Page 115 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

Killian galloped through the farmland north of Serlania, his apprehension growing with every pounding hoofbeat.

The sun was low, a blood-red orb sinking into the horizon, casting a ruddy glow over the land.

Surly’s hooves struck the damp ground with dull, echoing thuds, but though the terrain here was fertile and lush, the wind was frigid.

No one spoke. Everyone was focused on guiding their mounts as the few hundred soldiers Killian and Dareena had recruited from the High Lords’ personal guards raced to intercept the blighter horde racing toward the last enclave of the living left in Mudamora.

The fields grew dark and shadowy in the fading light, the rows of citrus trees lining them looking somehow monstrous backlit by the red sunset.

The sweet scent of fruit hung thick in the air, but it was made cloying and rotten when combined with the smell of blight.

In the distance, a flock of birds suddenly took flight, and his warhorse tensed, muscles coiled like springs, its ears flicking back and forth.

“Easy,” Killian muttered, patting Surly’s black neck. “It’s not the living we need to fear.”

Adra reined her galloping horse near his.

Her dark hair was woven into tight braids and she wore chainmail over her dark blue shirt.

A short sword was belted at her waist, a bow hooked around her shoulder, and a stuffed quiver was attached to her saddle.

No part of Killian wanted the mother of his nieces and nephews riding toward battle, but Kaira had trained Adra to fight and his sister-in-law was a better shot than almost anyone he knew.

“Something’s bothering you,” she said. “You keep looking over your shoulder. And don’t deny it—I spent my whole childhood with Kaira. I know how to tell when your mark is warning you.” When Killian didn’t answer, she added, “I have also noted that Dareena’s focus is entirely ahead.”

“Don’t try to put her off,” Seldrid called from where he rode slightly behind. “She’ll just keep asking until you give her what she wants.”

Surly squealed and gave a buck beneath Killian, sensing his mounting tension. “It feels like I’m being watched,” he finally admitted. “Like the greater threat is behind me, not before.”

Adra straightened in her saddle. “In Serlania? Teradale? My children—”

Killian wiped sweat from his brow, hot beneath his armor. “Farther. I… I think the threat is to Lydia.”

“Revat?” Adra’s tone was terse. “The Cel are in Emrant, so it can’t be them. Is it assassins?”

“I don’t know.” His voice was sharper than he’d intended it to be, but all his willpower was dedicated to not turning his horse around and racing the other direction to find a ship to take him to Revat so that he could protect Lydia from whatever threat lurked in wait.

Sonia is with her, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. So are Agrippa and Kaira. And Lydia is not helpless.

Yet despite his words, Killian again looked over his shoulder. Though he knew it was only the settling shadows of night, it felt like a tide of darkness was creeping up behind him.

Dareena called a pause to light lanterns and torches, and Niotin landed among them.

The massive hawk shifted into a man, and without preamble, he said, “The blighters are less than an hour ahead of you. Several hundred by my count, most armed with shovels and picks, but a few have bows and proper weapons.”

“Are there children with them?” Baird asked.

Killian hadn’t had much chance to speak to the giant.

Only knew that Bercola had gone to secure passage to Eoten Isle and that however their conversation had gone, it had not turned to violence.

For which he was grateful, because they would need Baird’s strength in the moments to come.

Niotin shook his head. “If there were, they’ve fallen behind. The blighters are sprinting as if Rufina herself cracks the whip at their heels.” His eyes turned to the dark sky. “Which perhaps she does.”

“Remember,” Dareena shouted at the group of soldiers massed around them on sweating horses, “only blows to the head will bring them down for good, but taking off a leg will certainly slow them! Focus on incapacitating them, and then we’ll end their misery when the battle is over.

These are not Mudamorians any longer! They are flesh puppets animated by the Corrupter.

Soldiers of Rufina’s army. They are not countrymen and women, but minions of the Seventh. Show no fucking mercy!”

The wind howled past them as they pressed onward, carrying a whisper of something unseen but felt.

The once-familiar landscape took on an unsettling quality, as if threats lurked in every shadowed grove and beneath every silent tree.

The path ahead, barely visible, seemed to lead into the underworld itself.

And in the darkness, the rhythm of hoofbeats felt like a heartbeat, quickening with fear and the anticipation of the unknown.

Yet Killian still looked over his shoulder, his skin crawling as he searched the horizon for the threat. Please watch over her, he prayed to the Six. Yet in his mind’s eye, the dark tower of the Seventh loomed, burning eyes filled with laughter.

Overhead, Niotin gave a sharp call, and Dareena drew her horse to a stop. Killian rode up next to her, both of them silently staring out over the dark field, ears filling with the growing thunder of running human feet.

“We need light,” Dareena muttered. “Killian, would you oblige.”

Wrapping the head of an arrow with oil-soaked cloth, Killian lit it on a torch and then sent the arrow flying overhead. As it slowly descended, it illuminated the shadows of hundreds of running men and women.

“The Six have mercy,” Adra breathed, but then drew her weapon. As did everyone around them.

Killian sent four more arrows into the sky in rapid succession to give them light to fight, and then he lowered the visor of his helmet.

“We are the last bastion between the Seventh and all the souls in Serlania,” he roared. “In the name of the queen and the Six, do your duty!”

And then he charged.

The blighters did not run together like soldiers, but rather spread out haphazardly across the field. Their clothes were tattered, if they wore them at all. The people who’d risen were civilians. Farmers and fishermen. Innkeepers and barmaids. All people Killian was supposed to protect.

Which made them all people he’d failed.

Yet even as guilt pooled in his stomach, Killian looked over his shoulder one last time in the direction of Revat.

Then the blighters were upon them.

His sword sheared a man’s head from his shoulders, sending it flying even as his warhorse thundered over a woman, crumpling her body beneath his hooves.

What happened next was a blur of butchery that Killian wished could be wiped from his mind. The destruction of those he was sworn to protect. As the blighters fell, Killian felt his faith in his mark fading. His faith in the Six, for it did not feel right that they stood by and watched this happen.

And it was not just his faith that faltered.

Those who fought at his side destroyed a part of their souls with each blighter they brought down. Tears slicked faces as the ground was soaked in blood, and though it was a moonless night, the world seemed to darken.

Driving his blade through an injured blighter’s skull, Killian paused to suck in several breaths of air, every gasp tasting like the blight on the wind.

It had been too easy. Far too gods-damned easy to win this fight, and from the way Dareena’s horse was frisking beneath her, she felt the same way.

“Killian!”

Adra’s voice cut the air, and he turned to see a blighter driving a pitchfork toward his chest.

He sliced the man’s arm from his body with a hard blow, but the blighter kept coming. Reaching for Killian with torn and ragged nails.

Only for Adra’s arrow to explode through the man’s throat.

Spine severed, he dropped, but voids stared out of his eyes as he laughed. All the blighters still alive on the blood-soaked field laughed in chorus, the effect horrifying.

Then they fell silent, and the only laugh came from the darkness far above, carried on the wings of a deimos.

“Well fought, Lord Calorian,” Rufina called from the sky. “Even from here, I can smell the stink of Mudamorian blood soaking into the soil, the opened bowels, the first sweet scents of rot. Tell me, does this smell like victory to you?”

Killian didn’t answer, only nocked an arrow and listened to the sound of beating wings.

Before he could shoot, a jolt struck his core. A violent flood of impending doom that tore his eyes from the sky and drew them south. “Lydia.”

Rufina’s chuckle was soft and cruel as she soared overhead. “Well fought, well fought, indeed. How unfortunate that you won the wrong battle.”