Chapter 64: Cenric

Chapter

Sixty-Four

CENRIC

I signal my men to halt, and my army freezes behind me. The sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows across the valley where the rebels pass between the two cliff faces below us.

My plan worked just as I thought it would. Ava's message to the rebels lured them into this pass. Now, Hawke rides at their helm, Alvina next to him.

I glance to my right, making sure Everly is next to Praxis, then I raise my hand, and archers nock their arrows tipped with oil-soaked rags. Flames dance along the arrowheads, casting light on the archers' faces.

I give the signal, and the arrows fly. They arc high, trailing fire, before plummeting into the rebels below. They scatter like ants.

"Keep firing!" I say, my voice carrying over the din of battle.

My men obey without hesitation, loosing volley after volley. Some of the rebels manage to form a hasty shield wall, but it's too little, too late. Flames lick at their feet, spreading rapidly through the dry brush. Screams of pain mingle with shouts of command as their leaders try desperately to regain control.

My eyes narrow as I spot Alvina. The Calcite leaps from her horse, her face contorted with rage. Before I can shout a warning, she raises her hands, fingers splayed.

I turn as Eadric is lifted off his feet. His eyes widen as he's yanked over the cliff's edge. His scream echoes off the canyon walls as he plummets to his death.

Fury courses through my veins as I spin back to the battle, scanning for Alvina, but she's vanished into the chaos below.

I signal for another volley, and a hail of arrows descends upon the rebels. They rain down, setting more dry brush ablaze. The rebels scatter like frightened rabbits, some trying to form another shield wall while others attempt to flee.

But there is nowhere to hide.

A gust of wind whips past me, and I spin as another one of my men is lifted into the air. He kicks and flails, his screams swallowed by the roar of the flames. I watch helplessly as he's flung against the cliff face with a sickening crunch.

Gritting my teeth, I turn back to the battle. "Form shield walls. Protect the archers!"

My men rush to obey, forming a wall of shields to block the rebels' attacks. The air thrums with the thud of arrows and the crackle of flames. The stench of burning flesh fills my nose, making my eyes water.

Through the chaos, I catch a glimpse of Alvina, her blonde hair matted with soot and blood. She stands tall as she rallies her troops.

I grab my bow and aim between the shield wall. The feathered fletching brushes against my cheek as I draw the string back, my eyes narrowing as I aim at Alvina's heart. I release the string, and the arrow cuts through the air like a bolt of lightning. Her hands fly up, and a gust of wind slams into the arrow, sending it crashing into the ground at her feet.

Damn her!

A smirk tugs at Alvina's mouth as she raises her hands again, her fingers curling as she gathers her power. My muscles tense, ready to dodge whatever she hurls my way. But before she can release it, a shield hurtles out of nowhere and slams into her. She falls to the ground with a pained cry.

I notch another arrow, determined to end her life once and for all. A whirlwind erupts around her, and when it dissipates, Alvina is gone, vanished as if she'd never been there at all.

I raise my hand, signaling in the distance for Gabriel and Liam to attack from the rebels' flank.

Gabriel's forces emerge from the shadows, their battle cries echoing off the canyon walls. The rebels, caught between our barrage of arrows and Gabriel's charge, panic, and try to retreat.

"Keep firing!" I roar.

My archers obey. The sky darkens with the sheer number of arrows. They descend upon the rebels like a swarm of angry fireflies.

The screams of the dying mingle with the crackle of flames and the clash of steel. Through the haze, Gabriel leads the charge as he cuts down rebel after rebel.

Our pincer move is working perfectly. The rebels are trapped, with nowhere to run. Some try to surrender, throwing down their weapons and raising their hands. But there can be no mercy, not after what they've done.

"No quarter!" I shout, and my men respond with a cheer.

The slaughter continues as the arrows pelt the rebels, and Gabriel's forces push forward relentlessly.

I notch another arrow, scanning the battlefield for any sign of Hawke or Alvina. But they've disappeared, leaving their followers to face our wrath alone.

The battle rages on, but it's clear the rebels are finished. Their numbers dwindle with each passing moment. Those still standing fight with the desperation of cornered animals, but it's futile.

Finally, when the dust settles, silence falls over the canyon. The last rebel has fallen, and only the crackling of flames can be heard.

Smoke stings my eyes as I survey the carnage below. Bodies litter the ground, some still twitching, others eerily still. The once-dry brush is now a sea of flames, casting an orange glow over the gruesome scene.

As I observe the destruction, I feel no triumph, no elation at our victory. Only a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach. This battle was necessary, a crucial step in quelling the rebellion. But the cost is etched into every corpse, every patch of scorched earth, every drop of spilled blood.

There's no victory in any of that. Only death.