The night outside was chaos—a cacophony of steel clashing, flesh tearing, and anguished screams. Inside the cart, the air was thick with tension, the acrid stench of blood and smoke seeping through the cracks in the wooden walls.
Through the narrow slits in the cart's battered sides, Leson could glimpse the devastation unfolding outside. The once serene village now burned under the pale moonlight, its streets littered with bodies. Some were O’Connor soldiers, their proud crests tarnished by dirt and blood, while others were villagers—men, women, and children—slaughtered without mercy.
The assassins moved among the wreckage like shadows, their twin axes glinting with fresh blood. Dressed in dark leather armor that seemed to drink in the light, they struck with chilling precision and ferocity. These were not ordinary brigands or mercenaries; they were predators, reveling in the massacre they unleashed.
One soldier, a broad-shouldered man bearing the O’Connor crest on his dented chest plate, let out a desperate battle cry. His sword arced toward one of the assassins, but the enemy sidestepped with an almost inhuman grace. The assassin’s curved axe flashed once, slicing deep into the soldier’s exposed neck. A torrent of blood sprayed out as the man crumpled to the ground, his life extinguished in an instant.
Another soldier, his armor cracked and smeared with grime, stumbled backward, clutching a gaping wound across his abdomen. His trembling hands tried futilely to hold his entrails in place as an assassin approached. There was no hesitation. The axe came down with a sickening crunch, splitting the soldier’s skull.
Inside the cart, Leson sat trembling, his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. He tried to block out the horrifying sights and sounds outside, but it was impossible. Every scream, every clash of steel, every gurgled death rattle felt like a hammer blow against his fragile courage.
Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
“Leson.”
His mother’s voice cut through the storm of fear. Queen Elara O’Connor knelt before him, her emerald eyes fixed on his. Though her hands trembled, her voice was steady, commanding attention.
“Look at me, my love,” she said, cupping his face with blood-smeared hands. “Breathe. Focus on me. You are safe here. Do you understand?”
Tears welled up in Leson’s eyes as he nodded, though his breathing remained ragged. He wanted to believe her, but the chaos outside felt unstoppable, all-consuming.
Elara’s gaze softened as she brushed his hair back, the way she had since he was a child. “You are stronger than you know. Do not let fear win, my son. Not now.”
Before he could respond, a deafening crash shook the cart. Something massive slammed into its side, splintering the wooden frame. Leson was thrown against the opposite wall, his head striking the rough wood with a sharp thud.
Pain blossomed in his side as he looked down to see a jagged shard of wood embedded deep into his abdomen. Blood seeped from the wound, warm and sticky against his trembling hands.
“Leson!” Elara’s scream pierced through his haze of pain.
Through blurred vision, he saw her crawling toward him. Her forehead bled from a gash, and her once-pristine gown was streaked with blood and grime. Despite her injuries, she reached for him, desperation written across her pale features.
“Stay with me, Leson!” she pleaded, her voice breaking as she pressed her hands against his wound.
The sounds of slaughter outside grew louder, the assassins’ guttural roars mingling with the dying cries of the O’Connor soldiers. Through the shattered cart door, Leson caught glimpses of the carnage—his people cut down like wheat before the scythe.
The cart groaned under another impact, tipping precariously to one side. Leson’s vision darkened, his mother’s frantic cries fading into silence. The last thing he saw was her emerald eyes, wide with terror and love, before unconsciousness claimed him.