They fled to Axendra where they thought they would be safe for a while, only to find the city was under siege.
What remained of Faine’s forces charged ahead, adding their numbers to Axendra’s and helping them push the enemy away from the gates.
They exited the city and charged up the hill towards the castle at great haste. Faine turned his weary eyes up to the stone fortress that rested on the hilltop and wondered what Shinira must have been thinking in that moment.
Can she see me? He wondered as he scanned the darkened windows that were plastered over the edifice. Is she watching me now? Does she fear that she is going to watch her husband die? He decided it best not to think on it.
Hebkya is with her. They will be alright.
They pressed on, past the castle and alongside the training grounds where the forest’s edge met the open field. Faine halted and his men and the men from Axendra followed suit.
He turned to Captain Hobart and the Captain of the Axendrian army, Filip, and ordered them to form lines- two front lines with spear-hands and the rest behind, forming a barricade.
Both Captains rushed away, leaving Faine alone on the front line. He sat tall in his saddle and looked out towards the forest, trying to peer through the thick branches of the trees.
It was not long before his Captains returned, telling him they were ready. Faine desperately wished for a line of archers upon the battlements to head off the oncoming horde but he would have to make do with what he had at his disposal.
The sound of their approach reached his ears before they came into view. Faine grasped the hilt of his sword tightly and held it up in the air, signaling to the army around him to brace for battle. The spear-men lifted the long, wooden shafts, pointing the tips of their spears towards the forest.
The shadow walkers emerged at a dead run but upon seeing the army that stood in waiting, they slowed their pace, apparently not expecting to be met with any resistance.
Their hesitation quickly dissolved, however, and with a vicious war-cry, they rushed forward. Some were skewered on the spears but most made it past without a scratch. Their eyes glowed with hatred as they threw themselves into the Axendrian army.
Faine brought his sword down upon their heads with all his strength. He sliced at one then spun in his saddle and sliced at another. The shadow walkers did not bleed- their blood had long been dried- nor did they make a sound as they hit the ground, never to rise again.
Suddenly, his horse cried out in pain and reared onto its hind legs. Faine was not prepared and he slid from the saddle, hitting the ground roughly on his back. He gasped as the wind was knocked from his lungs. He desperately tried to catch his breath, knowing he needed to get back to his feet as quickly as he could.
As he lay on his back, he watched his horse writhe in agony then fall to its side with a final, pained whinny. Faine could clearly see the shaft of a spear protruding between its ribcage. The spear must have been stolen from one of his own men and thrust at the beast.
Shadows rushed forward like a swarm of bees, circling round him as though they were ravenous dogs and he was their prey. He jumped to his feet, still not able to fill his lungs with air, but he ignored the burning pain within his chest and raised his sword in defense.
They swooped in upon him all at once. He could feel their cold, leathery hands grabbing hold of his armor and pulling at it to get to the flesh beneath. They screamed with rage-filled desire as they tore away at his thick leather; leather that was difficult to cut even with a sword. He shouted and began pushing and thrashing. He thrust his blade forward, into the chest of the closest shadow where its heart beat beneath the flesh and watched as the light in the monster’s eyes went dull, extinguished by the sword. Faine had learned over the last several years that stabbing the heart or the brain were the quickest ways to dispatch of the shadow walkers. They did not respond much to injuries inflicted elsewhere. In the heat of battle, this made them more difficult to kill, having to aim at a specific area- another advantage the enemy held over them.
He pulled the blade free and tried to strike at another shadow but was grasped tightly by the neck and pulled backwards. The shadow walker that held him leaned forward and bit down hard upon Faine’s exposed neck. He cried out in pain and thrashed his arms helplessly, trying to grab hold of the shadow walker but it remained out of his reach.
Suddenly, the shadow cried out and was pulled away. Faine stood tall and realized one of his soldiers had grabbed the shadow from behind. The others that had swarmed him were being cut down by Faine’s warriors.
“My Lord!” He heard shouting from a distance. Faine turned to see Captain Hobart standing amongst the chaos, waving his hands in desperation.
“More shadows approaching!” Faine looked towards the forest and saw a force that doubled those they were fighting come rushing towards them. Faine knew his men would quickly be overrun so he gave the command to fall back.
“Back!” He shouted over the sound of dying men. “Fall back to the castle!” His men obeyed the order without hesitation.
Faine turned and began to run with his men back to the castle and was horrified by the sight that unfolded before him.
The shadows did not fight with weapons and armor like ordinary men. Their desire was for blood. They tore apart the flesh of their enemies, pulling their insides away. Faine jumped over one desecrated body only to land on another. His feet slipped on the blood and entrails that painted the ground but he kept moving, trying his best not to look down at the grisly sight.
The shadow walkers pursued in full force, knowing they had their enemy on the run. Faine did not look back- he did not have to- he could hear their bare feet pounding into the soft ground. The sound of their angered growls filled his ears and he thought he could smell their rotten flesh as they drew nearer.
They are getting faster as well! Faine prayed to the Gods that his men could make it to the castle in time.
