Page 161 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

“They’re dead,” Lydia whispered, watching the new ranks of child legionnaires merge with the rest of the Cel army. Marcus walked with his arm slung around one boy’s shoulders, their heads together. “He does realize that, doesn’t he? He believed me?”

“I don’t know.” Killian clenched his teeth, his mark screaming danger , but he couldn’t tell whether the threat was the dead legion or the very much alive ones.

Or something else entirely.

Panicked horns sounded from behind him, and a heartbeat later, Astara landed, already shifted before her feet hit the ground. “Rufina’s army has attacked,” she said. “Dareena and Xadrian are engaged, but they’re outnumbered five to one!”

“Shit!” His horse pawed the ground beneath him, sensing his agitation. The plan was falling apart before his very eyes, because even if Marcus hadn’t double-crossed them, his strategy wouldn’t work. Not with five thousand of his ranks under Rufina’s control.

“What do we do?” Malahi said. “How do we get through?”

I don’t know. “I’m thinking. Agrippa, can you tell what he’s planning?”

The Cel horns bellowed, the ranks beginning their slow press forward.

Agrippa lowered his spyglass, his face pale as he shook his head. “I can’t tell. He put the Fifty-First behind the Thirty-Seventh. I… I can’t imagine that he’d risk putting the walking dead at his own legion’s back if he’s sticking with our plan. I don’t know. I… don’t know.”

All eyes turned to Killian. Expecting him to have answers.

Lydia’s hand closed on his, and she said, “What does your gut say?”

Killian looked out over the approaching army, seeing the catapults being pulled into place, faces of the men so uniformly grim and resolute that there was no doubt that they, at least, believed this was real.

Then, across the field, his eyes locked with Marcus’s, the other man’s mouth moving in a single word.

And though Killian spoke not a word of Cel, he knew that order when he saw it.

Slamming the visor down on his helmet, Killian shouted, “Today we fight for the liberty of all of Reath! Follow my lead, and charge!”

Nodding once at Bercola, Killian dug in his heels and his horse leapt into a gallop.

With a roar, five hundred mounted soldiers and two thousand giants hurtled down the slope toward the army countless times their number, the thunder of feet and hooves rivaling the worst of Gespurn’s storms.

Horns blew and the legion’s march paused, the front ranks dropping to one knee, shields in front of them, the next row interweaving their shields above, then next row a level higher. A wall of steel out of which thousands of spears jutted forth.

A wall of death.

Toward which galloped tens of thousands of pounds of horseflesh followed by giants carrying weapons as large as Killian was tall.

This was a test of wills.

A test of nerve.

“Steady!” he shouted, seeing Marcus’s mouth move, no doubt saying the same. “Steady!”

A hundred paces.

Fifty.

Yet still no signal.

Doubt screamed through Killian’s veins, fear that he’d led everyone who mattered to him astray and that Mudamora’s only hope was about to die on Cel steel.

Thirty.

Twenty.

This isn’t going to work! his fear howled. Your cavalry is going to die on those spears. Bercola’s giants will die on those spears. Lydia will be captured. Rufina will have her victory.

But then his eyes locked with Marcus’s over the sea of shields and spears, and Killian’s gut said, steady.

The massive legionnaire on a horse next to Marcus lifted a horn and blew a series of notes.

With no hesitation, the legion ranks parted, creating a ruler-straight path through the thousands of men.

At the back of his mind, Killian marveled at the training and discipline that allowed such a feat, but there was no time to dwell on it as he galloped toward the opening of shields and spears, shouting at his lines, “Follow me! They are not our enemy this day!”

Shock filled the faces of his soldiers, but they shifted track to follow him even as Bercola roared at the giants to do the same.

Killian didn’t risk another glance back to make sure that everyone was following, focusing on pure speed as he galloped down the lane the legions had made for him.

In his periphery, he saw the tension in the legionnaires’ faces as they waited for the order to attack.

It wasn’t lost on Killian that if Marcus wanted to kill him and his entire force now, it would be easy.

Yet that wasn’t the fear that drove him to push Surly for more speed.

It was the dead legion at the rear.

The thousands of legionnaires who didn’t answer to Marcus but to Rufina.

They hadn’t reacted yet, all standing stock-still in a way that no one would ever perceive as human. But Killian saw the moment that Rufina realized Marcus’s betrayal, because the child legionnaires all collectively twitched.

As one, they broke ranks and began to sprint toward the lane the living legions had made for Killian’s forces.

He had less than a minute to get through.

Faster.

Horns blared, the living legionnaires shifting with unease and confusion at the actions of their younger comrades.

Hold, he silently pleaded even as he watched the dead legion race to cut off his path.

No part of how they moved was human—it appeared for all the world like a swarm of insects racing to a feast. If one fell, the others stormed overtop, grinding their fellow into the mud, their only care for blocking Killian’s path.

Faster.

He leaned over his warhorse’s neck, urging him on, counting down the lines of men left until he’d be in the open.

The horde of dead drew closer, the front-runners lifting their weapons.

Killian fought the urge to draw his sword, knowing it would only provoke the living around him.

Closer by the second, and Killian could see now how truly young the dead legion was.

They’d never reach Finn’s age, and though there was nothing human in their eyes, he knew the souls of the boys they’d once been were still inside.

Watching their bodies being used by the Corrupter and powerless to stop it.

Killian glanced over his shoulder. Lydia was right on his heels, as were Malahi and Agrippa. But their cavalry and Bercola’s giants were stretched in a long line behind them, and most wouldn’t make it before the dead legion attacked.

Not without help.

“They’re not alive!” he shouted at the legionnaires behind the walls of shields and spears to either side of him, all men with the 37 on their chests. “Those boys fell to the blight! The Fifty-First are dead!”

They understood his words, eyes flicking to the horde, then back to him. But for all they heard him, Killian suspected that if he attacked the dead legion, he’d be dead in an instant.

“Look at them!” he screamed, because if they didn’t help, this was over. “The Corrupter killed your comrades and now uses them as puppets. Look!”

Horror was rising across their faces, grief as pure as Killian had ever seen as the truth settled upon them, but the Thirty-Seventh Legion held their ground. Held to the orders of their commander, who it seemed intended to betray them after all.

Then a horn blew.