A first-time soldier walks the frontline pace
toes shadows cast by Lady Death’s embrace.
Her demon Pride stands by her side—
a sin that warps her final face.
“You’re loved,” Death says, “but just in case—
pray to me, or rot and waste.”
“March forward,” Pride says. “Enjoy the race!
Let’s watch Life kneel to Death’s sweet grace.”
“Transformative, Inevitable, Final” by an anonymous hussar
I lead the charge through the deadlands at a trot. Taylen has packmasters flank her nest so she can ride at my right-hand side. The flat terrain begins to steepen. Walls of untamed shrubbery rise into bare trees and green ponds. The thunder of hoofbeats is overwhelming, but so is the pounding in my head. I don’t look back at my pride. I keep my gaze fixed on the horizon and will myself forward.
The sun lowers over the Volterras as we arrive at the sloping foothills. We let our horses drink from the Rivière Rugueuse, and I slide off my mount. I lean my head against his flank and stroke his neck. His body is sticky with sweat, and his chest heaves. I decide to call him Killer, in honor of…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.
“Two more miles,” I murmur.
“Sir.” Taylen lowers her water flask and points toward the mountains. “Scout.”
A mounted hussar races toward our troops. The packmasters call out orders, and their men remount. I pull myself onto Killer’s back, and Taylen and I rush forward to meet the messenger. It’s not Dani. The scout’s helm is too round, and his leathers are brown. Silver stitching crisscrosses his armored pants. He stops his horse beside me, and I hold up my hand. The packmasters scream out orders, and the voices that fill the valley dim to murmurs. He points to the ridgeline south of the summit.
“Over the hill!” It’s hard to understand him—he’s out of breath. “Reinforcements!”
“Fantastic,” I say. “Who’s leading them?”
He stares at me as if I’m stupid. His chest heaves.
“Not our reinforcements, sir,” he says.
Shite.
“Three hundred, by my guess,” he says. “They’re halfway through the Crête Déchiquetée—”
The Shredded Ridge. I glance at the foothill’s southern pass.
“Armed, mounted, traveling fast.” He pants. “They’ll be at the mines by nightfall.”
I turn to Taylen. Her expression is grim.
“Send a hussar to the summit,” I say. “Tell Bardic we’ll delay their cavalry for as long as possible.”
If they’re approaching from the south, they’ll be able to surround the mines and threaten Bardic’s rear, pinning the murder front. According to Rio, Bardic’s dens have dug in at the other cardinals to defend the mines from the main Xobrite force to the north.
Taylen opens her mouth and hesitates.
“What?” I ask.
“A third of our men haven’t seen combat,” she says. “The delta nest is unsullied. They just graduated from basic.”
Damn. So we’re outnumbered three to one, fringed by a brigade of virgin fighters…Hel, this pride is led by a virgin fighter. I’ve never been to the frontline either. Every second I think this over, I waste another minute of daylight. The opposing den is gaining ground—den or pride? Three hundred. That’s a den. Not that it matters.
Thoughts flit through my head too quickly to track. I slam a hand against the back of my neck.
“Get me Paadrick and Sterling,” I say.
Taylen screams out orders. The alpha nest opens its ranks. Her words are passed down row after row of assembled horsemen. I turn my gaze away from the mass of fighters. I don’t like looking at the men I’m about to lead into Lady Death’s waiting arms. There’s so damn many of them. Boys, mostly. Boys with sisters and friends waiting back home…
Paadrick and Sterling pull up. Taylen briefs them.
“We have to head them off,” I say when she’s finished. “If they reach the mines…”
“It’s suicide.” Paadrick shakes his head. “We should send a hussar to Bathune and wait for Staffmaster Belén to send us more prides.”
“We don’t have time,” I say. “They’ll be over the ridge by the time reinforcements arrive. I’ve studied maps of this terrain, and Bardic’s position is untenable. We can’t let them envelop the existing forces, especially not from high ground.”
Sterling and Paadrick exchange a glance.
“We’ll at least delay them,” I say. “It’ll make it easier for Bardic to prepare his rear guard and protect the mines. Rio’s taking his troops farther south to hook up with Belén—that’ll take hours. How long do you think we can last?”
“Outnumbered three to one?” Sterling asks. “Thirty seconds.”