It quickly became apparent to Faine that his men were not fast enough to outrun the shadows. The screams around him echoed throughout the castle grounds as his soldiers were pounced upon and pulled off their feet. Faine did not stop to aid them; he knew that once you were on the ground, there was no hope for you. Instead, he pressed on and shouted for his men to do the same.
He could see the castle doors now. They were nearly within reach. He rushed as quickly as his feet could carry him and followed his few hundred soldiers to the entrance. They could not get inside fast enough however. The entrance to the castle forced the soldiers to squeeze together to fit through the doorway, slowing the others down. Faine was amongst the last soldiers to reach the doors and he hurriedly shoved his way forward, wishing his men would move faster.
Faine quickly turned his attention to the soldier next to him as he cried out and was pulled off his feet. Faine brought his blade down upon the shadow walker’s hand that had grabbed his fellow soldier, severing it from the arm completely. He reached down and pulled the man back to his feet and together, they rushed inside behind the safety of the stone walls.
The guards at the doors slammed them shut behind the last of the soldiers, locking the shadows out.
Faine’s men dropped their weapons and hunkered down in the corridor where they stood in exhaustion. Faine looked down to them with pity in his eyes, feeling the weight of previous battles heavy upon his own shoulders- he lowered his sword and removed his heavy plate armor that seemed to bare down on him relentlessly.
He turned and searched the corridor for Captain Hobart. He needed a count of how many men remained to him. When he could not find the Captain in the jumble of soldiers, he began to call out for him.
“Captain Hobart!” He shouted as he made his way down the corridor. He was forced to step over the men who had sprawled themselves out on the floor, some of them already deep in slumber and snoring loudly. Faine could hardly blame them; most had not slept more than a night’s worth since they left Bhrys. Faine’s own legs suddenly felt feeble, as
though they would give out on him at any moment.
“Captain Hobart!” He shouted again, beginning to lose his patience. His exhaustion was close to making him fall where he stood.
It was Captain Filip who came forward to answer the call. He looked up to Faine regretfully and instantly Faine knew what the Captain was about to say.
“My Lord, Captain Hobart did not make it into the castle.” He choked back his sorrow and looked Faine square in the eyes. “The Captain fell on the battlefield. I witnessed it with my own eyes.”
Faine’s heart sank with sadness. He had known Hobart for many years, since they were young lads. He had been an honorable man and a good friend. Faine knew he would have to break the news to Hobart’s wife but he already felt sick at the thought.
“Thank you, Captain.” He replied in a hushed tone. He held in the tears that began burning in his eyes and straightened his stance, willing the exhaustion to dissolve.
“I need a count of how many men remain to us. Will you take on the task?” He did not know Captain Filip very well but he did know the man would follow a direct order from a superior without question.
“Yes, my Lord. You can count on me. I will have that number within the hour.” Captain Filip’s tiredness seemed to melt away at the thought of working directly with Faine and Faine could not help but smile at his eagerness.
“Very well.” He turned and began making his way towards the great hall. “You may find me in the great hall when you have that number. I will be in conference with the King.”
“Very good, my Lord.” Captain Filip did not hesitate. He spun around quickly and found a few of his most trusted men to help sort out the survivors.
Faine walked with heavy footsteps towards the great hall. In truth, it was not a meeting he was looking forward to. He would have to report to the King the great losses they had suffered and, more importantly, he had to inquire as to why the King did not send him aid whilst he was trapped in Bhrys. This question would be difficult to ask without giving away his anger.
He also dreaded this meeting because to him, there was someone more important he desired to see- Shinira.
His wife had been two months pregnant when he left and she was sure to have had the child by now. He wanted desperately to rush up the stairs to her room and kiss her passionately on the lips, then look into his newborn baby’s eyes and meet him or her for the first time. It suddenly dawned on him that he did not even know the gender of the child.
It does not matter. So long as the child is healthy, my life will be complete.
But Faine was bound by his duties- he had to report to the King first.
When the double doors to the throne room swung open, they revealed to Faine King Alaron, anxiously awaiting his arrival.
The King had not been sitting in his throne as he usually was, but standing next to the hearth, apprehensively drinking a dark liquor. He spun at the sound of the doors and when he saw Faine entering, he dropped his glass, causing it to shatter upon the hard, stone floor. His face- which bore a countenance of darkness and fear- brightened at the sight of Faine. He rushed to Faine before he could even take three steps into the throne room and placed his hands upon Faine’s shoulders.
“Forgive me!” He begged. Tears began to stream down the King’s face and he wept audibly. “I heard about Hely and Bhrys and I would have sent aid had it not been for the army of shadows that attacked us here.”
All of Faine’s anger towards the King vanished in that moment. He knew the man truly felt the remorse he was portraying. He could see it in the tears that rolled down his pale and sunken cheeks. His eyes, which were usually a brilliant blue, now resembled the color of the ash in the hearth. His brown hair which he always prided himself on keeping trim and combed was tousled and stringy, clearly not having been washed in some time. His thin, shaking frame told Faine that the King had not been eating properly and his sunken eyes and leathery skin told him he had not been sleeping either.
