Page 163 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

As the last note faded, the rear ranks of the Thirty-Seventh moved, intercepting the horde of legion blighters with a wall of steel and spears.

But the blighters didn’t hesitate.

Killian watched in horror as they died by the dozens. Then the hundreds.

And still they came.

Killian broke clear of the Thirty-Seventh, reining in his horse even as he shouted to Lydia, “Go! Ride!”

Pale-faced, she galloped Seahawk across the open plain, Malahi and Agrippa flanking her as they headed toward the forest, cavalry galloping fast and Bercola’s giants easily keeping pace. All while death unlike anything Killian had ever seen piled up not fifty paces from where his horse stood.

Horns bellowed, more ranks moving to reinforce the lines, and Surly reared, giving Killian a clear view over the sea of shifting men. Marcus held a horn, his face splattered with blood, and his mouth formed a single word.

Go.

Digging in his heels, Killian drove his horse into a gallop and chased the tail of his cavalry disappearing into the trees.

As though eager to escape the carnage, Surly put on an extra boost of speed, and within moments he’d caught up to the last riders, passing them until he was alongside his companions.

Agrippa’s face was slick with tears, but he only said, “We have to be quick! She’ll be sending reinforcements to the stem, and we have to beat them to it! ”

Nodding, Killian moved closer to Lydia, who was pressed close to Seahawk’s neck with Gwen and Lena riding on her heels. “Are you all right?”

Her face turned to him, green eyes full of tears. “Rufina knows we can save the blighters. That’s why she made them do that. So there is no hope of getting them back.”

Having seen the looks on the faces of the legionnaires as they were forced to kill their own, Killian suspected Rufina’s motivations were darker still, but he only said, “She knows we’re coming for her.”

And this time, he was going to kill her.

They wove through the winding paths, the air thick and humid, the stink of blight growing as they flanked the front lines and headed into Rufina’s territory.

It was truly the land of the dead.

The ground was ashen from the fire Killian had sent north, the trees nothing but charred skeletons and debris thick on the ground.

But worse were the streams and pools of blight.

The horses attempted to leap over them, but it was not long until everyone in the company was splattered with black murk.

Which meant the hours of life for anyone not marked were severely numbered.

Still they pressed onward, deeper into the deadlands that had once been Mudamora. The horses began to falter and stumble, some willfully resisting traveling farther. Knowing they were close, Killian slowed Surly’s pace, then dropped his reins in favor of his bow.

Only to draw up short as they exited the charred trees.

“You’re going to need more arrows,” Agrippa whispered, as they looked out at a sprawling lake of blight, at the center of which sat a small island containing a glittering xenthier stem.

Far more arrows, because surrounding the lake were hundreds upon hundreds of blighters.