end of the spear upward as he races by me.

The impact cracks against his armor just below the ribcage.

He saws on the reins, bringing the horse around sharply, but the force of my desperate shove is too much, and he topples to the side.

I try to grab the reins of the horse, but it rears away from me, and I barely miss getting trampled again. Light ! If I don’t improve my position, I’m not going to get off this field alive.

As focused as I am dodging horses and blades, I almost don’t notice when the first skrill drops out of the sky.

Then the second hits my back and bounces away.

Then I see fully a dozen glistening snakes cover a horse and rider in front of me, draping over them like a cloak.

They so unnerve the rider that he drops his sword and shield.

He flails, waving wildly enough that he falls clean off his horse—while his mount shucks the snakes with a furious convulsion—then stands still as if momentarily dazed.

“Hey!” I gasp, and without stopping to think about what I’m stepping in, I lurch my way toward the abandoned horse and catch its reins, swinging myself up into the saddle. I turn the horse around just as the field erupts in terror.

Snakes are everywhere. Falling from the sky in an oily sheet, or flying in bristling knots of terror, the skrill swoop across the plain to harry both villager and Imperial horseman alike.

Where they strike, men start screaming, and though the horses are far more stalwart, even they start bucking and rearing to shake the creatures off them, unseating their panicked riders in the process.

I gallop back across the open field, angling for the coliseum as more snakes drop out of the sky or fly into the faces of the fighting men.

Right now, they’re causing equal terror in both the villagers and the soldiers, but the only men falling are the ones on horses—and once they hit the ground, both panicked villagers and skrill alike swarm over them.

I race through the chaos, my eyes trained on the opening to the coliseum and whatever blightscape awaits me there.

I can’t think of what I was or what I will be, but only the now—only the movement through the madness of the field, shifting and leaning, leaping and pressing on, until I gradually become aware of something else.

The snakes aren’t slowing me down.

I grimace as I lean low against my horse’s neck, urging it on, but even the occasional snake that whips through the air and strikes me, bounces off so quickly it’s almost comical.

No longer able to remain fully present in the moment, my mind lashes furiously at this question. Why ? Is it because I still carry the winged crown in a pouch at my waist? It almost has to be.

I wheel around at the mouth of the coliseum and see the carnage as it lays out in front of me. Men down—maybe dead, maybe dying—as the serpentine horde of the skrill sear the field with their poison.

And I have the power to stop it, I think. I must stop it—all of it. Even if it means I break my bond with Gent forever, I must.

The thought of never connecting with Gent again is agonizing…

but even worse is the realization I might never see Fortiss again.

Never feel his steady presence beside me, never look into his eyes and see that quiet certainty that somehow makes me feel protected and powerful at once.

If I die on this battlefield without giving my all—or if the Protectorate is crushed because of my own weakness…

no. I owe Fortiss more than that. I owe myself more than that.

After all the times I’ve been asked to put the greater good ahead of my own interests and rebelled against it, deciding not to step up and step out for the greater good, this isn’t something I can rebel against.

This is the way of the warrior, a kind of death I had never expected to face.

I want to scream—to rage. But instead, I draw in a shaky breath.

If this is to be my last act as myself, before I lose everything I’ve come to cherish, I allow myself one moment more to remember Fortiss’s touch, the warmth of his smile, the certainty I feel when we stand together.

Whatever comes next, no one can take that from me.

I pull the winged crown out of the pouch at my waist, and before I can decide otherwise, I jam it over my head.

Even as I do, the sky snaps tight. And on the far horizon now stands three enormous, implacable beings—a fell wind rushing toward us as they spread their arms wide. The Sahktar.

Deep on the other side of the battlefield, Rihad roars with joy—his voice so loud, I hear it pound against my skull.

“No, no, no!” I gasp.

Rihad turns sharply toward me.

No! Panic suddenly swamping me, I wheel my horse around and ride like mad into the coliseum, where with the added strength of the crown, I pray that I can release Gent to fight with us and for us—and, if I’m being honest, with and for me.

But I can see at a moment’s glance that Gent isn’t there. And it’s not simply a matter of a magic I can’t fight through. The chains are there, the blood still staining the fields of the coliseum, but my mighty Divh is gone.

“Gent,” I gasp, a pit of despair opening inside me.

A hundred possibilities assault me, each worse than the last. By putting on the crown of wings, did I just lose him forever?

Did I free him to serve my father once more—is that even possible?

I lift my face toward the heavens and cry out with all the rage, despair, and loss that fills me up and flows out from me, but this battle is not done.

I can feel the presence of the Sahktar as they rush across the open plains, swooping toward the coliseum.

Then I’m through the doorway and out again, my left arm punching into the sky as I shout for any and all Divhs who would come to fight, by the power of the winged crown.

For a long second, nothing happens.

Then the skies open up and there is only screaming.