Page 81 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

brEYLA

D arian pants heavily, bent at the waist as he fights to catch his breath.

He’d just jumped Ryder, Zion, and me from Andhull to the Rimor border, a distance that would normally take a full day’s ride.

While his Gift allowed him to make that distance on his own, taking others with him took a much heavier toll on his energy.

He'd explained as much during our travels the week prior.

An urgent missive had arrived from the city’s ruling lord. A group of Rimorian refugees was crossing the border just as the Fae had launched an attack on the town.

“For the record, I still think this is a trap,” Darian huffs.

“For the record, I’m pretty sure you’re right. That knowledge doesn’t change my decision.”

We had argued for five straight minutes over the decision to come here.

There hadn’t been an attack since Elijah’s death, just complete, unnerving silence.

The attack, happening just as Rimorian citizens crossed the border, was no coincidence.

He argued that Ayden would kill him for endangering me so recklessly.

I argued that I would kill him myself if he refused to help those in need.

We stand in the middle of a deserted courtyard, a small stone keep looming in front of us, but not a single soul in sight.

A heavy wooden door creaks open, revealing a burly, gray-haired male. “General, this way.”

We step inside the fortress, my eyes trailing over the souls inside. Mostly females and children, all displaying terrified looks on their faces.

“I had hoped you would bring more reinforcements,” the male says, disappointment filling his weary eyes.

“Lord Renfer, the nearest troops are stationed over a day’s ride away. My options were limited,” Darian replies. “You’ve got two generals and General Breyla’s personal guards. Now tell us what’s happening.”

“The females, children, and those unable to fight are within the walls. The refugees arrived at dawn, and the bastards attacking us showed up not ten minutes later. There was no warning, just mass carnage as they volleyed wave after wave of poisoned arrows at us,” Lord Renfer explains, his eyes glazing as he recalls the destruction.

“There were mass casualties initially. The males I have left are fighting to escort the refugees to safety and find any remaining citizens not inside the walls.”

I draw my sword as shadows ripple across my hands, itching to strike. “It sounds like we have two objectives, then.”

Darian nods. “Get the refugees to safety first, stop the attack, kill every Fae bastard we find along the way.”

“Okay, three objectives. Do you have enough strength to jump us to the edge of town?”

His teeth worry at his bottom lip. “I’d rather save my energy for the return trip.”

“Fair enough. I’ll cover us with shadows as much as I’m able. Ryder and Zion,” I say, turning to them. “You slaughter anything that moves against us, but keep an eye out for potential survivors.”

“Understood, General,” Ryder replies. Zion just huffs.

Darian turns back to Lord Renfer. “Do you have any horses we can reach?”

“If any remain, they’ll be in the stable out back.”

“Take us there,” Darian demands.

Lord Renfer nods curtly, turning to lead us to the stables.

We wade through several halls filled with terrified wives, crying children, and grieving widows. A few elderly and disabled mingle, but there are far too few souls here for a town this size.

When we reach the stables, they’re empty. All the horses are either in use by those fighting or ran off when the stalls were left open.

“Shit,” Darian curses, running a hand through his brown tresses as he takes in the empty stalls.

“Guess we’re running,” I say as I lean down to double-check the laces on my boots are tied properly. All my weapons are in place, save the sword in my hand.

Ryder and Zion both draw their blades, ready to leave at my command.

We stare out at the walls and the gate looming before us. The wind picks up, howling and rustling the trees around us. I know it’s thanks to Ryder’s Kaminari Gift, and that it should help deter any arrows from hitting their target. Hopefully.

“On my count,” Darian says, his own sword drawn as he hunches down, body poised to sprint through the city streets.

We mirror his stance as he begins counting, “Three… two…” He pauses, looking around to verify the coast is clear.

“One!” I whisper-shout, trying not to draw any unwanted attention our way.

We sprint for the gates, and they open a fraction of a second before we arrive, just wide enough for us to slip through in single-file order.

The wind continues to whip around us unnaturally and I throw up a shield of shadows to obscure their vision and deflect any arrows that come within a foot of us.

Three arrows zing past, embedding themselves in the buildings behind us as we run east for the refugees. The clash of steel grows louder as we find our way through the city streets.

