Dark Skies

by Danielle L. Jensen

  The enemy came as they had the prior night, a roaring wall of men charging out of the blackness of the trees.

  “Shoot at will,” he ordered those who’d been instructed to engage. “Make them count.”

  The air filled with the twang of bowstrings and the whistle of arrows. Then the screams of men. Killian picked off target after target until his quiver was exhausted. Then he pulled his sword and bellowed, “Charge!”

  The soldiers on horseback dug in their heels; then they were flying forward.

  And there was nothing like it.

  The rush, the roar of blood in his ears, the echoing impact of two armies colliding.

  His war-horse slammed into the running men, crushing three beneath his hooves, teeth snapping at anyone in reach, as much a weapon as the blade in Killian’s hand. He took the head off a man with the momentum of the charge, then an arm off another, who fell screaming. Then it was a blur, a bloody dance, as he carved through the ranks. Some landed blows on him, but his armor and adrenaline did their duty, and he barely noticed.

  Then he saw them.

  A blur of black sprinting out of the trees. Two of them cut toward him, and he dug in his spurs, horse leaping over the fallen as he plunged toward the corrupted.

  One of them leapt into the air, and Killian lifted his shield. She slammed into it, the impact numbing his arm, but she flipped over his head to land heavily.

  The other dived at the horse. The huge animal squealed and staggered, but before he fell Killian flung himself free, dropping his shield and rolling to his feet, another blade in his free hand.

  The corrupted circled him warily, weapons out, though he knew they’d prefer to use their mark.

  “Rufina has offered a thousand gold pieces to whoever brings her your head,” the man said.

  “I’ll give you two thousand if you leave it where it is,” Killian replied, slicing at the woman as she approached. “I’ve been told I have a very nice neck.”

  She danced back, grinning. “I’ve heard the life of the god-marked tastes twice as sweet, Lord Calorian. I’ll enjoy drinking yours.”

  “Hopefully I age gracefully, or your reward might be in jeopardy.”

  She frowned, and he threw the knife at her face. When she reached for it, he struck, opening her from stem to stern, then twisted, slicing through her spine. The other corrupted shrieked and attacked. Killian turned, his sword taking the man in the chest. The corrupted kept coming, his naked hands reaching.

  They went over backward, Killian grabbing the man’s wrists and forcing him away. But the corrupted was impossibly strong. Wedged against the corpse of the dead woman and a tree stump, Killian couldn’t move, and the man’s hands dropped lower and lower. Then Killian lost his grip, and the man had him by the throat.

  The corrupted’s eyes filled with delight, and Killian felt the pull. He’d been healed more times than he cared to count, and while that felt like warmth and life, this was cold. This was death.

  Fight.

  The instinct that had been marked into his soul surged, and he smashed the bridge of his helmet against the man’s face.

  The corrupted hissed and pulled back, and Killian reached between them, finding the hilt of his sword. He pulled, carving the blade through the man’s guts until he let go of Killian’s throat. He punched the man in the face, knocking him back enough that Killian was able to get out from under him.

  He clambered on hands and heels, trying to regain his feet when a massive shadow charged. His horse appeared out of the darkness, bleeding and angry, and his hooves slammed against the corrupted’s back and neck until one steel-shod hoof crushed the man’s skull.

  “Easy.” Killian caught hold of the reins. The horse was too injured to ride, so he added, “Stay out of trouble.” Then he broke into a run across the field.

  His soldiers had held their own better than he’d expected, but they were still being pressed hard. One of the corrupted knelt over a dying Mudamorian woman, his expression filled with ecstasy as he drained her life. Killian took off his head, then threw himself into the battle.

  The enemy was flowing over the top of the wall. The Mudamorians and Gamdeshians struggled together to push them back, but there were too many. And he knew on the far side there were hundreds clambering their way up the slope, standing on one another’s shoulders or pulling themselves up with rope or ladder. And beyond, thousands more ready to follow.