“Ten minutes,” Paadrick says.
Taylen glares at them. “As long as it takes.”
Oh, I like her.
Paadrick and Sterling murmur assent, but neither of them sound optimistic. All three of my nestmasters turn to me. I grind my teeth together. My jaw aches—I don’t want to make this call. I don’t want to be here. I should’ve rolled over on the lumpy hostel mattress, covered my head with the pillow, and gone to sleep.
But I didn’t.
“We’ll divide the force and concentrate on their eastern flank,” I decide. “Take out as many as we can. Sterling, I’m taking command of the delta nest. Lead gamma, travel at an angle over the ridge north of the summit, and cut them off in front.”
He nods, turns on his steed, and just like that, he’s back with his nest.
“Paadrick,” I say. “Pick your fastest pack and circle past Sterling’s tail. The lower valleys should be in shadows by now. Do your best to stay out of sight. Wait for an opening to assist to the west of the front—I don’t want them to see you coming. Understood?”
Paadrick nods. “My other packs?”
“Have the packmasters drive them up and over the slope,” I say. “Order a direct shot to their right flank. They’ll be our vanguard.”
Hopefully they’ll bear the brunt of the attack, and Sterling can slip in with his nest while they’re distracted. I’m not going to say that out loud, of course. These are seasoned nestmasters. They know what I’m doing.
Paadrick’s eyes are grim. “Are you sure about this?”
I should say, are you questioning your pridemaster’s orders?
Instead I say, “Unless you have a better idea.”
He thinks for a minute. Then he ducks his head and gallops toward his nest. I turn to Taylen.
“Let me guess,” she says. “You want me to lead my fighters around the south side of the summit. We’ll attack while they’re engaged to the north and sweep through their forces from behind. You’ll wait with delta on the sidelines to see which nest needs assistance. They’re unseasoned, so they’ll probably be useless. It’s a decent plan.”
I thumb the laurels on my chest and decide to go for complete honesty.
“My experience is theoretical, not practical,” I tell her. “I don’t know how to read a battle, but I know how to fight. I’ll lead alpha. Take delta and stay at the summit until one of the penetrations wreaks an opening. See it. Seize it. Exploit it. You’ve been on the frontline before, right?”
“You haven’t?” she demands.
“No,” I say. “I washed out of L-DAW this morning.”
“What in Hel? How old are you?”
Her skin is sweaty and flushed. Every muscle in her body clenches, and veins bulge beneath her helm. Her stallion nickers and tosses its head.
“Who are the packmasters in the alpha nest?” I ask, hoping to distract her.
She points to two men mounted on sweaty steeds, who are wrangling a pack that isn’t in any sort of formation.
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“Fox and Dexter are the packmasters for delta,” she says.
“I asked about alpha.”
“I’m not leaving my nest.”
Well. That’s unexpected.
“Hang me for insubordination if we survive this,” she says. “I don’t care. I’ve trained alpha nest to perfection. I’ve fought with them in three battles. If I’m dying today, it’ll be beside them, and I’m not going to let a twelve-year-old give me orders to abandon my troops.”
“I just turned fifteen.”
“That’s so much better.” She makes a disparaging noise in the back of her throat. “Happy yearday, kid. I hope your parents fed you cake.”
“By L-Street standards I’m an adult.”
“By L-Street standards are you a fucking military commander?”
“You’re right.” My words are rushed. “I don’t know how to lead a pack, let alone a nest, let alone a pride. I don’t know how to look for an opening. I don’t know how to read a battlefield—”
“Well, you better learn!” she yells. “And quickly, because I don’t have time to listen to you bitch! Sterling already left, and I’m not letting him go out there alone. Take your damn rich-boy sweater and lead delta up the summit!”
I open my mouth, then close it.
“Hang me,” she says again, and turns her horse. The hooves kick a shower of dust into my face as she gallops toward the alpha nest. She barks out orders, screams positional corrections at the flanks, and her thirty fighters rush forward with enough force to shake the ground beneath my feet.
I watch them for longer than I can afford and then lead my horse toward Fox and Dexter. She’s impressive—I’ll give her that. It’s time to channel my inner Taylen.
“Why aren’t your packs in formation?” I demand.
