by Amber Argyle
“We’ll sneak in on the mulgars’ left flank,” Wott said. “When the charge is called, stay in line with the warrior next to you. Trust them to guard your side and your back. Remember, swipe the mulgar’s weapons to the side and stab.” He demonstrated with his own weapons. “Reposition. Repeat.”
“I’m going to die, aren’t I?” a young woman said from behind them.
“Of course not,” Tam chided her. “Mulgars are scary looking and don’t like to die, but they’re not too bright. Sort of like killing angry geese.”
Larkin gave him a look.
“Have you ever been charged by an angry goose?” Tam said. “They rush you with their wings spread, hissing. All you want to do is run. But all you have to do is shove them with your shield. Swipe, stab.” He motioned. “And it’s over. You win.”
“Like killing a goose,” she echoed.
“But they’re people!” the girl cried.
Tam shook his head. “You can’t kill what’s already dead.”
Only that wasn’t true. Maisy was proof of that. Larkin didn’t say anything though. Better for the girls to think they were killing mindless monsters.
A simple lunch of dried fish and nuts was passed out. Larkin ate hungrily. The food eased the tension until Wott called for quiet. Larkin lay down in the boat’s bottom and slept hard and dreamless.
Just before dusk, the boats bumped into the embankment on the south side of the river. Scouts were sent out to clear the way and determine the best path. Over six hundred men and women disembarked and made their way silently into the forest.
Tam had been assigned as the lead piper for Larkin’s group, which included Alorica and three other women. He was still acting as Larkin’s personal guard, so he positioned himself between Larkin and his wife.
Larkin opened and closed her hand around her hilt, eager for the moment she would spy the battlefield.
“I bet I down twenty to your measly five,” Tam murmured to her.
“Twenty?” Larkin snorted. “Only if you can pick them off from the safety of a tree.”
He held out his hands. “Why face them head-on when you can do it from the comfort of your own pod?”
“You two have certainly grown close,” Alorica grumbled.
Tam kept his eyes straight ahead. “She’s doing the glaring thing, isn’t she?” he asked Larkin.
“I can see why you hate it,” Larkin admitted.
Tam wiped his brow. “Right? It’s like she’s melting your face off with her eyes. Give me a slathering mulgar any day.”
Alorica opened her mouth.
Larkin held up her hand. “Don’t worry. He’s a pain in the arse. I have my own to rescue.”
“If you two don’t shut it,” Alorica ground out, “every mulgar within five miles will know we’re here. And I call twenty-five.”
Tam grinned. “That’s my wife.”
Larkin rolled her eyes. All up and down the line, men and women began murmuring the number of mulgars they thought they could kill. Talox had been right about Tam—his humor did ease the tension.
Larkin knew the moment the sun set. The sounds of battle rose up before them—mulgar screeches and men’s shouts, the screams of the injured, and the thud and chime of axes and shields and swords.
How had the mulgars managed to cross the river? Had Denan anticipated Garrot’s treachery? Please don’t let them be slaughtered. Please.
With every step, those sounds grew louder. The blustering wind shifted, bringing with it the mineral stink of battle—the scent of muddy blood like on butchering day.
Larkin’s insides twisted.
“Stay in formation,” Tam said. “Let the mulgars break against us like surf against the shore.”
Not a dozen steps later, the command hand-signaled up and down the line.
“Ready yourselves,” Tam translated as he, too, signaled.
Larkin flared her sword and shield, the light as dim as she could make it.
“Just before they reach us, pulse your shields,” Tam said.
The commanders signaled, and they tightened formation until they stood shoulder to shoulder, which they had to break to go around trees and brush. Then they were in a clearing lit by torches and bonfires.
The river lazed past on their left. Mulgars bottlenecked before floating bridges made of lashed-together barrels with a walkway lashed to the top. Evenly spaced, mulgars were sent across by ardents with crude mantles.
