Life

by Rosie Scott

“Ain't no wooden leg gonna carry this much weight, love.”

  “We'll make it steel, then.” When Maggie smiled again at my words, I patted her on the arm. “We need to get you safe.” I glanced back up at the battlefield. Azazel had taken over for me while I healed Maggie, giving orders to our soldiers and the other Renegades alike. Holter was still flying over the southwestern wall. It appeared he'd succeeded in clearing it of dwarven reinforcements, though more must have come in the meantime since he was patrolling it for new arrivals.

  My army had made progress toward the gate. No further dwarven cavalry came forth, and many of the boars and dwarves were now on our side as the undead. I scanned over my friends, waiting to catch their eyes. Cerin felt my gaze and glanced back, jogging over when I motioned for him.

  “Is Maggie okay?” Cerin's eyes found her once he passed the defensive stone wall, and he breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank the gods.”

  “Can you get Marcus?” I requested.

  Cerin nodded and ran off to do as I asked. I could see Marcus and the other giants from over Hallmar's wall, having breached the city now that they'd worked their way through its cavalry.

  “Aww, no, love,” Maggie lamented, and I glanced down at her. “If Marcus sees me like this, he won't let me live it down. He'll be callin' be shorter stuff or stubby stuff.”

  I snorted a laugh despite our situation. “Maggie, you're worrying so much you remind me of Azazel right now. Marcus cares about you. I don't think he'd say such things at a time like this.”

  Maggie wrinkled up her nose. “But I did. What's wrong with me?” She huffed.

  “So much,” I said, and she smiled. “Like the rest of us. Besides, I think stubby stuff has a nice ring to it.”

  It was only a few minutes before Marcus lumbered over, his brown eyes wide as he looked over the scene. “Oh, no, little Maggie, what'd you do to yourself?”

  “Ya think I did this?” Maggie retorted. “What'd ya think I did, stood right in front of the wall and shot a cannon at it?”

  “Well, you sure do love shooting them,” Marcus replied somewhat in jest, though his humor fell flat with the emotion on his voice. He looked down at me. “What can I do?”

  I pointed to the south, where the canvas tents were still in our supply camp. “Maggie needs to be safe. There are a couple of surgeons and alchemists we left in the tents.”

  “She needs surgery?” The giant asked.

  “No. I took care of that and boosted her immunity. The only thing she needs is rest and potions to help fend off infection. She can't fight like this, and I can't carry her.”

  Marcus nodded. “I'll take care of it, Kai. I'm so glad you were here to heal her. The world would be a bit darker without little Maggie in it.”

  Maggie scoffed as the giant bent down to pick her up delicately. “Little Maggie? What in all the hells is that nickname?”

  “Now, I didn't think calling you short stuff was going to go over well at a time like this,” Marcus replied politely.

  “But ya thought it, didn't ya?”

  “Maybe a little.”

  As Marcus stood up with Maggie in his arms, I heard her call, “I told ya, Kai.”

  “Boy, you're in a mood, aren't you?” Marcus teased her lightly, as he headed south.

  “I just lost my cursed leg,” Maggie said, her voice fading as she was carried away. “You'd have a temper, too.”

  I walked alone over the battlefield to the northwest, heading to where I'd seen Azazel and the others last. I rose the dead left behind by the other necromancers as I did so. Even though I'd expended so much energy to heal Maggie's leg, I still had excess, but not enough to have a high. A ragtag group of corpses shambled along behind me as I finally reached the back of our army.

  There were no more enemies coming out of the gate, but Azazel wasn't moving them into Hallmar. I saw him and Cerin standing beside one another, staring west. Before anything was said or done, my heart was already sliding down into my stomach.

  HUUURRRNNNNN!

  I swallowed hard. The war horn was Azazel's. I hurried through our soldiers to be with the other Renegades. Cerin turned to me as he heard me near. His silver eyes were troubled, uncertain. As I came to stand between him and Azazel, I finally saw why.

