Page 40 of The Shadowed Oracle (The Bonded Worlds #1)

Chapter Twenty-Two

There was no time to wait for Tyla to regain consciousness before they rode off. They strapped her to Raidinn’s mount using a rope one of the Viator soldiers kept in a satchel hanging off his saddle, then took off at maximum speed.

Ingrid quickly learned that riding a horse could be more exhausting than walking in some ways. Her arms, legs and core were on fire within minutes. She wondered if there was some trick to it, but screaming over the sound of the hooves to ask didn’t seem like the best way to stay inconspicuous.

The details she’d gathered in the few moments before they left were strictly about the destination and how they’d get there.

Dean had handed her the map and retraced the same path he’d shown her the night before.

He explained why riding with the Banebrook sigils, which had been sewn into the wool blankets worn by the horses, might have been just as effective as Spectis Weed.

Variann horses, the rare breed that Alkaleese belonged to, were only found near the shores of Banebrook, at the foot of the Variann mountains.

Seeing as these animals were precious tools of war, the generals and breeders kept the beasts for themselves for thousands of years.

Only Banebrook soldiers rode them, flying Banebrook banners and wearing the Banebrook sigil.

Their enemies wouldn’t blink at a small group of what appeared to be their ally soldiers riding through at a full gallop.

They dashed through the night, only stopping to rest the horses and feed themselves.

Tyla was awake by the first interval, apologizing for being so slow when evading the first soldier.

She’d gone left, she lamented, while the horse had gone right, its massive shoulder clipping her leg and sending her spinning like a top to the ground, and hitting her head on a stone lying beneath the tempest bush.

Raidinn made a few jokes to mask how emotional he was now that his sister was okay.

Tyla apologized to him, gripping his hand, causing her brother’s mouth to go tight.

Then the foursome briefly discussed sleep before deciding to continue on.

They were eager to continue and weren’t sure they’d be able to shut off their minds anyway.

All the vibrant colors of this new world meshed together to form a traveling abstract painting as they passed through Banebrook and finally Nockspring at fifty-plus miles per hour.

They rode through towns with glowing pyres lighting their paths.

Families walked through the outdoor markets full of freshly picked produce.

Massive gardens of tall, oddly shaped stalks, colorful fruit trees and bushes, as well as hundreds of purple and blue root leaves sprawling out for miles.

Ingrid was experiencing Ealis for the first time.

Or, what Ealis appeared to be when you travelled so fast that it was easy to miss the signs of war and disease.

What Ealis should be. A sacred haven for those who took only what they needed, and were grateful enough to give back in equal measures to their home.

This was what Dean’s mother had spent her life fighting for.

A chance at a better life. A place for her son to live among Viator like him.

She was willing to die for it. For this.

They beat on, backs to the wind, until they reached another line of thick brush.

“At the foot of those trees!” Dean called out.

Ingrid snapped away from her pleasant dream to guardedly search for what lay ahead.

“What is it?” Tyla said. “I can’t see!”

Dean only pointed, waiting for the rest of them to make sense of the carnage. In the darkness, they looked like small hills or bunkers, scattered throughout the war-torn battlefields.

“Bloody hell,” Raidinn cursed.

“Are those…?”

They weren’t bricks or stones stacked high ahead. They were bodies. A mess of limbs and mutilated corpses stained a sickly red-brown.

They drew closer, stopping out of necessity once it became clear how littered the ground was.

The terrain was unsafe even for Variann hooves.

Soldiers were stacked like roadblocks. Like they’d charged from the north and met an impenetrable wall, piling atop each other as they tried and failed to climb their own brothers in arms to make it to the other side.

As they tiptoed through the macabre scene, more and more rotting bodies seemed to sprout from the ground. They were everywhere, hundreds and hundreds of them, peppering the entrance to the forest separating Nockspring and Maradenn, all stinking and ridden with vulturous insects.

Raidin and Tyla were the first to dismount, covering their noses with the collars of the tunics underneath their armor.

They checked the mess of remains for any signs of early decay.

Despite being so close to their destination now, they needed to know how long ago this battle had occurred.

To know if any soldiers might still be searching for the bodies of friends or ranking officers.

In Ealis, it was customary to bury the dead in shallow graves covered with brush and flowers and seedlings, returning them to Ealis’ soil in an infant pose, naked as the day they were born.

And since none from this battle were given the proper rites yet, it was only a matter of time before healers and clerics flooded the fields.

“Still warm,” Raidinn said at a wary volume. “Let’s go.” He made to leave, but Dean held up a hand.

“Not before we know where these soldiers came from. We’re nearing Maradenn. They might’ve joined the fight.”

All three nodded and returned to the crude graves.

Ingrid held her breath as she picked through the garments of the carrion, not entirely sure what she was looking for, but hurriedly doing so anyway.

“The mountain sigil,” Tyla called out, referring to the kingdom of Banebrook’s sigil. “That’s all I’m seeing.”

“Me too.” Dean was close by, searching with far more intensity than Raidinn and Tyla were. He’d moved on to the soldiers who lie alone in the open field.

Ingrid watched him a moment before mimicking his technique.

She scampered back and forth, checking with both hands, shuffling limp arms and legs.

Banebrook mountain sigils, blood, mud, cold skin, and more mountain sigils—that was all she saw.

She continued digging through shattered bones and dangling ligaments.

Digging and digging until her nostrils no longer registered the foul stench.

Digging for anything. Anything that might?—

She stopped, squinting.

She couldn’t make out what it was at first. The stitching was stained with blood, torn a bit from the blade that had cut the soldier down.

“There’s some sort of wolf!” Ingrid called out, stammering over her words. “A different sigil! Not Banebrook’s! It’s like the creature Sylan brought with him!”

“Weycus wolves.” Raidinn exhaled heavily. “These are Maradenn soldiers. They have joined the fight. I can’t believe it. Nestor has answered the call.”

“But for what side?” Dean added. “Any educated guesses?”

“I’ve got more than that,” Tyla said from a kneeling position. Her voice was slightly shaking as she beheld the scene below her.

It was a Banebrook captain, wearing a nearly identical uniform to the one Ingrid had put out of his misery in that unexpected brawl.

The dead soldier in front of Tyla was younger, but no less weathered by war.

His hand still gripped his sword. He was large, would’ve seemed a powerful opponent if it weren’t for the small dagger protruding from his neck.

What was attached to the hilt of that dagger, though, was what Tyla’s gaze lingered on.

It was a young woman. Sun-kissed blonde hair and freckles.

Her lithe body had fallen atop the Banebrook captain and stuck there limply like a sleeping child in its mother’s arms. Viator could retain a youthful look for well beyond forty years, but this Maradenn soldier, donning the customary white and gold armor and the Weycus wolf sigil of Maradenn, appeared to be no older than sixteen. She was just a girl.

Ingrid’s throat swelled. For the first time since the attack, she thought of the soldier she’d killed.

He may have already been on his way to the afterlife, but Ingrid had given that last push.

She had put her sword through him. Ended a life.

And she had felt nothing but relief and exhilaration in doing so.

A cold, empty feeling overtook her now, tears still welling up. Overcome by how much her life had changed in only a few days. How easily she could lose herself when ignoring the path she had travelled to get to the present. She was no killer. No soldier. But she would have to become one.

Raidinn approached his sister, offering a hand. Tyla swatted him away, jumping to her feet. She started toward the mounts and, with a furious tug, ripped the blanket sewn with the Banebrook flag off her horse.

“Might attract arrows now.” Her voice burned with a fire Ingrid hadn’t yet heard from her. “Ditch them. And hurry. We don’t have time to waste. It has all started without us.”