They’re untitled. Both wear light gray leathers, and both flush under my gaze.
“Flank me,” I snap, and they rush to my side.
I stand before the delta nest and do a quick head count. Eighteen fighters, all shaking in their standard-issue boots, none in formation. I think back to Training the Untrainable, the text Segolé wrote some twenty years ago. Pierre-Marie had me memorize the first sentence of Chapter 1…
Acknowledge where they’re coming from. Sympathize. Stroke some egos. Strike.
I put my fingers to my lips, whistle, and clap my hands together.
“Shut the eff up!” I yell.
I realize too late that the colloquialized swear probably made me sound like a First Circuit vestal. The men still. The silence is deadly. One by one, they turn to face me. I study them, and they study me. I take a deep breath. I swallow. I open my mouth.
“I’m Pridemaster Ko, and we don’t have much time, so listen carefully,” I say. “I know most of you just left basic. I know you’re probably scared. But the rest of our pride is out there, surrounding a den of enemies on three sides. They need us to fall in, and they need us to fight. Your empire—and the God King—might need you to die. If that happens, we leave a legacy of bravery for the murder front.”
It’s not the greatest speech that’s ever been given, but it’s the best I can do. Enough wasted time.
“We’ll ascend the summit in a wedge formation, and you’ll wait for my order to charge,” I say. “The angle of attack will depend on the battle. Fox, Dexter. Who are your best fighters?”
They point.
“You, you, you, and you.” I make eye contact with the called soldiers. “Spread out in a diagonal position edging back. Three feet between each steed. Hold the position until you’re knocked off your horses. You four—same on the other side…”
Somehow I get the fighters into place. I look around and make sure everyone is seated. Beneath their helms are glassy eyes and rigid posture.
Tears burn my gaze.
“It’s an honor to fight by your side,” I say. “Welcome to the frontline, delta nest. Let’s survive this, yeah?”
The resounding thrum of ayes nearly knocks me off my horse.
###
The battle is raging by the time we make it to the summit. Fox is on my left, and Dexter is on my right. I hold up a fist, and the troops stop behind me. The valley sprawls before us, then rises into the expansive peaks of the Volterras. The setting sun casts dull light. Clouds drift across the sky. Animated shadows dance over the hilly terrain, writhing like monsters.
It’s hard to tell what’s happening in the gorge. The pink mist makes me want to hurl on Killer’s shoulders. The screams and yells are overwhelming—
“Back! Back! Back!”
“Alpha, forward!”
“DAMNDAMNDAMN! ALPHA PACK, TO ME!”
“Opening in the northern block!” I scream.
It’s less of an opening from the penetration movement and more of a Sterling’s-last-five-fighters-are-surrounded-by-an-army-of-Xobrites situation. I jerk my arm forward, yank my legs together, and almost fall off Killer as he sprints toward the army of chain-link fighters. I hold on for dear life—it’s a steep, harsh descent, and we’re practically flying…
Inhale. We leap over a fallen horse, and Killer slides on the pool of blood.
Exhale. My sword is drawn. A Xobrite fighter is in front of me—ten Xobrite fighters are in front of me. I jab my sword into the nearest chest. I twist. I pull. I slam my blade into their stomach and push. I don’t look to see if they fall. Behind me, soldiers scream. In front of me, soldiers scream. On both sides of me, soldiers scream. I parry two blocks, and my shoulder wrenches from the force of the blow…
“WHERE ARE MY FLANKERS?” I yell.
Fox and Dexter have disappeared with their packs.
Egad. Blood. So much blood. Killer falls with a whinny that throws my heart into my throat. The air is knocked from my lungs…
I scream when I hit the ground.
I roll.
Killer rolls on top of me.
My right arm breaks with a resounding snap that thrums through my body. It’s strange. I feel no pain—only a dull tingling in my fingers. Killer’s corpse ends up on top of me, and I can’t breathe from his weight. My sword was knocked from my hand in the fall. I feel around for it, touch metal, but I can’t close my fingers into a fist.
My thoughts are disjointed and muddy. I can’t feel my right arm, but I’m functional. Good thing Felicity had me fight left-handed when I started beating her on a regular basis…
Felicity…
If I die here, our mother’s battlechains might not be found.
Felicity will never forgive me.
