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Chapter 39 ~ To Victory

Dàibhid

I met with the usual suspects in my tent early the next morning, so on edge every part of me thrummed with nervous energy. I wasn’t changing my mind about our course of action—that feeling of doing the right thing, of believing in my own choices, hadn’t disappeared like I thought it might—but this was still going to be a battle. People’s lives were still going to be on the line.

I wanted it done and over with as soon as possible.

“You ready?” Brí murmured.

“As I can be.” I pulled her in for a hug, needing to hold her in case anything happened. She squeezed me tightly. My mouth turned dry as I took stock of the others over her shoulder, and I held an arm wide. “Since it’s only you lot here.”

While Commander Lochlin and áine stayed back as predicted, the others accepted the open invitation, piling into a group hug. My nerves calmed, replaced by a warmth that threatened to overwhelm me. I held on as long as I could. It seemed they did, too. Because after this, we’d don our weapons and make for the field.

I might have needed the battle to be over with, but the hug tempted me to linger. But we had final preparations to make, a few things to discuss before meeting everyone else. So I patted Thomas’s back, and we all slowly disentangled ourselves.

Except Maya, who left our huddle quickly. She’d stayed away from Rígan. So had Lou. Rígan’s face was puffy and red, like she’d been crying. Had something happened between them? I wanted to ask, but she shook her head and took a seat beside Bryn.

When the time arrived and we’d talked everything over to death, we pushed out from my tent. The sun couldn’t decide if it wanted to shine—perhaps Soral was undecided on whether we’d need him. On how bloody this would be.

I focused on the soft whinnies of the horses, the breeze through the grass, the sound of my own breath, to chase the nerves away.

Our forces were gathered at the edge of camp, waiting for me to inspire them before marching. What I wouldn’t have given to have a written speech. Something to hold on to and keep my mind tethered. But I had nothing; my bright idea the previous night had been to say something from the heart, unrehearsed. How I wished I could smack some sense into that Dàibhid.

With my most trusted at my side, I faced my people. Some of the soldiers glanced at the Shadow Swords in open curiosity. Now that the group was known, soldiers and guards alike were wondering what they could do.

Right then, they could keep me grounded just as well as any script.

I met Harry’s and Tara’s eyes in the crowd, and a crushing grief melted over me. I’d never asked for their brother’s name.

We could avenge him all the same.

“We’re in a tough position, I won’t lie about that,” I said to those gathered. The Cunlaran crest adorned every one of them, on every chest or arm. It would be our way of identifying each other on the field. “The Exiles came with a force equal to our own, but Cunlaran has seen worse odds.”

The soldiers and guards cheered. We all knew from history how outnumbered Danna had been, more than once.

“And we know the Exiles’ intent. They’re here to show their strength. It’s unlikely they’ll hold back. But we won’t hold back, either.”

More cheers, including from those at my side. I yelled over the din.

“Push them back! Make them regret their choice to not only fight today but to stand against us in the first place.”

Liam and Commander Lochlin ordered attention before calling out assignments, making sure everyone was in their allotted place. Cavalry at the front, foot soldiers behind. Archers on the hillside, where they could shoot the enemy as they approached. Healers for the field at the ready and additional healers in the camp, where I made sure Harry and Tara went. Lochlin stayed with the archers, where Bryn was stationed. Given her experience in Tírdorcha, I was surprised she wasn’t opting for the camp, but she was willing to give it another try. Liam, Thomas, Maya, Lou, and I joined the cavalry while Rígan, áine, and Brí stood with the foot soldiers, preferring to fight with two feet on the ground. Cianán stayed with the field healers, ready to assist how he could.

I looked one last time at the civilians mixed in with the fighters. Some were with the healers, but the rest had insisted on wielding a weapon. They’d been split between the archers and the foot soldiers. They may have been inexperienced, but we could use all the help we could get. And they knew the risks. I had to respect their choice to take them.

Cries from the Exiles’ camp rose and fell as the sun crept higher behind the clouds. Battles are much more satisfying when you can watch the blood stream from your enemies’ wounds.

I shook the Exile’s words from my mind. We had the numbers. We had skilled fighters. We would push them back. Make them see we weren’t to be trifled with. Make them question whether trying to take my throne was worth their time.

We could do this.

I searched for the faces most important to me in our ranks. As always, I found Rígan’s first. Her face was still swollen, but her sword was drawn, posture set. Ready.

Yes. We could do this.

“May Laran and Dérra guide those who give their lives today to Afterlife,” I yelled to the hundreds of people standing with me, “and may Soral and Danna guide the living to victory.”

“Soral and Danna!” Liam shouted. The others echoed, crying out their support.

We marched forward, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.

Across the field, the blond Exile raised his sword, pointed it in my direction, and the Exiles and their rebel allies charged.

I raised my sword and our cavalry galloped forward, the foot soldiers on our heels. The gap between us and the Exiles closed.

Fifty feet.

Twenty.

Five.

We crashed together.

Metal grated and screeched, warring with my heartbeat for attention. The sound of bodies falling, of people and horses crying, joined.

I couldn’t breathe.

I’d prepared for war my entire life, knowing as king that it was always a possibility, but I’d never been in a true battle. Acrid bile threatened to rise, my hands shaking and my head swimming. Then I fended off an Exile from slicing through my sister’s neck, and adrenaline kicked in.

I swung my sword with vigor.

But the more I pushed forward, the more of them there seemed to be. An Exile would fall, blood coursing from an open wound, and another would take their place against me.

Another Exile rushed me and I lost my balance, falling sideways on Coirce. I could either climb into the saddle and risk getting injured, or fall to the ground and fight. The second was easiest. I put distance between myself and the attacker and disentangled from the stirrups, swatting Coirce’s rump. He took off for the camp as the Exile jumped me. I swiped her legs from under her, and dirt sprayed when she landed. The Exile stirred but didn’t rise.

