Chapter Thirty-two

They were losing. Their lines had broken long ago, and even though Wilder had brought down the frost giant in a spectacular display of ingenuity and strength, despair filtered down through the ranks as the enemy loaded a catapult.

Thea had fought at the battle of Notos, had sliced through man and monster alike. But it had been nothing like this. The savage brutality, the choking nature of battle was overwhelming.

She had leapt from her mare long ago to help Drue battle back a horde of howlers. Now, she searched the field for another, desperate to clap eyes on Artos again and hunt him down through the madness. Thea was going to kill him. Twice she had saved his life. Now, she was going to end it.

Kipp's voice carried across the clash of shields and swords, and she whirled around to find him amid the fighting. Wasn't he meant to be at the back?

‘Get the oil barrels! The Flaming Arrow will be ready,' he was telling Talemir, gasping for air. ‘Drench the fucking lot of them with oil and we'll light those fuckers up.'

Thea turned back to the next rush of enemy soldiers, readying herself for another attack. Kipp had been right about Artos deeming his legions disposable. Wave after wave of them hit the midrealms' forces, wave after wave of them perished, and yet the onslaught continued.

She was dying to use her magic, dying to unleash her power upon the monsters and put an end to the bloodshed. But the order hadn't come. Not from Talemir, not from Anya…

Even so, she dared to crouch amid the blur of battle and put her fingertips to the blood-soaked snow and mud. She sent a pulse of lightning across the ground, zapping a line of opponents in her path, clearing the way to their rear guard, where somewhere, Artos was lurking.

Swinging her sword, she revelled in its song as it cleaved through more howlers, severed the limbs of arachnes and beheaded anyone who stood in her way. She spotted a flash of gold armour and lunged through the throng, deflecting blows as she went.

Wind beat down on them, and Thea gasped in horror, hearing the flapping of wings.

This is it, she thought. This is when the wraith assault begins, when we've already depleted so much of our defence. She braced herself, anticipating the mass of darkness that was about to sweep in and swallow them all —

But it wasn't the wraiths and reapers.

It was Talemir, Dratos and a legion of shadow-touched folk.

From above, they dropped barrels of oil on the enemy, just as Kipp had planned. Shielding her eyes against the sun piercing the clouds, Thea saw Cal on the right flank, his arms expanding with his bow as he fired three flaming arrows at once into the oil-drenched unit.

Fire blazed to life. Screams of agony filled the air.

Thea fought her way to a snowy ridge and surveyed the battlefield from above. Wren had washed away much of the enemy with her flood, Wilder had crushed many more with the frost giant, and now, several of Artos' units were aflame thanks to the shadow-touched. In the near distance, she could see Kipp and Torj beating back an arachne, and further back – movement in Artos' rear guard.

He's retreating, Thea realised with a jolt.

‘Now's our chance,' a gravelly voice said at Thea's side. She found Vernich there, slick with black blood, breathing hard. ‘If he gets away, he'll rally an even bigger army. It's now or never. I'll cut us a path through. You clean up what I leave behind.'

There was no time to argue. The Bloodletter charged, cleaving through one enemy after another, leaving Thea to finish them off in his wake. She did exactly that as she realised Vernich was carving them a direct path to where she'd last seen Artos slinking off in the shadows.

As they fought their way through the mass of violence, Vernich taking the brunt of the attacks, Thea had a surreal moment of realisation: war makes for unlikely allies. She stabbed a howler through the heart and surged after the Bloodletter, wondering what he'd make of his former apprentice torn to shreds in the woods. She had the feeling he wouldn't care.

‘There!' Vernich shouted, pointing towards a gap in the rear guard. ‘Go!'

Thea didn't waste the opportunity. And as she sprinted for the break in their formation, a figure leapt onto the path before her.

Wilder.

He was covered in blood and gore, but he moved like water, clearing any opponents from her route. Thea would barely have registered that she was running, were it not for the slip of ice beneath her boots and the mud that flicked up, spattering her already filthy armour.

At last, she reached the king's guard of howlers and knights, shadows roiling around them. Artos stared out at her from behind the wisps of darkness, his green eyes bright.

As the battle raged on behind her, Thea studied the ruler of Harenth, the man she thought had given her her future. The man who, in reality, had robbed her of her family. The man who had brought doom upon the midrealms.

‘What a waste of a Warsword,' he called out to her, surveying the blood-soaked totem around her arm and the Naarvian steel clutched in her hand. ‘There is so much we could have achieved together, Althea.'