  “Retreat to the wall,” he shouted, and those who could ran in the direction of the fortification.

  Killian cut down two more men, then followed at a sprint. But it was done. The wall was breached, his soldiers fighting on the ground rather than trying to hold them back to the far side. They were falling, dying, and the walls were shaking and swaying with the press of too many men. He fought alongside them, exhaustion slowing his arm, the blood of a dozen injuries slicking his skin as he tried to hold the line even as it fell back, step by step, the battle moving past the wall and into the field.

  Just kill as many as you can, he ordered himself. Every minute you slow them down counts.

  But it was over. He knew it was over. Victory had never been in the cards.

  Then a low rumble filled the air, the ground trembling.

  “What is that?” someone screamed, but then a horn sounded over the field. Not the deep bellow of the Derin army, but a high, clear call that made Killian’s heart skip.

  “Split the line,” he roared. “Move to the flanks!”

  Sonia echoed the order and their soldiers scrambled to comply, the enemy flooding through the gap they’d formed even as the rumble turned to thunder.

  Then cavalry burst from the tree line, hundreds of soldiers on horses caparisoned with Falorn black and green. They spread across the field, a wall of horseflesh and lances and steel, and at their head galloped a woman in shining armor.

  Dareena’s eyes latched on Killian and she lifted one hand in salute. Then she slapped her visor into place and lowered her lance. “For Mudamora!” she shouted over the noise. “In the name of the Six, let’s drive these bastards back!”

  Mudamorians and Gamdeshians alike echoed her call, rallying as the Falorn cavalry hurtled toward the enemy.

  The Derin soldiers wavered, then broke, racing back toward the sagging wall.

  But it was too late.

  The collision was deafening, lances breaking, the screams of men and horses filling the air as the Derin soldiers tried to retreat through the gap, clambering overtop only to be picked off by Falorn archers. When they tried running down the length of the wall to escape into the trees, Killian lifted his blade. “Show them no mercy!” he roared; then he led the charge back into the fray.

  64

  KILLIAN

  “Wake up, you idiot!”

  Killian felt the impact of a palm against his cheek, and he jerked upright, nearly colliding with the sturdy old woman leaning over him. Blinking, he stared at her before recognition set in. “Glenda?”

  “That’s Councilor Glenda, to you, Lord Calorian,” she snapped, straightening her white robes.

  Pushing up onto one elbow, he took in the interior of the unfamiliar tent. “What’s happened? Did we lose the ford?”

  “What’s happened is that you were found half-buried under corpses, your skull split open and a dozen other wounds besides. You’re lucky to be alive.” She said the last bit rather pointedly and then strode off without another word.

  Killian slumped against the pillow. Lifting the blankets, he examined his naked skin, noting several stitched wounds and countless livid bruises. Trust Glenda not to waste her energy on something that wasn’t life threatening.

  His armor and mail lay scattered about the tent, obviously having been removed from him in great haste and left where it had fallen. The padding and undergarments he had worn beneath the steel lay in a blood-soaked pile on the floor. Climbing off the cot, he searched among them to see if anything was wearable.

  Sonia chose that moment to step i
nto the tent, the freezing air from outside gusting against Killian’s bare backside.

  “By the Six, Sonia!” he snapped, snatching a blanket to make himself decent.

  One of her eyebrows rose as she looked him up and down. Then she shrugged. “You’re not my type.”

  “Noted.” Finding his saddlebags, Killian dug out a pair of trousers and a wrinkled shirt, pulling them on. Then he rummaged about in the pile of armor and found his scabbard, empty.

  “Looking for this?”

  The pommel of a sword poked Killian in the back.

  “Left it on the field along with most of your brains,” Sonia added, handing the weapon over.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Not surprised. You took a blade to the back of the head that split your helmet clean in two.” Sonia nodded her head toward the cot, and when Killian turned he saw the pillow where his head had lain was drenched with blood. He raised his hand to the back of his head; his hair was matted with gore. “What happened?”