  A massive army approached Hallmar from the northwest, marching around the Firn Caps in ripples of green. There were tens of thousands of infantrymen at its center. It was bookended by two armies of mages, each one marked by a Seran battle flag with the logo of the Orders of the Mages. At the forefront of the military were hundreds if not thousands of horse cavalry. One of the riders carried the flag of Chairel. Just at the front of this army was its leader.

  “Azazel,” I murmured, my voice hoarse. “Eyes. Center of the army.”

  “Its general? Green eyes,” Azazel replied, and my heart skipped a beat. “The two riders on either side of him? Gold.”

  Lightheadedness flooded through me once more. “Tell me more about their general.”

  Azazel exhaled slowly, almost as if in regret. Perhaps he remembered the stories I'd told him of my upbringing and the people who once were important to me. “He is human. Appears to be in his early forties. Long brown hair. Wears a green cloak.”

  “Okay.” I held a hand out to stop him. A wave of nausea ran through me. Cerin's worries were correct. A grand army had come to support Hammerton on the worst possible day of them all, and my brother was leading it.

  Forty-two

  “Cicero? He's here?” Nyx questioned, remembering Azazel's comment about the golden eyes.

  “No.”

  “I thought we were done fighting gods, and now they're joining Chairel?” Nyx breathed, her voice tight with worry. Maggie's traumatic amputation had upset her, and Chairel's army showing up had only made her more anxious. Because I could normally rely on her to be jovial, her concern made me feel worse.

  “Both gods are pale, but not Icilic. One appears to be Celdic. A man. Long white hair. The other is a woman. Human in appearance. Bulging muscles.” Azazel hesitated. “I don't recognize them, but then again, statues of gods are never accurate.”

  “When we are in battle, listen to them, Azazel,” I pleaded, my tone more desperate than I wanted it to be. “Listen for their spells. Listen for their names. Listen for...anything.”

  “I understand,” he assured me.

  “Was that your war horn, Kai?” Cyrus's voice caused me to turn, where he was jogging forth from the gate, both bloody katars in his hands. His blue eyes came upon the Chairel reinforcements before I had to say a word. “Fuck me.”

  More anxiety flooded through me. Cyrus wasn't usually one to curse. Chairel's army showing up was catching everyone out of their element.

  “Terran Sera is leading this army,” Azazel informed Cyrus since I was still speechless. “He brings two gods with him.”

  “And two Orders of the fucking Mages,” Nyx rambled, before laughing humorlessly and trailing off with an exasperated sigh. “We're all gonna die today. We're not even through the gods damn city yet and Chairel's sticking its nose into places it doesn't belong.”

  “Two gods...” Cyrus still seemed stuck on that fact. He remembered how much trouble the other three had been. “I'll inform the others. I will get my men to move some of the siege weapons on the southern wall to the western side.”

  “How goes the battle in the city?” Azazel asked.

  “It's coming along,” Cyrus replied. “I was feeling good about it until this happened. Dear gods, this is the worst possible timing. Ideally, we'd have the time and the ability to focus all our men on that army alone.”

  “Well, the gods aren't on our side today,” Nyx said dryly, her eyes on the two at the front of the army.

  “This one is.” Cyrus put a hand on my shoulder. “Kai,” he said low. I felt his eyes on me even though I still stared blankly at my approaching brother. “We've joked about the dwarves using the dragon and the minotaur as their secret weapons. You are our secret weapon
. I don't care how many gods Chairel has managed to lure into their armies. I put my faith in you. Those gods were probably living lives of luxury and laziness until Chairel invited them here. You have waited ten years to get here, like this, and you've suffered trials and heartbreak. Do not let your journey end here.” He paused. “We were outnumbered in the Battle of Highland Pass. We won that battle because of you.”

  “We won that battle due to my rage over the loss of two of my greatest friends,” I replied, forlorn. “I would rather my journey end here than to go through that again.”

  “You fell into a rage over the loss of your friends,” Cyrus agreed softly, “and perhaps you can work yourself into a rage to prevent the loss of your friends.”