Two dozen running strides, and the mulgars were across, though many bristled with arrows. A few fell screaming into the river, where they flailed and sank. Half made it to the other side and charged up the embankment to the piper line waiting for them. Already, that line buckled in places.
An unearthly screech caterwauled above the din. His mantle of twisted thorns distinguishing him from the others, Vicil screeched again. Obeying their master’s command, the mulgars entire eastern flank turned and charged Larkin and their copperbills. Was Talox among them? Venna? Would they recognize each other?
“Wait for the command to pulse,” Tam said.
As the mulgars came closer, Larkin could see the details of their makeshift armor and stolen weapons. Their rotting teeth and sallow skin marked by forked black lines. The urge to run rose up within her, so strong she quavered with denying it.
“Just a charging goose,” Tam said. “Keep steady, and they’ll break against us like a wave.”
The girl from Larkin’s boat, the one who’d been so afraid before, turned and ran. Some of the women watched her go. Others shifted in place, clearly debating about running themselves.
“For our fathers!” Aaryn shouted from somewhere behind them. “For our brothers and our husbands!”
Larkin planted her feet and opened her sigils wider, magic pouring into her. Her blade brightened and turned razor sharp. The mulgars came closer—close enough that she could see the individual hairs on their heads.
“Wait,” Tam called.
The outrunners reached the front line, slamming into shields. Larkin chanted in her head. Sweep up and to the left. Stab. Reposition.
One of the outliers headed straight for her. He’d been a piper once, the tatters of his mottled cloak hung around his shoulders. His armor fit, though it was filthy.
He would be one of her kills. He swung down on her. She braced, shoved, stabbed, repositioned. Tam brought his ax down on the joint between shoulder and head. Larkin panted, not sure if she would throw up or soil herself or both.
“One,” Tam crowed.
“That one was mine!” she cried in protest.
He grinned without looking at her. “Wounding doesn’t count. Kills do.”
“That’s not fair!” she said.
The first wave of mulgars were nearly upon them. “Steady,” Tam said. “Steady.”
They slammed into their shields. No time for thoughts. Sweep up. Stab. Reposition. Her sword met resistance. She didn’t know where she’d hit her foe, only that she had.
The mulgar collapsed. Larkin wasn’t sure if it was a man or woman. It was hard to tell through the grime. The mulgar’s sneer shifted to one of relief, as if she’d released it from torment.
She wasn’t killing pipers. She was saving them.
“Pulse!” the piper leaders screamed up and down the line.
As one, the copperbills pulsed—a convex burst of golden light slammed into the entire line of mulgars. They were flung backward, arms and legs cartwheeling, weapons jarred from their hands as they slammed into the earth.
“Charge!” came the command.
Larkin swept down the hill, bashing at dazed mulgars’ heads, which was about the only sure way to end them. All around her, pipers and copperbills called out their kills.
“Fifteen,” Tam cried.
“Ten,” Alorica said.
Blast. “Five,” Larkin admitted.
Double blast. She was not coming in last in this. One of the mulgars managed to stagger to its feet. She ran at it. The mulgar cowered.
She bashed it with the edge of her shield. The mulgar screamed, his throat exposed to the edge of her blade. Her sword barely slowed as it parted his head from his shoulders.
A frenzied glee washed over her. “Six!”
“Form up!” came the command.
One of the ardents fixed her gaze on Larkin. She had long white hair, her skin wrinkled as a winter apple, but she moved like a girl.
Number seven. Larkin charged. The woman braced behind her shield of rotted wood held together by rusted bands of metal. She chopped for Larkin’s legs. Larkin shoved her shield down just in time to deflect the blow, which brought the woman in closer. Larkin jerked her shield up, catching the mulgar in the jaw.
She staggered back, her jaw dangling. Larkin positioned her shield at her chin and charged. The woman spun at the last minute and whipped behind Larkin, kicking her backside and sending her sprawling.