  “High Lady Falorn arrived with five hundred horse, followed shortly by Malahi and the High Lords, as well as Quindor and a handful of healers. It was short, bloody work, but we got them pushed back to their side of the river.”

  “And our losses?”

  Sonia sighed. “We have maybe three hundred left standing.”

  Three hundred out of two thousand. Panic abruptly burned through his chest. “Finn?”

  “Who do you think found you? It’s thanks to him you’re alive. I set him to taking care of your horse in order to keep him out of trouble.”

  Thank the Six.

  “There’s more news. The Royal Army is marching up on the heels of the Derin forces.”

  Killian started to exhale a breath of relief when Sonia added, “They’ve got the enemy hemmed in with no avenue of escape. Their only way out is through us.”

  Killian clenched his teeth, then let loose a string of profanities, seeing exactly how this would go.

  “They’re rallying for an attack. High Lady Falorn expects it within the hour.”

  And the Derin army was desperate. They were trapped between two forces, and they had to know that they’d be granted no mercy. So they’d strike against the force they perceived as weaker, and that was undoubtedly Killian’s. And if the Derin army gained the eastern bank, they had the numbers to hold the Royal Army in check while still sending soldiers to sack Mudaire.

  “Serrick needs to back off. Give them a route of escape and then pursue.”

  “The High Lady has sent up signals, but he shows no inclination to listen.”

  “Shit.” Fastening his belt, Killian shoved his sword into the scabbard. “Where’s Malahi now?”

  “Command tent.”

  Killian strode through the camp toward the command tent, which was easily distinguishable by the dozen Rowenes banners flapping in the breeze, though the men standing guard bore the white horse of House Calorian. They saluted at the sight of him, moving aside so that he could enter.

  “Thank the gods you’re alive.” A small form slammed into him before his eyes could adjust to the dimness, and his nose filled with the familiar scent of Malahi’s perfume. Beyond, Dareena, Hacken, and the rest of the High Lords stood next to a table covered with paper.

  “How’s the skull?” Dareena’s armor still bore splatters from the battle; her inky hair was pulled high into a topknot, the base of her head shaved to reveal the black falcon tattoo of her house. She looked tired, the war paint around her green eyes smeared, but that was no surprise given that she must have ridden day and night to get here in time.

  “Still attached. I understand we have a surprise guest at our party.”

  Dareena nodded. “The Derin army always wanted this side of the river, but now they need it. Every single soldier in that army knows that it’s take this bank or die. Unless Serrick gives them another option, they’re going to hit us hard and we won’t be able to hold.”

  Killian didn’t question her. If Dareena said it was so, then it was so. He pushed Malahi back, noting the tense lines of her jaw. Gwen, Lena, and several other of her bodyguard stood watchfully, though Bercola’s absence made his hackles rise, as did the fact that none of the women were meeting his gaze. “You have a plan, I take it? And an explanation for why you are all standing five hundred feet from a battle we’re about to lose?”

  “The plan is to remove Serrick from authority, and this time for good,” Hacken replied. “Now, all in favor of crowning Princess Malahi as Queen of Mudamora let it be known.”

  All the men in the room lifted their hands. Then their eyes shifted to Dareena. “Allow me to remind you,” the High Lady said, “that my presence is not by command, request, or”—she gave Malahi a flat stare—“invitation. You willfully excluded me from your plans, Malahi. Risked a good many lives in order to ensure it would be your head the crown sat upon, not mine.”

  “You had your chance, Dareena,” Malahi answered. “The Twelve chose not to stand behind you. But they have chosen to stand behind me.”

  “Behind your gold, girl. Not you.” Dareena squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “But your father is a problem that needs to be remedied, and for that reason alone, I’ll stand behind you. For now.”

  “Good,” Hacken replied, dipping a pen in a bottle of ink and scrawling his name on a sheet of paper. “Now everyone sign. We need to get a copy of this to the Royal Army with instructions that Her Majesty is ordering them to stand down until we are properly fortified. Killian—”

  “I’ll go.” If he could get there in time, it might be possible to save what remained of his forces. It might be possible to end this war today.