Except, was she an Exile? Or was she my own subject turned against me?

And Balor wasn’t even with them. What was his plan if I died today? Claim it as his own victory? Pretend he was here the entire time and that it had been his sword that did the job?

I blocked a blow from cutting through my arm. At the other end of the offending sword was a light brown face twisted into anger personified. These people hated me. With a slash to their forearm, I forced them to release their weapon. They spit and made to tackle me. I hesitated—would knocking them out be enough? Could I hold on to my principles for just a little longer? But the tip of a different sword pierced their abdomen from behind, blood spewing. Their body fell, dead before they hit the ground.

Rígan stood before me, her sword washed in red, skin caked in it. Her eyes shone luminous with a different kind of anger.

“Fight them, damn it!” she yelled before swinging at another offender. “They’re trying to kill you.” She plunged her sword through them without so much as blinking. “Don’t show them mercy. Not now.”

I grabbed a fallen shield and braced as an Exile slammed into me. I pushed until they stumbled. Rígan finished the job, the body falling on top of another. One with the Cunlaran crest. They were lying beside another fallen Cunlaran soldier. And another.

I sucked in a breath, tasting death on the air as horror built to sweep aside the adrenaline. This was my fear made manifest. I was leading my people to their graves. They’d be buried here.

What had I done?

A sharp crack and an immediate sting jolted me back, my hand flying to my cheek.

Rígan’s hand was still raised like she’d slap me again. “This isn’t your fault. Do you hear me? It isn’t .” My ears rang as her words cut through me. “It is theirs . So what are you going to do about it?”

I adjusted the shield, trying to let what she said take more meaning. Brí would’ve said the same thing. And Thomas, and Liam. And, not even an hour ago, I would have, too.

Her whole countenance screamed vengeful anger. I reached for the anger I’d felt before, for the newfound confidence I’d gained in this plan. My fist tightened around the hilt of my sword. Balor had no right to terrorize my subjects. No right to take my place as their ruler. To willingly order death like he had and sit back as his people relished the murders was something I couldn’t let slide. Wouldn’t.

“Push back.”

Her answering smile was merciless. Some would be frightened by that look; she was covered in blood, after all. But it only cemented my confidence.

“Behind!” I yelled, an enemy approaching. Rígan swung, her braid as red as the blood she spilled as she met them head-on. I grasped confidence with two hands and met another incoming Exile with force. My strength caught her off guard, her blue eyes widening as I made her retreat step after step. She tripped over a body, her head smashing against a rock, and she stilled.

My confidence wavered. It hadn’t been my hand, exactly.

But I’d killed her.

I retched.

“Don’t think about it.” Thomas dragged me away from an oncoming attack. “We’ll work it out later, alright? This task, then the next.”

I nodded, wiping my mouth and doing as he said. Doing as Rígan said.

Liam joined our duo, Rígan nowhere in sight, and we formed a triangle, back-to-back.

“Where are your horses?” I asked above the clash of steel.

“Wherever yours sped off to, I imagine,” Liam said. The two of them had remained close to me the whole time, though I’d been so in my own head with fear and adrenaline that I hadn’t truly noticed.

I grunted as a burly enemy plowed into me, pushing me into Thomas and Liam. I followed Rígan’s advice and fought without mercy. When my sword pierced their gut, giving them a fatal wound, I followed Thomas’s advice and tucked the horror away for later.

Thomas blocked a blow to his head with a slash at his attacker’s face. He cleaved it in two. I hastily looked away.

“Where’s our team?” I asked.

Liam shoved one of two attackers Thomas’s way while a third came at me. We picked them off.

“Your sister was safe last I saw.” Sweat dewed on Liam’s head. “So was Lou, and Maya. Not sure about the others.”

“Rígan’s fine,” I said. Which left áine somewhere on the field and Cianán somewhere with the healers. With any luck, Bryn and the archers were still out of harm’s way.

“Duck!”

Thomas’s warning spurred me into action. I crouched and cut an attacker at the knees. More enemies pressed in.

“It’s getting too thick here,” Liam said as he hacked his way through more people. “We need to get you to a safer spot.”

“I’m not leaving them!” There was no way I was abandoning my people while they fought. Not this time.

“I’m not suggesting you do, I’m suggesting we get you closer to the edge!”

A dagger came at my head, thrown from somewhere to my right. I dodged it at the last second, a grazing sting burning the tip of my ear. “Fine, but take me out of this fight and I’m firing your ass.”

“Understood.”

Fighting to get to the edge was harder than expected. Worse, I could see the tops of the tents in our camp.

They were pushing us back, not the other way around.

“We need to do something,” I said. The archers were doing their best, arrows flying into the fray, but they couldn’t do much without hurting our own people.

Liam picked up a second sword from the ground and swept both blades out, clearing more of a path. “We’ll have to congregate more of our—”

The pommel of a sword slammed out and landed on his temple. He stumbled but didn’t go down. Thomas and I lashed out at the one who’d attacked, cutting her down.

When we turned, Liam was gone, the pathway he’d cleared filling in.

“Liam!” I shouted.

Thomas grabbed my arm. “We have to keep moving.”

We tried for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than minutes, to get to the edge. Bodies pressed in, and though we tried to forge a path, we had little success.

Finally, space opened up. The edge was in sight. Just a little further—

Two Exiles stepped in our path. The freckled warrior on the left. And to the right, one sporting a smile that stretched the puckered wound along his cheek.

Balor’s imposter.

“We meet again,” he said, gripping a sword drenched in blood.

He swung.