I have to get up.
I can’t heave Killer off me. Another scream—this one of frustration—tears my throat. I try again. His corpse doesn’t budge. I twist, reach out with my left hand, and grab metal. I slice off his leg, then a chunk of his abdomen. Inhale. My cashmere sweater—once blue—is red and sticky. Exhale.
I wriggle out from under the mangled carcass and strike the legs of the nearest mare. She goes down with a cry, and I slash my sword across the rider’s neck. My right arm flails beside me, immobile and useless.
I turn.
“I’m taking your helmet,” I tell a dead fighter.
She stares up at me with gray eyes. Her head has been separated from the rest of her body…
Oh, Taylen.
I tug off her helm and brush her eyes closed. I plant a kiss on her forehead, just like I’d do if it were Dune or Osyrus.
Ascend in peace, my valiant fighter.
I put on her helm. It’s too tight, but it keeps the hair out of my face and stems the hot liquid flowing from a gouge in my temple.
Three Xobrites circle me, blades cocked, horses screaming and wild-eyed.
Slash. Duck. Slash. Parry.
Two Xobrites.
One.
He dismounts. I aim a kick at his legs. He slices through my calf—not deep, but my trousers tear. Blood pools in my boot. I whirl, drop my chest, lunge. He parries. I counter, driving my blade toward his chin. His weapon flies toward my exposed chest—
I sweep his legs out from under him, roll him over, and bring my pommel down on the back of his head. The sweet spot. His body jerks.
“I’m going to borrow your horse,” I say. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience this may cause you.”
When I pull my chest from his back, I leave a pool of red in my wake. It might be Killer’s. Or mine.
I approach his horse from behind. She aims a kick at me. I fly out of the way, falling to my knees. The hair on the back of my neck prickles, and I turn in time to see a sword headed for my face. I hit the ground. Roll over. Kick out. The owner falls, and I twist my blade into his chest. A river of crimson trickles down the fuller. Tough up is obscured by red.
I’m okay with that.
I rise and beeline for the mare. I nuzzle her pelt with my nose. Murmur a few words. I don’t know what I’m saying, but I tuck my blade in my armpit and she lets me lower her stirrup. The fingers on my left hand barely get the job done. Tongues of liquid fire shoot up my right shoulder as I lug myself onto her back one-handed, but somehow I mount. I forgot to check if the bridle buckles were fastened. Here’s to hoping the fallen Xobrite was a good equestrian.
“ALPHA PACK!”
I scream it with everything I’ve got, hoping some of them are left. Everywhere I turn, chain-link whirls around gray leather. The battlefield is emptying. There are more fighters on the ground than locked in combat…
I’ve lost hope, when…
“ALPHA PACK RESPONDING!”
The call comes from my left. I steer my horse in that direction. She doesn’t balk. Ten fighters flank me. I search for Taylen, then remember her head was on the ground and I’m wearing her helm. Hot, sour bile surges between my lips, and I empty my stomach on the ground beside my horse. She doesn’t stop charging forward. Bless her.
There’s a fighter to my right. A fighter to my left. My right arm dangles, grabbing loosely at the reins. I’m sure I’m going to fall off, so I squeeze my legs tighter, and the mare breaks into a gallop. I raise my blade and rush forward to meet the wall of enemies before us. I hear a voice—Nestmaster Paadrick? Paadrick. His fighters close in around me.
My blade moves of its own accord. Once. Twice. Three times. Fighters scream. Fighters fall.
I whirl around, blade cocked, searching for another enemy.
The battlefield is still.
Fourteen soldiers—gray leather, lower your sword—circle me. Mangled, open-eyed corpses surround our feet. I wonder how our horses will make it out of the valley without tripping.
“Guardsmen,” Paadrick says softly. “Take a knee.”
My soldiers dismount. Drop their blades. Dip their heads.
I know they’re doing it for me, but I join them on the ground anyway. I swing a leg off the mare and try to grab the saddle horn to steady myself, forgetting my arm is broken. My maimed limb screams. A gurgle forces its way between my lips. I fall. My back hits the ground, stunning me to stillness. When I’m able to move, I rise onto my knees. Warm, scarlet liquid sticks my sweater to my chest…
Bloodstained, someone says.
I think it’s me.