Page 387 of Of Empires and Dust
Anya, too, ran. Her head told her it was the only option. She would be no help to the Lorian, nothing more than another corpse for the street. But her heart tugged at her. She threw a glance over her shoulder as she ran. The man had driven his sword into one of the Uraks’ legs, but the beast grabbed him by the shoulders and tore a chunk of flesh from his neck with its teeth, tossing him to the ground.
Anya slipped in the mud, crashing down and scrambling back to her feet, terror wrapping itself around her pounding heart. She didn’t dare look back. She had spent enough nights pulling the injured and maimed from the battles to know the Uraks would not give up the chase until either she died or they did.
Ahead, Conal and the youths sprinted out into the street, looking right, then left. A shriek like nothing Anya had ever heard left the young girl’s mouth. Crimson light spilled through the deluge, followed by the monstrous shape of a Bloodmarked. One swipe of its claws and the girl fell in three pieces.
Conal and the other boys stood, staring in shock at the mutilated remains, all frozen in place.
“Run!” Anya screamed at the top of her lungs, but still they remained frozen. She buried her fear, darted from the alley, and barrelled into the three of them. The Bloodmarked slammed its fists into the ground and sent a shockwave of fire streaming past where the boys had just stood.
Anya slipped and slid in the mud, grabbing at each of them, ensuring they were still alive, before once more scrambling to her feet. The sounds of battle echoed down the street, followed by the slap of hooves.
Anya thought she was in a dream when she looked up to see a woman clad all in black armour riding a monstrous stag, white as snow. A host of other riders flanked her on either side, each grasping long spears with curved blades. The woman waved her hand, and the rain around the Bloodmarked froze in an instant.
The creature paused, staring at the shards of ice that hovered about it, but could do nothing when those same shards tore its thick hide to ribbons.
Anya watched in horror as the Bloodmarked was shredded alive, blood spraying in all directions, strips of flesh dropping to the mud. The runes in its flesh burned with bright crimson light,smoke pluming. Before she even had the time to understand what was happening, the two Uraks who had chased them down the alley burst out into the street.
The first was taken down by a launched spear to the chest, but the second careened into the side of a white stag, burying its claws into the animal’s ribs again and again. The white fur turned pink from blood as the stag shrieked and thrashed, collapsing onto its side and taking its rider with it. More Uraks charged down the same street the riders had come from, the pommels of their black weapons glowing with red lights.
“Inari,” one of the riders called to the woman, pointing his curved spear towards the Uraks. “Orin avûr!”
Anya didn’t recognise the language they spoke, and the armour they wore was like nothing she knew.
The woman in black looked down at Anya and the youths. “Find shelter,” she said, her voice soft and fair. “This battle is far from over.” The great stag turned, and the woman charged towards the Uraks, roaring at the top of her lungs. “Imbahír til haydria!”
As the woman rode back towards the fighting, Anya grabbed Conal and the other boys. She cast a glance down at the three chunks of flesh that had once been a young girl. A young girl she should have kept safe. “Stayat my side.”
None of them spoke, but they all nodded. More screams and the sound of fighting rose into the night. But these sounds came from deeper within the city, closer to the port and the great hall, where the children, elderly, and injured were being sheltered while the battle raged.
Anya looked over her shoulder where the riders and other warriors fought viciously with the Uraks, then back down the street before her. What was she to do? No matter which way she took the boys, death awaited them.
She made a choice and ushered them towards the port and the great hall. At least that way there was a chance. They passed clutches of Salme’s defenders as they moved. Some charged the other way, back to where the riders had saved Anya and the boys; others sprinted through the alleys and side streets; and some simply sat and wept over the corpses of people they had once known, resigned to death.
This was not like the other nights. This felt like that night in The Glade. The night the Uraks had destroyed everything she had ever known and taken her mother from her. This felt like death come to life.
By the time they reached the main square that fronted the great hall, everything was chaos. The hall was ablaze, shrieks and screams rising from within, the flames climbing high as the tallest trees, bright and hot. Men and women scrambled about, tending to dead bodies and carrying buckets of water from the port.
“No, no, no…” Anya sprinted through the square, Conal and the boys following. She stopped the first man she came to, who knelt over the body of another, a hand resting on the dead man’s breastplate. The copper rings in his nose marked him as a man of Salme from before the unification. “What happened here? The Uraks haven’t broken through, have they?”
Panic flared in Anya’s veins, and she scanned the square once more, seeing nothing but blood, bodies, and madness.
“Yarik Tumber.” The man stood, swallowing as he looked down at his fallen companion. Ash and soot marred his face, hands, and hair. “He, Elder Benem, and a group of others decided to make for the boats. The guards stopped them, and a fight broke out. Somewhere in the middle of it, the hall caught fire. It went up like a tinder box.” He shook his head, jaw slack as he watched the blazing building collapse inwards. “It all happened so fast. They must have set it ablaze to cover theirescape… We got some of the children out, but… The flames grew too high too fast… There was nothing… nothing we could do.”
The screams took on new meaning. The hall had not been the only place where those who couldn’t fight had been sheltered, but it had been the largest. Almost a thousand souls had sheltered within, squashed shoulder to shoulder. The children, the elderly, the injured who were well enough to leave the Bloodhouse, and the guards set to keep them safe.
“How many got out?”
The man’s lips moved, but what left his mouth was akin to a short choking sound.
“How many?” Anya roared, her own anger surprising her. She grabbed the collar of the man’s leather cuirass. “How many?”
“Only those you see…”
Anya’s throat tightened to the point that she could barely draw a breath. There were no more than a hundred in the yard. A group of children, some as young as two or three, were gathered on the far side of the square, being watched over by three guards who themselves looked distraught. A handful of injured men and women, all wrapped in bandages, were at the base of the old, gnarled oak only a few feet from the children. She didn’t see any of the elderly. Most of those who’d made it out were guards and children.
A chill ran down Anya’s spine as she realised the screaming had stopped.
“Heraya embrace you,” she whispered, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. No soul was meant to die that way… The sorrow within her slowly boiled to rage. She turned back to the guard. “Yarik Tumber, where is he?”