  My heart skipped a beat at his words. I'd avoided losing control over the past few years, and now Cyrus was suggesting I try to lose it. I wasn't angry at him for suggesting such a thing; he was absolutely correct. I was the greatest asset of war to ever exist, and when I fell into my rages, I became unconditionally lethal. I'd never had a chance to figure out whether my contained rage in Griswald was due to self-control or other reasons. It was possible that if I fully gave myself into the emotion of battle, I could call that unrelenting fury to be mine at any time. After all, I had parts of each of my godly ancestors within me. Perhaps my rages were passed down to me from the gods of war or bloodshed. I simply had no way of knowing.

  Cyrus hurried back to the battle still raging in Hallmar to prepare and warn the others, leaving his words to continue swirling through my head. The Chairel Army was now close enough that I could recognize my brother's form. Terran stopped his army a distance away. While he and the two gods stayed mounted on their horses, the remaining cavalry and regiments of infantry swarmed forth, prepared to protect their leader through numbers and distance. The Orders of the Mages flanked the infantry, ready to give support with healing and the elements.

  After a long silence standing beside me, Cerin said low, “I will kill him, Kai.”

  “No,” I replied immediately. Memories of letting Terran go in Nahara flooded through me. It was an act of mercy born out of love and respect for him. My brother had once told me he would try his best to stay out of this war, but here he was. My act of mercy had been repaid by lies and attempts to kill the love of my life. I felt the spark of anger begin to build in my gut. Remembering Cyrus's previous words to me, I repeated those thoughts over and over in my head, letting them fuel me.

  “Terran is here to stop our progress. To kill you,” I said to Cerin. “You told me almost two years ago that the day rapidly approaches when one of you dies. That day is today. It will not be you.” I turned my attention to Azazel. “And you told me to make you privy to my plans. I foresee a repeat of my destruction of Narangar's harbor, Azazel. Terran's army will be my fuel. This battlefield will be destroyed by the time I'm done with it.”

  Azazel hesitated. “There's nothing I can say to talk you down from this, I'd wager.”

  “No. I'm telling you so that you can lead this army effectively without me. Utilize our necromancers to the fullest extent. Raise the corpses I leave behind. Take care of those behind me. But do not send our soldiers to aid me. If they get close to me, they will die. Defend Hallmar from being reinforced. Leave Terran to me.”

  “Kai,” Azazel insisted, grabbing my arm as I started to walk forward. “We will need a signal. Rage or not, leeching high or not, you will be walking into that army by yourself, up against two gods with powers unknown to us.”

  “If I need aid, I will call you.” I lifted my war horn from my belt, where it was still attached by leather strings.

  Azazel nodded, overwhelmed with concern but willing to let me go. On the other side, Cerin looked absolutely terrified.

  “Kai,” my lover said desperately to me, grabbing both of my arms to force me to face him. “I told you those fears of mine because I worried you'd let Terran go again. If I had known you'd want to walk straight into his entire fucking army, I never would have said it. I don't want you to—”

  With both hands holding Cerin's face, I pulled his plush lips to mine, kissing him fully and passionately. He trembled with anxiety against me as he returned my affections, his arms coming up around my waist to hold me close to him. He held me so tight that when I finally pulled away, I found it physically hard to do.

  I stared straight into his sharp silver eyes from a few inches away and said, “I love you every bit as much as I did in Sera. I risked my life to free you. I started this war for you and Bjorn. I will win it for you and Bjorn. Everything I do on that battlefield today will be for you. Think about that now and thank me later.”

  It was meant to calm him and be flirtatious, but Cerin was only concerned as he trailed a hand down my face, his eyes following the movement. “You are the most important thing in my life,” he told me. “I would rather you be alive and with me than die sacrificing yourself for me.”

  “I'm not sacrificing myself because I'm not going to die,” I replied. “I'm protecting you.” I tried to pull back from him, but he held on too tight. Cerin bit his bottom lip with apprehension and finally loosened his arms around me. As I took a step back from him, I said, “I will rely on you to protect them.” I motioned to the other Renegades. “Keep them well-nourished with energy, Cerin. That army over there already fears necromancy. Let's give them more reasons to.”

