Page 165 of Scorched Earth (Dark Shores #4)

KILLIAN

Killian stared at the mass of Mudamorian undead surrounding the lake of blight. They’d have to cut through them, leaving unsavable corpses in their wake, then wade the horses through poison to get to the stem, which meant everyone in their company who wasn’t marked wouldn’t be long for this world.

A terrible toll, but Killian knew that every one of the soldiers in their company would ride into that lake knowing it likely meant their lives. That was not what had drawn them up short.

It was that every one of the blighters standing before them was a Mudamorian child.

“I hate her,” Lydia whispered. “How is it possible for one woman to have so much evil in her soul?”

Malahi rode alongside them. She was breathing hard from the gallop, her amber eyes staring bleakly out over the dead. “How do we get through them?”

“Slaughter,” Agrippa answered, ever Malahi’s deadly shadow. “Rufina thinks we won’t be able to do it.”

Killian gave soft orders to hold back, but below, none of the blighters so much as even twitched. As though they didn’t even see them, despite being only thirty yards away.

Which meant that Rufina’s focus had to be elsewhere. Either on Marcus or Dareena, or…

“Killian…” Lydia whispered. “Something is wrong.”

“I know.” He pressed his horse close to hers, Bercola moving to hold the reins of both animals. “If this is the path to Deadground, why isn’t her focus here? Why aren’t there at least some of the corrupted here?”

“Perhaps she’s distracted by the Cel? Or Dareena and Xadrian’s forces,” Malahi said. “Maybe we’re winning?”

“No,” Killian answered. “Rufina knew Deadground was our goal.”

Lydia’s face was blanched of color, and he understood why. They’d spent every tool in their arsenal to get this far, and for what?

Bercola exhaled a long breath. “Eoten Isle will deal with the blighters, Killian. Those are not our children, and while our hands will be stained for the rest of our days, the hurt will not cut us as deep.”

“We can’t destroy them,” Lydia whispered. “If the children can’t be brought back, what are we fighting for?”

“I don’t think we have to. At least, not yet.” Killian unhooked the bow from his back. Nocking an arrow, he aimed at the distant xenthier.

And let loose.

He watched the arrow sail over the blighters’ heads without them noticing. But rather than disappearing into the stem, it struck the crystal dead on.

“Shit,” Agrippa whispered. “It’s a terminus. This isn’t the way to Deadground. It’s a decoy.”

Wings flapped above, and Astara fell to the ground before them. The shifter was bleeding heavily from what appeared to be multiple bite wounds, no doubt from one of the deimos. Slipping off the side of her horse, Lydia ran to Astara’s side and the shifter’s wounds disappeared beneath her touch.

“It’s Rufina!” Astara gasped. “You told me to watch her. I was tracking her from the air when I was attacked, but not before I saw her and her corrupted go through another stem. Worse still, now that she knows the legion attack was a ploy, her main army has disengaged from Dareena and Xadrian and is marching this way.” She swallowed hard.

“ Running this way. Thousands of them. You’re going to be overrun. ”

“Where is the genesis stem?” Killian demanded.

“East of here. I can show you.”

Before anyone could move, the blighter children began to stir, heads swiveling and eyes latching upon them.

As one, they began to walk.

In the same uncanny way as the dead legion that had attacked Marcus’s forces, they moved in total lockstep, any individual too damaged to move properly falling beneath the feet of the others. Faces vacant.

Eyes fixed on Killian, and he knew that it was Rufina who looked out.

“Astara, get us to that stem!”

The woman shifted, taking wing and flying low.

Killian led them, but Lydia kept close to his warhorse’s heels.

Their friends and comrades followed, running down a narrow track through the dead woods, horses and giants leaping over the blight.

All while blighter children pursued, the dead caring not for paths, instead crashing through the blackened trees.

“Keep close!” Killian shouted at her. “We’re going to have to be quick.”

Never mind that they’d be going through a path blind to what was on the other side. Never mind that there was nothing to stop the blighters from following them through.

As if hearing his thoughts, Bercola shouted, “Killian, get them through the path! We’ll hold them off for as long as we can.”

It was a death sentence.

The blighters knew no fear. Knew no pain. They’d keep coming and coming…

Lydia shouted, “No! We won’t leave anyone behind!”

