Page 6 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

Weary silence hangs over our small group as we struggle to see the solution. We were in a similar position only days ago, facing a vast army of Ybarisans and a ruthless queen on the other side of the bridge—enemies we could not afford to fight when a far bigger enemy waited in the wings.

We had one considerable advantage then. Well … technically, two, if I include myself.

“Fine. We meet them at the front line and explain it to them,” I say.

Zander snorts. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It is. And they’ll listen.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we have her.” I point to the beast that sits perched on the wall, the sunrise a contrast against her webbed wing and indigo scales.

As if Caindra can hear me, she tips her head back and releases a deafening roar in answer.

Zander’s lip curls with a grim smile. “Let us make our way to meet them, then.”

Gaellar spins on her heels and leads us through the fray.

As Zander predicted, legionaries meet us along the way, coated in blood and gore, but granting me a wave of relief that they all seem accounted for.

Jarek and Drakon clasp each other’s wrists, their wordless greeting laden with meaning. “That must be stemmed.” Jarek points to the gash that stretches across the redhead’s forehead, just below his hairline, painting his face in rivulets of crimson. It’s a head wound that would likely kill any mortal. The legionary will no doubt wear the silver scar with honor once it’s healed, but for now, it’s a ghastly sight.

“It’s nothing—”

“Stop for a moment,” Jarek commands, ignoring Drakon’s protests as he tears a strip of canvas off a nearby tent and fastens it around his forehead.

Drakon winces as Jarek secures it before gesturing to fall in line behind us.

“What?” Jarek snaps when he sees me smiling up at him.

“Nothing. I just remember being accused of mothering recently.”

“He is still weak from his time with the saplings and too stupid to accept that Nulling beasts can kill him,” Jarek mumbles, grimacing as he peers down at his oozing side.

“Speaking of being stupid …” I let my soft chide fade as we trail Zander, who cuts through the soldiers at a punishing pace, Elisaf at his flank. Those able to step out of the way do so, murmurs of “Highness” slipping from their lips. They wear expressions varying from pain to exhaustion to delirium, but all are marked with that same confused, surreal glaze. It must come with their sudden lack of desire for blood. Some of them have lived hundreds of years, driven by the base need.

“Did you notice the ground?” Zander points at the chartreuse blades of grass where trampled weeds and hard soil used to exist, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Has to be the nymphs.”

“I imagine so.”

My thoughts drift to Ulysede. Hudem’s moon has passed, and these mysterious creatures have arrived. What does that mean for us, other than freedom from the blood curse that has plagued these people for two thousand years? We know virtually nothing about them, though Gesine said seer visions labeled them anarchic, happy to collect their pound of flesh in turn for favors.

Has Islor traded one curse for another?

“We will have answers soon enough,” Zander says, as if reading my mind.

“What sort of Nulling beast does that?” Elisaf draws our attention to a body lying in the fresh grass.

I frown as I get a better look at the skull tucked into the helmet. “Whoever it is, it looks like they died years ago.” Bony fingers still grip the pommel of a sword. The soldier is nothing more than a skeleton dressed in metal, the flesh and muscle picked clean.

“There are more like this. I saw at least a dozen that way.” Elisaf points behind him.

“Aye, we saw them too,” Drakon calls out from behind, pressing his hand against his leaking forehead, the canvas soaked. “But we did not see what felled them.”

Zander’s scowl is deep as he studies the few creatures lying around us for a long moment. “There is nothing we can do for these soldiers now, save for giving them a proper burial. We must focus on the living.” He moves on.

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