Page 123 of Shadow & Storms

The wall lifted as one.

‘Down!’ she cried.

As the shield wall hit the bloody ground, lightning rushed across it in a wave, and obliterated the row of monsters in its path.

A triumphant cheer echoed down the line of women warriors, someone even clapping Thea on the back.

‘Someone’s learnt a thing or two,’ Audra said, leaping down from her horse and surveying the piles of monster corpses.

‘Anya’s dead,’ Thea blurted, the words sounding foreign on her tongue. ‘The true Daughter of Darkness was Jasira, Audra. It was Jasira all along —’

Thea didn’t realise how much she was shaking, not until Audra gripped her shoulder and steadied her. ‘We are all daughters of darkness, Thea. We were born into a world of it, a place that would dictate the way in which we defend ourselves, the way we live our lives. No more. That world is no longer. And the next one will be what we make it.’

Audra’s words washed over Thea like a wave, and her former warden gave her a nod before throwing herself back into the fighting.

Thea took a breath, and found her magic waiting, a new surge of energy, a new purpose coursing through her.

And then, with bolts of lightning like spears in her hands, she unleashed herself upon the monsters.

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

WILDER

Lightning blazed across the battleground, and Thea brought wraiths and howlers to their knees. In his peripheral vision, Wilder watched her. She was power incarnate, a tempest personified, a Warsword of the highest calibre, and gods, he loved her.

When all this was over, he would tell her. He would tell her a thousand times over and then a thousand times more. He’d ask her to be his wife, traditions be damned.

But there was no time for that now. He thrust his blade into another howler, fighting the fatigue that had long ago latched onto his bones. They had been fighting for hours. Were it not for the billowing darkness in the sky, he might have wondered if dawn had come and gone.

He faltered. The darkness was amassing at the cliffs beyond the fortress, rising into the sky, seeming to flourish from a point near Thezmarr’s border…

‘Tal!’ Wilder shouted, fighting his way towards his former mentor. ‘Tal!’

Talemir looked around madly before he clapped eyes on Wilder motioning to the gathering shadows on the horizon.

‘Can you and Dratos scout it?’ Wilder called out, ramming the pommel of his sword into a howler’s nose before slicing his second blade across its gut, rotten intestines spilling out.

With a whistle, Talemir signalled to Dratos across the battlefield.

‘Feel free to take out as many wraiths as possible on the way,’ Wilder added, as the two shadow-touched warriors spread their wings and launched themselves skyward.

Not wasting another moment, Wilder forged a path through the fighting to the entrance of the fortress. Monsters were still spilling from within, and he meant to put a stop to it. He left a trail of corpses in his wake as he headed to the Great Hall, before stopping in his tracks.

It was a husk.

At the head of the hall stood the Three Furies – imposing stone carvings of the three mighty weapons brandished by the original Warswords. Anchored to the ground, the sculptures reached up to the ceiling, where the hilts pierced through the rafters and into the night sky. Only now, they were wrapped in slithering shadows. And where crackling fires had once blazed in the hearths of the hall and tables had seated great warriors, there was a raging whirlpool of darkness. With shadows rippling from the thick stone pavers, a portal yawned wide, monsters pouring forth from its depths.

What had Kipp called the hall? The heart of their operation?

‘Fuck,’ Wilder muttered.

‘Hawthorne!’

He whirled around to see the strategist in question at the doorway.

‘Get out of here,’ Kipp panted. ‘I’ve got it covered!’

Wilder was already moving towards him. ‘What do you mean?’

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