But Killian looked over his shoulder and met Bercola’s gaze, giving the giantess a tight nod. A silent promise to see her one day when the gods had claimed them both, because this war would not be won without sacrifice. And it would be his old friend who made it.

Agrippa urged his mount for more speed, passing Malahi and Lydia and reining close to Killian.

“Having done it more than once—those first seconds when you pass through that xenthier are when you’re most likely to die.

At best, she’s going to have archers waiting to shoot anyone who comes through.

At worst, the corrupted are ready to take your head off.

Worse still, we don’t know the lay of the land on the far side.

Could be into a cave or into a pool of water.

Could be a long drop. So what’s the plan? ”

“Trust the Six,” Killian answered. “And myself.”

“So, no plan, then?” Agrippa shook his head. “Got it.”

Astara abruptly veered up, flapping a dozen feet above the ground, and Killian said, “Give me the count of two hundred to get through, then you come. Lydia and Malahi follow. We handle the killing, and they do the rest. That enough of a plan for you?”

“It’ll do.”

Leaping off the side of Surly, Killian checked his supply of weapons, then drew his sword as he approached the black crystal jutting from the ground. “Start counting,” he called to Agrippa, then he reached out a hand and took hold of the xenthier.

Everything turned white, and Killian was struck with the sense of an endless void of nothing. Yet every instinct screamed parry , and as the world reappeared, he lifted his blade even as the icy cold of the north hit him in the face.

The clang of steel striking steel filled his ears, and Killian rolled, coming to his feet in time to block another blow. The impact made his arm shudder, his mind registering that one of the corrupted held the blade even as his instincts screamed of an attack from behind.

Whirling, he ducked under a swing that would have taken his head off, then plunged his blade through the woman’s heart. His sword stuck on her ribs as he tried to pull it clear, and abandoning the weapon, he drew a knife and threw.

It struck a man in the eye. The corrupted shrieked and staggered back, the injury not enough to kill him.

But there was no time to finish the job as another corrupted approached, her movements too quick to be human.

If Killian hadn’t been marked by Tremon, the slash of her knife would have opened his jugular.

Instead, he got his arm in the way, wincing as the force of her blow drove broken links of chain mail into his flesh.

Ignoring the pain, he drew another knife.

Their blades clashed once. Twice. Three times, each reaction faster than thought, only endless hours of training keeping him from being sliced to ribbons as she pressed closer.

Killian lashed out with his fist, taking a blow to the ribs in order to send the corrupted stumbling back. His knife followed, flipping end over end to embed in her throat.

The corrupted ripped it out, but Killian already had his bow in hand, letting loose an arrow that punched through the corrupted’s skull.

Drawing two more arrows, he launched them in rapid succession into the man who was staggering in circles with Killian’s knife in his eye.

But more came on.

If they’d been smart, they’d have attacked together, but their greed to be the ones to steal his life outweighed logic, and they jockeyed between each other, giving him the chance to rip his sword loose from the corpse.

Then Agrippa appeared.

The other man didn’t so much as stumble. He instantly let an arrow fly into one of the black-clad corrupted, following with another and another, giving Killian room to attack.

There was no time for caution, so he dove in with force, taking off limbs to slow them down enough for Agrippa to finish them off, and within what felt like a few heart beats, only still forms lay on the ground around them.

But Lydia and Malahi had still not yet come through.

Breathing hard, Killian stared at the crystal, panic rising because if they were in trouble, there was no way back to them.

“Come on,” Agrippa whispered, wiping away the blood running down his face from a cut on his brow. “I said a count of one hundred.”

In his mind’s eye, Killian saw the waves of blighters coming too quickly.

Cutting through Bercola and her forces and rolling over Lydia and Malahi before they could go through the path.

Or worse, the pair of them refusing to abandon the soldiers and staying to fight.

Lydia falling into the darkness of her mark, all hope lost.

“Come on,” Agrippa repeated. “Come on!”

The women abruptly appeared together, both stumbling, only Killian’s reflexes keeping them from falling into the blood-splattered snow.

“I said one at a time.” Agrippa leveled a finger at them, his face still pale. “That’s the rule.”

“Whose rule?” Malahi demanded.

“The rule of smart people who don’t want to die!” He caught hold of his wife and pulled her into his arms. “Gods, Malahi. Don’t scare me like that.”