Faine wrapped his arms around the King’s and gave him as much a smile as he could muster.
“Had I known about the siege here, I would have tried my best to be here sooner.”
The King released Faine from his grasp and waved a dismissive hand at him.
“You will apologize for nothing!” He said commandingly. “Come, sit next to the fire, put your feet up and take a well-deserved rest, my friend.”
Faine followed the King back to the hearth but had no intention of sitting. He needed to get to Shinira to let her know that he was alive and well.
King Alaron snapped his fingers and a servant girl rushed into motion, grabbing two thick glasses from a table and filling them with the same dark liquor the King had been drinking when he arrived. She held a tray out to the King, who took the first glass then turned the tray to Faine who took the glass with apprehension.
“Majesty, forgive me, but I do not think that dulling my senses is a wise decision right now. The castle grounds are swarming with our enemies and we should be discussing what to do next. The city is in peril.”
The King turned a wary eye towards Faine and shook his head in disapproval.
“This drink is not intended to ease your mind.” Faine cocked his head in confusion. “This drink is to celebrate the new life of your son, Edward.” The King’s thin lips turned up into a small smile and he raised his glass high in the air.
“To Edward! May he inherit his father’s good sense and strong resolve.” Faine raised his glass as well, letting the King’s words slowly settle over him like a warm blanket.
My son, Edward! My son! He could not help but repeat the words over and over in his mind.
King Alaron took a sip of his spirit and reached over to place his fingers at the bottom of Faine’s glass. Slowly he pushed upward, helping Faine, who in his current state of shock had forgotten about the toast; raise the glass to his lips.
Faine took a hard sip, letting the burning liquid sit on his tongue far too long. He swallowed then began to choke and cough as it burned its way down his throat.
The King laughed aloud and took Faine’s glass away before he dropped it.
“I am running short on these as it is.” He said and he placed both his glass and Faine’s on the table next to him.
“Now go to your wife. She is eager to have your company. I shall take order of things for the time being. Return to us once you have rested and are refreshed.”
Faine could not leave the throne room fast enough. He practically ran into the double doors before the servants had a chance to open them.
The room that housed Shinira and his newborn son was not far from the throne room but it took him much too long to reach it, having to shove his way through his men who were lying about in the corridor, blocking his path. He tried his best to push through them gently, knowing they were exhausted from fighting. Some of them acknowledged him as he passed and some tried to stop him to say a few words but Faine merely shook his head at them and continued on his way.
When he reached the door, he suddenly froze. His feet were stuck to the floor and refused to move. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Behind his closed lids, battle was the only thing he could see. He could see the faces of his men as they fell around him- their blood spraying into the air as their corpses were devoured by the beasts. He thought of his bloodstained armor which he still wore. He could feel the stickiness of blood upon his cheeks and in his hair.
I cannot see my son for the first time like this! I cannot go in there reeking of death, with the images of my fallen men fresh upon my mind.
He was about to turn away when the door was thrust open and he found himself face-to-face with Hebkya, his twin sister.
The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment. Her red, curly hair jutted out in all directions from her scalp and was illuminated from the light of the window behind her, making it seem as though her head was a massive ball of flame. Her bright, green eyes began to fill with tears and she suddenl
y threw herself on him.
“You have returned!” She said through joyful sobs. Faine wrapped his arms around his sister- his only remaining sibling.
“Did you doubt that I would?” He asked in a half-sarcastic voice. He could feel his sister’s tiny frame trembling in his grasp.
She pulled away from him and gazed deeply into his eyes, as though she was trying to convince herself that this was not a dream.
“When we heard what happened in Bhrys, we assumed the worst.”
“It will take more than an army of shadow walkers to break me.” He replied with a smile and he reached a gentle hand up to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.
There was a whimper that came from inside the room- a small and frail sound. It was the sound of an innocent being, pure and undefiled by the world. Faine looked past his sister and into the room, trying to catch a glimpse of his wife.
Hebkya smiled and stepped aside to give him room to enter. “I shall give you privacy.” She said as she stepped out into the hall. “I will go help the healers tend to the wounded, should you need me.”
Faine nodded but was hardly aware of his sister’s words. He could hear the soft pattering of her feet as she scurried away but did not turn his head to watch her go. His eyes were fixed upon the window in the room and he suddenly forgot all about the scenes of battle that had been playing through his mind and he forgot about his bloodstained armor- he even forgot about his weariness.
As Faine pushed the door open farther, the sweet, soft voice of his wife filled his ears and made his heart leap for joy. “Who was it, Hebkya?”
Shinira, who had been standing at the foot of the bed, gently rocking a cradle, spun around to face who she thought was her sister-in-law but instead, she was looking upon the face of her husband. And though she hardly recognized him behind the dirt and blood and pale skin, she immediately began weeping for joy.
Shinira rushed forward and wrapped Faine in a tight embrace, not caring for the blood that soaked into her gown. Her long, silky brown hair tangled around his outstretched arms.
Rise of Darkness (The Watchers Book 2) Page 44