It feels like we pass the body of a fallen one every hundred yards. Lord Renfer wasn’t exaggerating when he said the casualties had been massive.

We round a corner and skid to a halt.

Three Fae warriors block our path, swords dripping with the blood of innocents as they smile wickedly, their crimson eyes sparkling with sadistic glee.

They don’t speak. They don’t make any noise as they launch their attack.

It’s three of them against four of us, but I’d be a fool to consider those odds in our favor.

Darian meets the first warrior, blocking his attack and returning one of his own. I lose sight of him as a second male charges me.

With a flick of my left hand, three shadow-daggers manifest in the air and launch toward his chest.

He dodges the first two with ease, but the third sinks deep into his shoulder.

He snarls and reaches for the dagger, but his hand passes right through the shadow because they respond to me and me alone.

I use the moment of distraction to swing my sword at him. At the last second, he raises his own to block.

In my peripherals, I see Darian’s opponent hit the ground, and I release a shaky breath of relief.

My sword arches in another drive towards my foe, but my arm stops, suspended in mid-air. Roots have shot up from the ground below, wrapping my arms so tightly I can’t move them.

Searing pain shoots through my hand as my thumb dislocates with a sickening pop. I grunt, trying to summon my shadows, but nothing happens.

The male just stares at me, a pleased look gleaming in his eyes.

What is he doing? He could have killed me by now. He should have killed me.

His mouth opens like he means to speak, but all that comes out is a strangled gasp as he looks down to find the tip of a blade protruding from his chest.

The Fae’s body drops, and the roots fall away.

Darian steps up to me after pushing the body aside and takes my injured hand in his.

“This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“Just do it.”

I cry out as he pops the digit back into place, the pain nearly as sharp as when it dislocated.

Ryder and Zion appear beside me, their chests heaving as they stare down at the third dead Fae at their feet. I must have missed the kill, but I’m grateful just the same.

My hand throbs, but I know it would be so much worse if not for the adrenaline fueling me right now.

“Let’s go,” Darian says, motioning for us to continue east toward the edge of town.

We make it there with minimal issues.

The number of bodies grows as we near the border. It’s not just males and soldiers now. We’ve found the earliest victims of the attack. I send up a prayer to the Goddess of Life and Death that there are no children amongst the fallen.

Ahead lies an expanse of open field separating the town from the forest that lines this section of the border.

“If they’re still alive, they’re in the forest,” Darian says confidently.

From what we had seen on our way here, the majority of their forces seemed to be focused in the north of the city. I don’t dare let hope rise in me that I haven’t seen any Fae in the last ten minutes. I just beg the gods to bless us long enough to find the refugees.

We dart across the field, attempting to keep low so as not to be seen. Cillian would be incredibly useful right now.

Somehow, we make it across safely, not a single arrow in sight. We throw ourselves behind a cluster of trees, letting them shield us from view just long enough for us to catch our breath.

I cocoon us in darkness well enough to keep us hidden amongst the trees. “Stick close to me.”

Stealthily, we creep, being careful to make as little sound as possible.

We find the refugees, but we’re too late. They lay piled in a heap of what must be at least fifteen people.

I bite back my emotions, distancing myself from the pain in the way I must to get through this battle, and drop the shadows around us.

“I’m sorry, Breyla,” Darian says.

Gently, I move the bodies on top, searching the faces for those I might know.

I don’t immediately recognize any of them, meaning they most likely weren’t from Ciyoria. It doesn’t make it any easier seeing the bodies of my people, innocents, piled high in a mass grave.

I will mourn them later.

Just as I move to close the eyes of one brown-eyed female, a hand shoots out from beneath her, grasping my wrist.

I jump back with a scream as the bodies begin to shift. The obviously dead ones fall to the side, revealing several very alive faces.

Faces I know.

“Breyla?” Nameah’s mother asks as she crawls from the pile of bodies.

I nearly cry in relief that not all my people are dead today. “What are you doing here?”

“We came seeking refuge,” she explains. “Rimor has crumbled, and the people are starving.”

The rest of her remaining children, with the exception of the eldest son, crawl out from beneath bodies. They’re blood-stained, covered in dirt, and more than half-starved, but they’re alive.