  I ripped my gaze away from my lover, my heart beating rapidly against my ribs. Azazel's voice rose in the air over our soldiers as he ordered them to raise the dead. Somewhere in Hallmar, I could hear another army marching to the southwestern gate to give mine support.

  Ahead, Terran's massive army spread over the plains, the armor of his soldiers nearly matching the green of trampled grasses below. To the right, the Firn Caps rose to tickle the sky. To the left, the horizon was only marred by a blur of darker green in the far distance. Perhaps it was a trick of the eye, or maybe it was the only thing visible from here of the massive trees of Celendar.

  The battle had raged for so long that it was now early afternoon. The skies were a beautiful bright cerulean and cloudless. Though the allied mages in Hallmar were pulling the energy out of the environment, cool breezes steadily blew from the Servis Ocean in the north. The energy in the air was in good supply for mages, I noted, my eyes scanning across the tens of thousands of soldiers. In addition, the life force of those soldiers was in good supply for our necromancers.

  Terran's soldiers were getting into position, following his orders in preparation for their initial charge. Chairel's armies had always been so well-organized, so serious about war. The battle flags they carried were unique, meant for intimidating their foes while keeping armies separate on the battlefield. I knew so much about Chairel's military tactics and actions in warfare, yet I'd never spent a day in their army. But I had read through every book available in the Seran University's library because I had a love of warfare and history given to me by the same man Sirius had once executed. Somehow, thinking about this as I stalked out to the Chairel Army alone overwhelmed me with satisfaction. Sirius had once said to me that I wouldn't be a part of royalty or his armies ever again, but I sure as hell would be. And growing up under his care had given me every resource I needed to prepare to usurp him.

  “Hold your positions!” It was the first time in so long that I'd heard my brother's voice. The Battle of the Dead had taken place on the 83rd of Red Moon, 418, and here we were in mid-Red Moon of 428. Terran was human, and that was entirely evident. He had aged considerably. My brother was now middle-aged, his tone of voice deeper and rougher with time and difficulties. An ache shot through my heart. If things had turned out differently, I still would have been close to him. Under different circumstances, I would have granted him the same power I gave to my friends to prolong his life.

  Terran was still far from me, protected by tens of thousands of soldiers. The gods on either side of him watched me approach the army carefully, their appearances just as Azazel had describ
ed. The god was Celdic, the goddess was human. The goddess was extremely muscular, reminding me of Malgor. She wore heavy armor, her golden eyes visible from the slit of her helmet. I assumed her powers were based in physical combat. The god was thin, pale, and with hair that was long and blinding white. He reminded me so much of Uriel that I assumed his powers would revolve around life magic. If that was true, then Terran was extremely smart. He knew he was no match for me alone. He'd had no chance against me in the Battle of the Dead. When protected by tens of thousands of soldiers and two different gods, perhaps he thought differently.

  The muscular goddess dismounted her horse, stretching her arms out before her and cracking her knuckles. A heavy mace hung from her belt. It was made of solid steel, and its head jutted out with multiple sharp flanges.

  “Orzora. Hold.” My brother's command was directed at the goddess. I searched my mind for the name until I remembered it was mentioned in Malachi's logbook. Orzora was the goddess of strength and vitality. From what I knew of her, she'd involved herself in godly familial disputes in the past, making gold and a name for herself by killing other gods. According to Malachi, she was unpredictable, ruthless, and disloyal. She was the brawn other gods relied on to kill their enemies, and she'd often killed the gods who had once hired her for the right price. Clearly, Sirius's gold had brought her here.

  The Celdic god still on the horse to the right built life magic in his pale hands, confirming my initial suspicions. He thrust it toward Terran as I got so close to his army I could smell the sweat of his soldiers. A life shield of the likes I'd never seen bubbled around my brother. It was the same white energy as other life shields, but instead of forming a vertical egg-shape, it was rounder.

  There were no gods from Malachi's logbook that would have made sense with this one's powers, but there were only two gods I knew the names of that did. Vita, the goddess of life, who had been dead for millennia according to Ciro, or Raphael, the god of healing. Considering the choices, Terran's ally was the latter.