by Paris Hansch
“Anton, don’t!” cried Ban. He clawed at the ground, trying to get up.
But Anton wasn’t listening. He was observing. Barrett’s spirit was full of rage, but there was a softness there, hidden deep inside. For a moment, Anton saw an innocent child, blindly following the rules he’d been taught, only to grow into a man so ingrained in his ways that it would take death itself to undo.
“I pity you,” said Anton, his voice barely escaping him. Someone like this would never let go of a grudge.
“Kill me if you want,” said Barrett through clenched teeth. “But I refuse to ever acknowledge you.”
Anton lowered his sword, offering him his hand. “It doesn’t matter. My brother and all of Anadrieth need you right now.”
Barrett ignored his hand as he stood, letting out a hiss of pain.
Ban smiled. “There’s the Anton I remember.”
Anton rolled his eyes, helping Ban stand.
“What the dragons was all that about?” cried Sara, stumbling as she made her way over. She still looked like she wasn’t holding up too well, but at least she could stand. “We don’t have time to be fighting amongst ourselves.” She pointed in the distance. “Look!”
Atop the cliffs that separated the capital from Anadrieth marched a tiny row of figures. They were dressed in a stark white and gold, bearing flags with the golden symbol. It was the imperial army in all their glory. A massive cheer went up as their enemies regrouped behind them.
Anton paled. There was no one in sight from their side—at least, no one alive. If they weren’t in trouble before, they were in big trouble now. “We have to go—”
A spear flew out of nowhere, and Ban was shoved aside, falling to the ground. The weapon cracked the ground beside them; it was a direct hit.
“Father!”
Blood burbled from Barrett’s lips, the spear impaling his back. Ban scrambled to his feet, yanking at the spear, but it wasn’t going to budge. Anton grabbed his arm, pulling him away. Barrett was already dead—as they were about to be if they didn’t move. Their enemies’ cries grew louder as they renewed their advance. But Ban refused to let go of the spear.
“It was aimed at me… it should have been…”
Anton slapped him across the face. “He wouldn’t want you to throw your life away so soon after he just saved it!”
He dragged his grieving friend from the body, and the three of them ran. More spears came flying, the stonewood puncturing the earth with ease. Anton’s heart was in his throat, his legs were burning and his breathing was shallow, his lungs working overtime. They were all injured, and it was unlikely they were going to make it.
He whipped his head around. The army was gaining on them. Dots began to cloud his vision. His foot caught, and gravel scraped his face while dust filled his mouth.
“Anton!” cried Ban. He and Sara turned back, pulling him to his feet. A barbarian leaped at them, swinging his axe. Ban parried, and Sara struck him with her chakram. They had no choice but to fight.
Anton drew his sword, dodging a spear and nicking a Calveran’s arm with the edge of his blade. He whirled around to face his opponent, but the Calveran’s shield was quicker.
It smashed into the side of his head, and the world went black.
29
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alexander
Alexander sprinted, his legs flying across the ground. He hardly noticed his lungs screaming for air. It didn’t matter that the imperial army was on his doorstep, and it didn’t matter that his army was scattered and useless. The steam had cleared enough for him to see a direct path. His little brother lay on the ground, a Calveran poised to strike above him, while Ban and Sara were struggling to fend off the incoming wave. Adelia’s scream resonated in his mind. He wasn’t going to make it. And this time, Mina wasn’t there to help them.
A boulder sped past him, crashing into the Calveran’s skull and knocking him back. Kakeru kept pace beside Alexander, ripping up pieces of the earth, some of it still on fire, and hurling it toward their enemies as they ran. Alexander managed a quick nod at him but felt the resentment bubbling up. Once again, he couldn’t save his own family.
He drew his Golden Dawn, leaping over his brother and bringing his blade down upon a barbarian, forcing the man to the ground. His blood was boiling, the adrenaline surging through his veins. He drove his sword in again, just to make sure his foe was down.
A Calveran thrust his spear toward them, but Alexander dodged, ducking low to strike his legs. He spun around for a second strike, and as he dragged his blade across his opponent’s chest, the half-giant stumbled, doubling over.
Alexander positioned himself in front of his brother, willing him to get up. He didn’t. Blood trickled across the young lord’s face, and it was all he could do not to think the worst.
More boulders flew past them, but this time, the Calverans were prepared. As soon as the rock hit stonewood, it broke into harmless pieces of gravel and dust.
The wounded Calveran eyed Anton before running straight at them, shield-first, swinging his stonewood downward. Alexander blanched. If he dodged, his brother would die. But he didn’t have time to push Anton out of the way. There was only one choice. He raised his sword to block. The metal shattered—bone snapped. A stabbing pain shot through his arm, and he fell to his back.
Kakeru barreled into the Calveran, knocking him to the ground.
Alexander clutched his arm, biting down on the inside of his lip and tasting blood. The jagged shard of bone split his skin, and his arm bent at a stomach-churning angle. He turned his gaze away, breathing hard through his teeth. His brother’s chest moved minutely. Thank dragons, he was still alive.
Kakeru rushed over, pulling him to his feet. He grabbed the ends of Alexander’s cloak and quickly wrapped it into a makeshift sling.
