Daine stood at the bottom of the slope, watching as Taelsin and Donal met in an embrace that was anything but restrained.
The Bloodspires rose above the pair like careless gods, their peaks piercing the sky, dark clefts and ridges etched by time and weather. Shadows pooled in the deep crevices, casting an eerie stillness across their stone faces as they seemed to stare down on the reunion. The terrain all around them was unforgiving, littered with loose stones and scraggly underbrush that clawed at the feet of those moving down the incline.
The refugee train’s final passage through the mountains had been anything but smooth.
From higher up the slope - above and around the erstwhile Mayor and his friend - scattered figures continued to scramble down in desperate flight, stumbling and slipping on the rocky ground. It was as if they were fleeing some unspeakable horror lurking just out of sight, the fear visible in each hurried step, each glance cast over their shoulders.
Sensing the approach of something terrible, Daine drew her sword in a slow, heavy movement. She triggered
The horsemen behind her flinched at her gesture, a ripple of unease passing through them. She glanced over her shoulder at Captain Grigor. “Something is coming. Be prepared to stand with us or flee behind your walls.” Daine took a step away from them, moving up the mountainside, but then paused and turned around. “These people have been through much. I would consider it a personal favour should you allow the small folk sanctuary.”
Grigor paced his horse back and forward. “My orders are clear . . .”
Daine raised her sword, its tip aimed toward the distant figure of Eliud, who was surrounded by a pulsing aura of purple energy. The crackling energy gathered around him in waves as he poured his power into the injured, calming and supporting the worst of them.
Nearby, Genoes stood at his side, mirroring Eliud’s gestures with surprising accuracy, his own energy flickering as he attempted to channel similar abilities to help. Daine watched, her heart stirring with something close to awe. By the Goddess, she thought, the potential in this boy is staggering.
“You know who that is, sir?” she asked.
“The . . . the Duskstrider,” Grigor stammered.
“If a favour owed by me is not enough for Mayor Talsoon—” Daine bit back the bitterness rising in her voice. When, exactly, had her word ceased to carry weight in this world? “—then perhaps he would be wise to consider staying on Eliud Vila’s good side. Especially after he’s already seen fit to fire upon him without provocation.”
Grigor turned in his saddle, barking orders to one of the horsemen behind him, who spun his mount and galloped back toward the city gates. Grigor met Daine’s gaze, and she couldn’t help but respect the resolve she saw there—the iron steadiness in his eyes, despite the impossible position he found himself in.
She knew him to be a good man, but at this moment, he was caught between his master’s orders and the presence of several legendary warriors. It was a precarious place to be, and Daine didn’t envy the weight bearing down on him.
“Should the Mayor be willing to accept these . . . people into Velasir, I will escort them personally. However, until then . . . ”
Daine nodded and turned her gaze up the slope, watching as the refugees slowly made their way down. There couldn’t be more than a few hundred left now. What had they endured in the crossing? She and Donal had done their best to clear a safe path through the mountain men and Skuggaseiðr.
But then the Goddess had intervened, pulling them away mid-battle with the MyrkrÞræll, leaving their task unfinished.
A heaviness settled in her chest as she took in the weary figures stumbling forward, the gaps in their numbers stark against the harsh landscape. And where were the rest of the soldiers? So many had been left to struggle through without her protection – succour she had faithfully promised – forced to face the dangers that lurked along the trail alone.
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These people had paid a terrible cost.
Amidst this frantic descent, Taelsin and Donal’s reunion was – bizarrely – an oasis of calm. Taelsin’s surprise was written all over his face, lingering on the hardened lines of Donal’s transformed figure. The stark shift in his friend’s bearing was both startling and somehow appropriate. Yet Donal, too, looked stricken, his eyes flicking over Taelsin’s haggard features, noting the exhaustion settled deep in his face and posture.
The two men clung to each other, openly weeping, their murmured words lost in the noise of chaos around them. Daine glanced away, feeling like an intruder on a moment too raw, too painfully honest for her to witness, turning instead to what was coming from the top of the mountainside.
The last figures emerged at the top of the narrow pass, silhouetted against the bleak light—Degralk and several of the King’s men she recognised from Swinford. Cattle among them.