Thea looked around at the devastation. ‘You call this an achievement?'

‘One of many,' Artos replied, remaining in the shadows. ‘You, however, are one of my biggest failures. I thought you would have some sense of loyalty after all I did for you, but I see loyalty and honour are dead.'

‘They are, when it comes to you. They have been for some time,' Thea said, adjusting her grip on her blade. ‘We're here to see what we can do about that.'

She took a step forward, not caring how many howlers or Harenth knights she had to cut down to get to Artos —

‘I knew what you were,' he continued, his eyes trained on her sword. ‘Who you were. I sensed your power the moment you threw that knife back in my palace, felt your lightning surging through the steel as it hit my cup.'

Thea didn't react, not even as his words sent a barrage of shock pouring through her. She hadn't even known her heritage back then. She'd never noticed an inkling of that power, but she felt it now… It crackled in the air.

Only it wasn't coming from her.

‘I forced your hand with the Scarlet Tower,' Artos said, oblivious, jutting his chin towards Wilder, who had come to stand at her side. ‘I knew putting him there would flush you out, that we'd see the heir of Delmira announce herself.'

Thea twirled her blade casually, taking a step forward. ‘Well done, Artos. But you see, I'm not the heir of Delmira, not by the line of succession. I'm not the future queen.'

Artos laughed darkly. ‘Oh, but you are. You are the firstborn daughter of Queen Brigh and King Soren Embervale.'

Thea met his gaze with a cold stare of her own. ‘No, I'm not.'

She stepped back, pulling Wilder with her, just as darkness erupted before them, and Anya emerged from the shadows, balls of lightning crackling in her palms. ‘That would be me,' she said, and hurled her magic at Artos.

Thunder roared overhead as bolts of lightning shot for the king.

Thea could no longer ignore the storm in her veins. She sheathed her blade, unleashing her own magic in a tidal wave.

Together, she and Anya blasted the king's guard into oblivion, their lightning bolts flashing, wrapping around Artos himself as he screamed and screamed.

Thea expected to feel the scrape of his empath ability against her senses, but there was nothing, only his shrieks as the electrical current seared his flesh through his armour.

Artos' body sagged in its bonds, and he looked to Thea, his green eyes wide. ‘Thank you,' he uttered cryptically, before he passed out.

All around them, the fighting ceased. The air was thick with the scent of spilt blood and the haunting cries of the wounded. Broken bodies lay strewn across the snow like discarded chess pieces on a board, their armour stained crimson.

The sounds of surrender echoed across the bloody plains. Blades being dropped in the snow, the final gasps of the fallen…

‘Put him in chains,' Anya barked at a nearby soldier, thrusting her scythe at Artos' limp form. ‘Take him away.'

As the power thrumming at Thea's fingertips ebbed away, she fought to fill her lungs with enough air. What little remained of Artos' forces were surrendering, if they hadn't already fled for the mountains.

‘We… we won?' she said hoarsely, to no one in particular.

Wilder's stoic presence at her shoulder settled her. ‘Barely,' he replied. ‘But yes.'

The taste of victory was bittersweet, for their triumph had come at a great cost. Thea inhaled her first deep breath in hours. ‘Artos is our prisoner…'

‘He is.'

Her body sagged with relief, the aches and pains of battle slowly seeping in. ‘Now what?' she asked bluntly, spotting Anya, Talemir and Vernich overseeing Artos' imprisonment.

Wilder put an arm around her, drawing her close despite the blood and guts that covered them both. ‘Now, we —'

‘Thea!' someone shouted, panic lacing their voice. ‘Thea!'

She whirled on her heels to see Cal racing towards her, Wren not far behind him. Cal's face was covered in grime, but there was no mistaking the tear tracks down his cheeks.

Thea's blood went cold. ‘What is it?'

‘It's Kipp,' he panted, tugging on her arm, hauling her through the bloody slush. ‘He's wounded. Badly.'

Thea's mind and body threatened to shut down as Cal dragged her to the broken heart of the battlefield, through the corpses, severed limbs and discarded weapons that littered the snow.

‘How bad?' she heard herself ask, but Cal didn't answer.

She could hear the others crashing through the mess behind her, but she didn't look back to see who had followed, only forward, scanning the injured soldiers scattered across the ice, searching for a familiar head of auburn hair.

Then she saw him.

Kipp lay in the arms of the Bear Slayer, an arachne fang protruding from his chest.