Page 17 of Of Empires and Dust
“I’ve not lost my mind,” Kallinvar said, moving closer. “I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you can hear a god’s voice in your head?”
“What does he say?” Ruon’s gaze never left Kallinvar’s.
“Many things, but not enough. He told me the Blood Moon was only the beginning, that there was a war to come. He said that… I’m sorry, I know how this sounds. I know it seems like I’ve lost my mind?—”
“Kallinvar.” Ruon shook her head, cupping her hands to his cheeks.
“What?”
“I believe you.” She pressed her fingers into Kallinvar’s neck, her thumbs resting under his cheekbones. “I always have, and I always will. You know that. I trust you.”
Kallinvar nodded softly, leaning his cheek into Ruon’s left hand. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d keep fighting.” Ruon leaned forwards and pressed her forehead against Kallinvar’s. “Just as you did before me, you will do after.”
Kallinvar leaned into Ruon, closing his eyes, feeling the warmth of her skin against his. He did not want an ‘after’. Without Ruon there was no after. Then, as the weight on his shoulders felt that little bit lighter, he jerked backwards, the Sigil in his chest burning once more, reminding him the world was on fire.
“What is it?” Ruon asked, her touch lingering on his arm.
“Emalia is ready to return. It is time to carve the path forward.”
Chapter 5
Purpose
6thDay of the Blood Moon
Salme, western villages of Illyanara – Winter, Year 3081 After Doom
“Hold the breach!”Dahlen roared, rain sheeting down, thunder clapping overhead. He charged towards the shattered section of the palisade wall that ringed Salme. Bodies lay in the mud, men and women who had been thrown from the ramparts as the wall had erupted inwards and the three Bloodmarked had crashed through in a frenzy.
Smoke billowed from the glowing runes carved into the beasts’ skin, their obsidian claws tearing through flesh and steel without distinction. His father had told him of the beasts, but before Salme, he’d never witnessed them with his own eyes. Monstrosities forged to kill mortal men, demons born of fire and death.
Dahlen’s boots sucked and squelched with each step. The rain had fallen for days without end, turning the ground to slop. Every muscle in his body ached, and every breath he drew stung. The twenty surviving former Kingsguard who had travelled with him from Belduar fell in at his side, their usually pristine plate tarnished with dirt and blood. The Urak attacks had been as unrelenting as the rain, their numbers swelling with each passing night, but this was the first time they had breached the walls.
“Form up! We need to stem the flow!” Dahlen’s throat burned as he barked orders, doing all he could to raise his voice above the din of the fighting and the raging storm above. “Neck, heart, head! Killing blows!”
More Uraks flooded through the opening, swarming around the three Bloodmarked and tearing through the warriors who had been first to the breach. Though, the term ‘warrior’ was a stretch. Many of Salme’s defenders were little more than town guards or people who’d fled from the surrounding towns and villages, picking up spears to defend the last bastion of the west. The people of the villages were hardy, but most were nothing more than farmers or fishermen or craftsmen.
Three heartbeats passed, and then Dahlen crashed into the mass of bodies that surrounded the breach, the Kingsguard at his side.
He caught the swing of a blackened sword with his left blade, the vibrations jarring his arm, then drove his right blade up through the Urak’s neck. His momentum carrying him forward, Dahlen slammed into the Urak’s chest with his left shoulder.
With his blade still lodged in the Urak’s neck, Dahlen’s boot lost purchase in the mud, and he fell with the beast. The ground rose to meet him with aslap, mud pulling around the Urak’s body. Moving swiftly, he hauled himself upright, ripping his blade free in a spray of blood.
“To me!” Dahlen called out to the townsfolk, trying his best to pull them into some semblance of shape. He sidestepped the thrust of an Urak spear, swinging his right blade up the shaft and slicing through fingers. As the creature stumbled forwards, howling, two of the Kingsguard fell upon it.
A bolt of lightning illuminated the carnage, mutilated bodies sprawled in the blood-soaked mud, severed limbs, and snapped bones.
Two more Uraks charged at Dahlen, two more fell. The sword forms took hold, flowing through him like water, his father’s teachings burned into his blood. But for every Urak he killed, the beasts took four townsfolk with them. Beneath the light of the Blood Moon, the creatures were more savage than they had ever been.
Dahlen sheathed the sword in his left hand and grabbed the collar of a young woman covered head to toe in blood and dirt. She held a spear in her fist, her fingers white from squeezing, the rain streaking her face and soaking her hair. Her eyes held nothing but terror. He had seen her before the attacks. She worked the fishing boats by the coast. “Run to the western wall. Tell Nimara and the mages they’re needed here. Tell the riders to wait for the horn.”
The woman nodded frantically, her hands shaking on the spear shaft. Her voice trembled, teeth chattering. “Who… Who is Nimara?”
“The dwarves,” Dahlen said, trying to level his voice to calm her. “Get the dwarves and the Lorian mages.”
She nodded, eyes wide, hands still shaking.