They were fighting something following behind them with complete determination, each step a calculated retreat against a relentless tide of mountain men. Their shoulders pressed tightly against the sheer rock walls, exploiting every inch of the confined pas. Daine nodded approvingly; they had turned the narrow pathway into a shield that kept the far larger force at bay, denying the frenzied, bestial attackers any room to encircle them.
But now, the path was widening as they descended, spreading out into the exposed hillside below.
Degralk raised his arm, halting his men. “We hold this line!” he barked, and as he spoke, a shimmer of his activated Skill rippled down the length of his pike, reinforcing it with all the resilience he possessed. His mauled soldiers moved into position without a word, their faces set, understanding the gravity of their stand. Each man shifted his weight, anchoring himself with practised precision, shoulders pressed tight behind shields, pikes angled forward with lethal intent.
They formed an impenetrable wall, the last cork in the bottle, the sole thing keeping a flood of mountain men from spilling out onto the hill below and slaughtering the retreating refugees.
Degralk’s men dug their feet into the rocky ground, bodies rigid and pikes lowered, the long, sharpened tips creating a patch of deadly steel pointed toward the enemy.
As she sprinted up the hill, Daine took in the fierce, disciplined stand her: the mountain men surged forward in a wave, yet the line—against all odds—held its ground. Each soldier wielded their pike with controlled precision, keeping their weapons low and steady, thrusting with deadly force to maintain the gap. The length of the pikes created a formidable barrier, stabbing and driving the attackers back before they could close the distance, their charge stalled.
The narrow walls of the Bloodspires rose at their sides, reinforcing the line’s position, eliminating the threat of being flanked. This constricted passage worked as a natural fortress, amplifying the soldiers’ defence as they braced their shoulders and angled their weapons to turn the charging horde into a wall of halted bodies. Each thrust drove back a potential breach, every motion honed for maximum effect, the entire formation working as one seamless unit, unyielding in the face of overwhelming odds.
The mountain men found themselves pressed against an immovable wall, forced into bottlenecked attacks, unable to break through or flank. Degralk’s soldiers absorbed each wave, pikes angled downward to take advantage of the enemy’s momentum, the forward ranks bracing the rear, leveraging each hit into a solid line of force. They turned the narrow passage into a gauntlet of death, refusing to yield even an inch.
And they were still going to be overwhelmed at any moment.
“Donal, with me,” Daine shouted as she approached. “Talesin, you need to get your people behind Velasir’s walls. There’s a Captain Grigor down there. I’ll leave negotiations in your hands, sir.”
Donal followed Daine’s lead and joined her charge up the hill, leaving Taelsin behind as he manifested his twin axes. “Looks like hot work,” he said, voice emotionless.
Eliud had noticed the commotion and was racing to join them, leaving Genoes behind to continue healing the refugees. Josul made to follow the Pendragon, but Eliud ordered the dog back to protect the boy. The mage joined Daine and Donal just as they reached Degralk. By the flurry of arrows – a veritable hail of death - that came from behind them, Kirstin had found a position from which to add her own support.
Degralk stood at the centre of the line, radiating with a raw, power—whatever trials he’d faced on the journey had levelled-up his pike Skill into something formidable. He didn’t turn to acknowledge them as they arrived, his focus razor-sharp on the advancing horde. “They caught up with us this morning,” he said flatly, his voice carrying over the din. “It’s been bloody murder ever since.”
Daine pushed forward, taking position beside him, her blade cutting down a giant mountain man with a swift cut. At the same time, Eliud raised his hands, clapping them together with a resonant boom that unleashed a tempest up the narrow pass. The swirling wind howled, catching the charging mob off-guard, hurling bodies back with spine-snapping force, granting the defenders a precious moment to breathe.
Daine scanned the line, counting the few soldiers still standing. “This all of you?” she asked, eyes hard. “Where’s the General?”
Degralk answered with a single word: “MyrkrÞræll.”
Daine did not have a moment to consider the repercussions there. The respite Eliud had earned them ended as quickly as it had come. The mountain men surged forward again, pouring into the pass with renewed ferocity.
The defenders tightened their grips of their weapons and the combat resumed, each swing and thrust a battle to hold the line just a little longer.