“Can you walk?” he shouted.
Alexander nodded, unable to manage the words.
Don’t think. Don’t think.
If he didn’t look, he couldn’t feel it. His other hand picked up his sword hilt, its broken edge glaring back at him. It had truly served him well all these years. He slipped it back into his belt. There wasn’t time to reminiscence; more enemies were approaching.
His remaining soldiers began to gather around them, working together to hold their enemies off. They used everything they had left, throwing silverlight knives and lighting the magnalite in their slings. Blinding flashes began going off in front of them, and cries echoed across the battlefield, with some of the magnalite hitting their enemies and others exploding in their own soldier’s hands.
Alexander could barely think straight, and he’d only be able to push through the pain for so long. General Ban was clutching his stomach, Sara was barely standing, Kakeru looked exhausted and his brother was passed out behind him. He couldn’t carry him with one arm and protect them all at once. His soldiers were buying them time, but to what end?
They weren’t going to escape. Even if they could survive this wave, there were more enemies coming, and there were no more reinforcements. The people they left at home depended on them. He couldn’t run, couldn’t fight. He clenched a fist. It couldn’t end like this.
The steam pricked at his skin, and for a moment, he saw a tiny droplet sticking to the hair on his arm. He closed his eyes. He could feel it—the roar of the Moonstone River in the distance, the steam that swirled across the battlefield, the air that beckoned him. The spirits were there, by his side, like old friends who had never left. Every inch of his body was alive and tingling. He was born to do this. This was his birthright, his bloodline.
Please. Help us.
Alexander drew the spirits toward him, condensing them, molding them to his will, and they complied with childlike eagerness. He could sense the sheer amount of energy they claimed from him in return. He opened his eyes. The battle in front of them almost hung in stasis, and everyone glanced at what was going on around them. The temperature dropped as the wind picked up. The
moisture in the air was crystalizing, and the steam began to dissipate, forming thousands upon thousands of razor-like shards hanging mid-air.
Ice.
They waited for his command. Alexander thrust his arm out with a cry, and the shards whizzed through the air, impaling each and every one of the barbarians and half-giants before them. They snaked around the stonewood, flying in every direction, searching for their targets. Alexander gritted his teeth. This was for taking away the lives of his men. This was for forcing his people to fight.
This was for Anadrieth.
Their enemies fell in waves, and for a moment, the battlefield was all but quiet. Alexander fell to his knees, clutching his chest. The energy had left his limbs, and he could suddenly feel every inch of the exposed bone and flesh of his arm. He bit down on his tongue hard, drawing blood.
He could vaguely hear his soldiers cheering around them. But he knew it wasn’t enough. The Lanadese and Calverans still had their primary forces on standby, and all the while, the imperial army loomed over them. If anything, it was just a simple diversion—a moment to breathe. But it wasn’t enough.
A powerful wave of energy suddenly passed through him, filling every part of his senses and suffocating him in terror. It was unnatural, immeasurable, yet there was a hint of familiarity. Every instinct told him to run and never look back. But his legs were rooted to the spot. He turned toward the source. The others could sense it, too.
All eyes on the battlefield looked to the east, where a lone horse and rider sat on the horizon.
“Mina,” Alexander murmured. Relief flooded through him. They were saved. He searched the landscape behind her. She must have brought reinforcements. Did Eloria come? He kept his eyes trained on the horizon as Mina sped down into the plains. They would come over the hill. Any second now. She galloped toward them, her command ringing out across the battlefield.
“Fall back!”
Kakeru and Sara moved immediately, grabbing Anton between them. They didn’t hesitate in the slightest. His men glanced at each other, then at him.
Alexander’s mouth parted. No one else was coming. Not a single person. Was she asking them to surrender? He didn’t understand.
General Ban grabbed him by the arm. “My lord?” His eyes searched him, pleaded with him.
His men looked desperate, clinging to any hope they might have left. They wanted a reason to escape the battlefield, to flee on her command. But they all looked to him. He could see it in their faces. In the end, they would follow him to their deaths if he asked.
Fight and die an honorable death, or flee and trust that Mina had a plan, though she brought no one but herself.
Remember, I’m your friend.
Alexander punched the ground, then leaned on Ban to stand. He had to make a choice.
“Fall back!” he yelled, waving his arm in the air. “Fall back!”
His men didn’t need any more encouragement. They retreated in droves. His feet moved of their own accord, passing over his fallen men, their bodies blanketing the battlefield. His muscles quivered as heat flushed through him. His face was red, and frustration pricked at his heart. Alexander pushed himself harder, his footsteps falling heavier. His ears pounded, and mercifully, the sensation in his arm was muted.
They were running with their tail between their legs, and Lord Tamar was probably laughing at their backs. They had all been right; if he couldn’t protect his region, he didn’t deserve to rule. He was a failure as a lord.
His men flooded into their camp, collapsing on every available surface. The medical tent was suddenly swarmed with people, and the nurses were overwhelmed in an instant. Alexander spied Anton through the crowd and gritted his teeth, shoving people out of his way.
“Move!”
