Page 26 of A War of Crowns

“You’re hurt,” Kyn observed with a frown after he had straightened from his crouch. “Let me clean it, at the very least, before we ride out.”

But Aldric shrugged his Son away. “I’m fine,” he insisted. His medic could fuss over him later, after they returned home to Blackrun—their cold fortress in the mist.

And after they buried Beck.

Chapter six

Dane

The Arathian war drums were endless. Night and day, they thrummed like a monstrous heartbeat out in the desert beyond Fort Mysai. Dane wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if they ever stopped. The silence would be maddening.

Assuming he lived long enough to hear silence again.

“Archers! Make ready!” shouted his commanding knight, Sir Conall, and Dane lifted his bow and drew it taut. They were losing the light. Twilight now bled across the sky.

Within the growing darkness, Arath’s army advanced.

“Aim!”

Dane breathed in deep and willed his hands to stop shaking. It had been six months, two weeks, and five days since Arath first launched its midnight attack against Mysai. It had been sixmonths, two weeks, and five days since Elmoria lost control of the outer ring.

And it had been six months, two weeks, and five days since his little brother, Hedley, had gone missing.

No body. No word. No news. There had been nothing. No one could tell him where Hedley had gone. He wasn’t among the dead. He wasn’t among the living. He wasn’t…anywhere.

But Dane knew he was still alive. He knew his little brother was still out there, somewhere.

And the moment they won the war, he was going to find him.

“Fire!”

Dane loosed his arrow and grabbed for another at the same moment the low wail of a horn rumbled in the distance, out in the dunes. The sound vibrated through his bones and stopped his heart for a full beat.

“What is it?” his bunkmate, Thorley, asked. “What do you see?”

Dane scoured the ripple of movement below as the Arathian shield wall broke. More of their number raced through the opening provided. The double lines of enemy soldiers carried something between them. It was hard to see what, given they held their shields over their heads while they advanced.

His eyes widened when he finally realized what it was.

“Ladders!” Dane shouted to his unit. “Ladders incoming!”

“Fire at will! Bring them down!” Sir Conall roared in reply.

Dane’s fingers skimmed across the fletching of what arrows remained in his quiver. Seven.

He had seven arrows left.

For months, they had held Mysai, all thanks to the ingenuity of the ancient Arathian architects who had originally built the fort. And thanks to the unholy magic soaked into the very walls, according to Thorley.

Dane didn’t know about all that, though.

If unholy magic had made the walls of old Mysai, then couldn’t they unmake them? But witchfire didn’t seem to harm it. Not like it had the outermost wall.

And the deep, oil-filled trenches encircling Mysai had burned hot ever since that first night, adding another layer of protection.

The fire wall hadn’t been enough to keep out the witches. But it had kept their soldiers and war elephants at bay.

Until just that morning, when the fire finally died.

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