Larkin rolled over, her shield coming up as the woman aimed for Larkin’s exposed legs. She pulsed, the woman suddenly gone. Exhausted, Larkin gasped in a breath and pushed to her feet. All the other warriors had formed a line a few dozen paces up the incline. She was alone. More mulgars circled her, snarling.
Ancestors. She was trapped. She opened her sigils wide, but she didn’t have enough left for another pulse unless she wanted to lose her sword and shield entirely.
Tam swore and charged after her. Alorica called after him, swore herself, and followed.
“Behind you!” Tam called.
Larkin ducked reflexively, feeling something sail over her head. The mulgar woman was behind her again, charging. Larkin deflected the swing too late, the ax skimming across Larkin’s leg armor. The woman kicked the back of Larkin’s knee, dropping her. Larkin managed to raise her shield, but the woman bashed it to the side and chopped down at Larkin.
Tam was suddenly there, his ax bursting through the woman’s face. Black blood sprayed across Larkin. Arrows rained down on the mulgars around them.
“Back in line, Princess!” Tam growled.
“That one counts as mine,” Larkin called as Tam hauled her up.
Alorica bashed the edge of her shield across the face of a charging mulgar, then swung around and sliced halfway through the torso of another. “Eleven! Twelve!” Alorica cried.
“I can see why you were scared of her,” Tam said as he charged back into formation.
“I was never—” But Tam was already halfway up the incline. Growling in frustration, she charged after him. Just when she was sure she couldn’t lift her arms for another swing, the reserves crowded them from behind.
“Fall back,” Tam said.
She staggered back, the woman behind her taking her place.
Hands braced on his knees, Tam panted. “Seventeen.”
“Twelve,” Alorica said.
“Light, that’s my wife.” He gazed at her like she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She looked back, her expression softening.
“Bleck. If you two start kissing, I’m going to throw up.” Larkin glanced around at the panting men and women.
“How many did you get?” Alorica asked with a raised brow.
Larkin opened her mouth to say seven, but the word wouldn’t come. She was aware of blood running down her face, of how close she had come to dying. She couldn’t catch her breath.
Tam stepped toward her. “Breathe. You’re all right. Have some water.”
She took it from him, but her hands were shaking too hard to hold it. What kind of monster enjoyed killing? Guilt slammed against her.
“What is it? Are you hurt?”
She shoved him. “They’re not geese, Tam! They were people like us once, like Venna and Talox!”
He winced as if she’d hit him. “Keep thinking like that and you won’t be able to kill them.”
Tears smarted in her dry eyes. “I enjoyed it, Tam.”
His expression softened. “Sometimes you do, in the heat of things.”
“What does that make me?”
“Human. You don’t have to worry … unless the guilt doesn’t come afterward.”
“What happens then?”
His jaw bulged. “Then the violence won’t stop on the battlefield.”
Alorica settled next to Larkin. “Stop being so morose. You’re just trying to cover up your shame at coming in last.”
Tam clapped his wife on the shoulder. “Seven is pretty good for your first battle, Larkin.”
“And you only nearly died once,” Alorica said cheerfully.
Tam tipped back his head and laughed. “Drink and eat something. It’ll be our turn again soon enough.”
“That mulgar,” Alorica said. “She was different.”
Tam cleared his throat. “We call them ardents. They’re cunning, leaders.”
Larkin sipped water and ate bread. The pipers and copperbills fought on—an impenetrable line that curved around the mulgars’ rear, driving them back until they were escaping across their bridges instead of charging across them.
On the other side of the river, the pipers were still faltering. Larkin had no way of knowing how their other front fared. “We need to get over there.”
“Push ourselves too hard, and we’ll crumble. Steady on.” Tam took another drink.
She tried to find Denan in the firelight, but every piper looked like another. Even the mulgars were hard to pick out.
“Where are the wraiths?” Alorica asked.