Soldiers dodged left and right as he followed his brother, his crimson hair a beacon to his gaze. This was the least he could do. He rushed into the tent. Kakeru and Sara were panting at the entrance, his brother slung over their shoulders.
Alexander went straight for Cynric, grabbing his arm and dragging him over. Cynric pried his hand off with surprising strength and bent down to examine Anton. He checked his pulse, searching for any other wounds.
“Put him there.” He pointed to a spot in the corner.
Alexander blinked as Cynric moved onto the next patient without a second glance. He couldn’t just abandon his little brother. He jumped in front of Cynric’s path, glaring up at him.
“What are you doing? Help him!”
Cynric opened Alexander’s makeshift sling. After a moment, he grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the tent. His eyes were furious, but his voice remained level.
“I don’t care who you are. This is my domain. He will wake up on his own.” He let go of him. “There are far more pressing injuries to deal with, not including yours. If you’re going to act like a hysteric, you’re banned from this tent.” Cynric turned abruptly, ducking back into the tent.
Alexander stumbled back, stunned. Cynric was scarier than Elaine, though it looked like he was barely holding things together. His next patient howled when he approached, and the nurses had to hold the screaming man down.
“Murderer!” the man cried, spitting at Cynric’s direction. “Bastard!” He screamed obscenities and hurled insults, but Cynric didn’t bat an eye. Alexander was struck with pity. Cynric was doing more than enough for them, but his men seemed to be traumatized by the sight of another half-giant in their midst.
Alexander shook his head, trying to let his muscles relax. Elaine was going to have her hands full when they got back. If they got back. At least his brother would be okay.
Alexander looked out over the battlefield as the last of his men returned. It was odd; their enemies hadn’t pursued them. He hissed out a breath, cradling his arm as the pain began to set in once more. A bead of sweat rolled over his lip, and his cloak was soaked in blood. He had to focus on something else. Anything else.
Mina appeared at the entrance to the camp. As she leaped from her horse, it immediately laid down, as though it had only now realized just how exhausted it was. Her body was shimmering, as if the outline of her form couldn’t quite decide what it wanted to be. Her gaze met his, and her eyes were a deep violet, the pupils no longer human. His men gave her a wide berth. Then, she looked past him.
“Remember your duty,” she said. It was her voice, but it wasn’t. Her words rippled over his skin, the tone slightly richer than he remembered. He turned to see Hanabi and the others, standing beside him. The priestess was visibly trembling, her fear almost tangible.
Mina pivoted her stance. The earth crumbled under the pressure, as though a great force pushed down upon it. Her presence settled over him again, only far stronger.
Everyone fell to their knees.
Alexander was frozen on the ground. Her presence suffocated him with a terrifying but enchanting aura that spanned out, blanketing everyone in sight. The entire battlefield had gone deathly silent, as though every being in the empire had been forced to acknowledge her powerful presence—captives under her spell.
With almost imperceptible movement, she pushed off the ground, launching forward. Within seconds, she appeared again in the center of the plains.
Alexander swallowed. He couldn’t pretend any longer that she was simply an extraordinary human. He had to acknowledge her for what she was.
Mina stood alone in the face of three armies, but none moved. She drew her swords, the dragon script glowing intensely at her touch. They floated for a moment before spinning to slice her palms. She grasped the hilts, the blood flowing freely down the blades.
Her swords suddenly changed form, and her arms became encased with an ethereal substance—in the shape of dragon’s forelimbs, growing larger by the second. The men didn’t have a moment to blink as they were swept away by one of her massive claws. Her other arm followed suit, striking their enemies without mercy.
Panic ensued. The Lanadese and Calverans scrambled in different dir
ections, some fleeing the scene, while others foolishly attempted to attack her. But their weapons had no effect. They passed through her as if she weren’t there.
Mina threw her head back, letting out a deafening roar that shook the battlefield as though the very ground beneath them was alive. Alexander clutched his ears, the shockwave hitting him like a ton of stones. Screams filled the air.
Her ethereal shape expanded, completely encompassing her. It grew and grew until the shape of a dragon began to take form around her—an enormous head with two curved horns, murderous jaws that housed teeth as large as men, wings that stretched across the entire plains, a tail as long as the river. Drifting in the middle of its chest was Mina, her tiny body covered in blood. All the tapestries in the empire couldn’t have done her justice, the artists unable to envision such a creature.
She was frighteningly magnificent.
She raised her arms, the dragon spirit mimicking her movement. With a single flap of her wings, the steam was blown from the battlefield entirely, and the fires were extinguished. Then, she brought her claw down into the earth, sending debris flying as the earth split and groaned.
Their enemies tried to flee, but there was nowhere to run. The cliffs were at their backs, the pass too narrow for all of them at once. The imperial army remained stationed along the cliffs, not one of them retreating.
The dragon lowered its head. The Calverans raised their shields, while the Lanadese dropped to the floor. She inhaled. More screams rang out as tiny, ethereal forms of violet were ripped from the soldiers’ flesh, becoming absorbed into her dragon’s form. There was no escape from such an attack.
“Syravia,” Hanabi whispered beside him.
Alexander grabbed her shoulder. “What’s going on?”