  “No!” Malahi blurted out, then took a measured breath. “No. You need to stay with me. One of the High Lady’s soldiers can go.”

  Irritation flashed through Killian. “I’m not hiding behind the lines, Malahi. Not today. This is my fight.”

  “Which is why you need to be in command.” The muscles of her jaw stood out against her skin, and her eyes flicked to Hacken.

  Because even now, even in this moment when all their lives were in jeopardy, he was playing politics. Malahi needed Hacken’s support to retain her crown, and that meant Killian marrying her. Though for the life of him, Killian couldn’t understand what Hacken stood to gain from him on the throne. “No.”

  Dareena snorted with obvious irritation. “I’ll send two of my best. We don’t have time for this.”

  “I’ll go myself,” Killian said. “You can spout all the orders you want, Your Majesty. But you need to get on a horse with the rest of the High Lords and ride hard for Mudaire. Then you need to get on ships and sail to somewhere safe.”

  “He’s right about that, my lady,” Hacken said. “Even if the Royal Army stands down, we still might lose the ford. And when the enemy discovers you were here, you can bet they’ll be in pursuit. But Killian, you are the commander. You’ve no business trying to cross enemy lines when you are needed here.”

  Killian crossed his arms. “High Lady Falorn is just as capable as I am.” More so, if he was being honest.

  “You aren’t thinking this through, Killian.” Hacken’s jaw tightened. “You’re too important to waste as a messenger.”

  He knew why Hacken and Malahi were pushing this. They wanted the victory to be Killian’s, not Dareena’s, and they were willing to risk it not being a victory at all in order to have their way. “Not with a message this important.” Picking up the letter, he shoved it deep in one of his pockets.

  “Killian—”

  “Enough, both of you,” Malahi interrupted. “I need to speak with Lord Calorian in private. Everyone out!”

  “Be quick about it,” Dareena said to him as she headed outside. “We’re running out of time.”

  Killian waited until they were gone before rounding on Malahi. “Do you understand what’s going to happen if we don’t get word to the Royal Army to back off their advance? We’re going to be overrun and slaughtere
d. Then the Derin army will hold this bank against your father while the rest of their force moves on to sack Mudaire and down to Abenharrow to attack all those undefended civilians. Those are the stakes. Are you still willing to risk someone else carrying that message?”

  Malahi’s face was white as a sheet. “I understand the stakes. But we are so close to achieving everything we wanted, Killian. So close. Please don’t mess things up now because you’re unwilling to delegate.”

  “So close to achieving what we want or what you want, Malahi?” He stared at her, anger rising in his chest. “What I want is to win this battle. To defeat Rufina and her army and drive them out of Mudamora. But it seems to me that you only care about winning this battle if it’s on your terms.”

  “That’s not true.” Her eyes searched his. “You know that everything I’ve done has been to save this kingdom.”

  “I used to think that. Now I wonder if you care more about putting the crown on your head than you do for the people you claim to serve,” he said. “I wonder if you’re no better than the rest of the High Lords after all.”

  His cheek stung as the palm of her hand cracked against it. Killian had seen it coming and could have moved. But he’d chosen not to, watching now as she curled her hand against her chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her head. “I should not have done that.”

  Killian didn’t answer, only watched as she pulled herself together, smoothing both the wrinkles from her skirts and the emotion from her face.

  “Please stay on this side of the wall,” she finally said. “Send someone else. Send ten men. A hundred men. Send Dareena; just please don’t go yourself.”

  His skin prickled with the sense an attack was coming, but it had nothing to do with the enemy on the other side of that wall.

  “Let me go!” Lena’s voice tore his attention from Malahi’s face, and he turned to find the girl struggling with Gwen, who was trying to haul her out of the tent entrance while hissing, “You can’t! She’ll fire you and you’ll have to go back to turning tricks,” underneath her breath.