“Far back enough to avoid being picked off by archers,” Tam said. “Without them, the mulgars lose their drive pretty quickly.”
Far too soon, their break was over. They eased up behind the line of fighters. “How many this time?” Tam asked.
“Fifteen,” Alorica said.
Larkin felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t want to answer, didn’t want this stain on her soul.
“This is how it has to be, Larkin,” Tam said. “If you can’t manage your mind, you won’t survive.”
Alorica gripped her arm, nails digging in deep. “For your husband!”
Tam nodded and glanced up and down the line at tired, black-blood-splattered women who had watched friends die this night, who had killed. Tam’s jaw tightened. He broke ranks to march up and down the line.
“Your husbands and fathers and sons and brothers are on the other side of that river, right now, dying. You will not falter. Not now. Not when the mulgars are on the brink of falling. Not when your men need you.” He paused before a girl and pointed at her. “How many mulgars will you kill?”
She flinched. “I …”
“Five? Seven? Ten? How many?”
She blinked up at him. “Five.”
He gave a curt nod and marched down the line. “And how many will you kill to save the ones you love?”
This woman lifted her chin. “Eight.” He nodded and kept moving. “Call it out. How many mulgars will you kill?”
Women called out numbers—some lower, some astronomically high.
Tam paused before Larkin. “How many?” he whispered.
She met his gaze. “Eight.” One more than last time.
He looked to the right, then the left. “Repeat it after me: For our fathers!” The women echoed him. “For our brothers!” Another echo, this one louder. “For our husbands!” Another. “For our freedom and our lives!”
Tam squared off in front of them. “March!”
They crowded the fighters, who retreated. Larkin took a girl’s place—the skin on her cheek hanging where it had been cut—and found her rhythm. She didn’t think it was possible, but she did. And she didn’t stop at eight. Or ten. Or fifteen. By the time the last of the mulgars perished on the banks of the river, she had killed twenty-two.
Twenty-nine in one night.
In the light from the distant bonfires, Larkin looked uneasily at the bridges tied to posts driven into the ground. They bucked and shifted with the currents of the black water. Were they even anchored to the river bottom?
“Well, you can swim, can’t you?
” Alorica asked.
Water closing over her head in the dark. No sense of up or down. Only the cold wet and the burning in her lungs as the lethan wrapped its tentacles tighter and dragged her deeper. Larkin wiped her sweating palms against her trousers. “Yes.”
“Is this about that time your father tried to drown you as a child?” Alorica asked.
“Alorica,” Tam chided.
She shrugged. “What? The whole village knew. It’s not like it’s a secret.”
No, this time came after. This time, Denan had been the one to fish her out.
Copperbills crowded them from behind. It was Alorica’s turn.
“Best do it at a run,” Tam told her.
She flared her weapons for light and hustled across the bridge.
Tam boosted Larkin up. “Don’t think about it.”
She flared her own sigils, the light just enough to see where to place her next step. All that existed was that one step. And the one after that and the one after that. Denan waited for her on the other side. She must save him.
With every step, she moved farther from the light of the bonfires along the embankment and deeper into the shadows. The shush of the river and the sway of the bridge left her disoriented and dizzy, hands spread, searching for something to hold on to. Something to anchor her. But there was only the breeze against her open palms.
The bridge shuddered beneath her, as if something from the river had slammed into it. Larkin dropped to her knees and held the sides, water splashing over her knuckles.
“You’re not that far,” Alorica called to her. “I can see you. Come on.”
With a shaky breath, Larkin pushed to her feet and flared her weapons again. An outline of trees far atop the hill was bathed in an orange glow, men fighting beneath them.
Sooner than she expected and yet far too late, she hopped down to the embankment. Almost instantly, she stepped on something squishy and round. Alorica braced her.
Larkin flared her sword and held it toward the ground. A silent, screaming, dead face burst into view, making her jump back, only to step on another body.
“Mulgars,” Alorica panted. “The ground is littered with them.”
