Page 268 of Of Empires and Dust

Erik, Vaeril, and several others hurled themselves at the Bloodmarked, carving open its thick hide, black smoke pluming from its runes. One swipe of the creature’s obsidian claws opened two chests and a second turned a woman’s face to nothing but mangled bone and blood.

Arcs of lightning streaked from Vaeril’s fingertips, but the Bloodmarked took the strike head-on, strips of flesh tearing free. The runes carved into its skin burned with a bright crimson light, and the beast unleashed a guttural roar. It drove its claws through a soldier’s chest, then sent a plume of fire washing over three more.

Dann sprinted forwards and loosed his arrow into the Bloodmarked’s throat, but it barely flinched, as though the arrow was nothing more than a fly.

As Dann reached for the quiver at his hip – the one that was not there – something crashed into his back, and he slammed into the ground, his head cracking off something solid. Blood streamed into Dann’s eyes and over his lips. He shook his head and wiped his face as he pushed himself up. He’d lost his grip on his bow. He rolled over onto his back just in time to watch the Urak standing over him drive its spear down.

Dann clasped his hands on the weapon, the blade slicing along his palms. He howled in pain, twisting and turning the blade left, forcing it into his shoulder instead of his chest. He swore he could feel the steel scraping bone, peeling open his skin and carving through muscle.

A neigh more akin to a roar rang out, and Drunir slammed into the Urak’s side.

The Urak hit the ground hard, and the horse leapt over Dann, trampling the creature, hooves smashing down over and over. Drunir pulverised the Urak’s chest, splattering Dann’s face with blood and bits of bone.

“Need a hand?” Erik appeared over Dann.

Dann bit back a grunt, the steel tip of the spear pinning him in place. His shoulder screamed in pain, but he didn’t want to give Erik the satisfaction. “Actually, I was thinking of staying here a while,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s quite comfortable.”

“Hmm.” Erik wrapped his hands around the spear shaft and pulled it free.

“Gah!” Dann lurched upwards, the steel slicing him open for a second time, scraping his armour. He took Erik’s hand and pulled himself to his feet. “Could you not have been a little gentler?”

“I can put it back in if you like?”

Drunir leaned forwards and nickered, pressing his muzzle into Dann’s cheek.

“You should have listened to me.” Dann pulled his injured arm close, blood flowing out over the steel of his spaulder, the gashes on his hands flaring in pain.

The horse blew a long breath of warm air over Dann’s face, flapping his lips.

“Fine. Thank you. I don’t know how I’d survive without you.”

A group of the villagers approached, battered and bruised, many limping, others burnt or bleeding. Perhaps fifty in total, three hounds walking between them and eyeing the Angan askance.

A short woman in a torn, blood-stained dress decorated with a spear in her left hand stepped from their number. She didn’t look much older than Dann. Her gaze moved from Dann to one of the elves who rode a Dvalin Angan.

“Thank you.” She planted the butt of her spear into the earth.

“It is our honour. Though I wish we had come sooner.” Dann looked about at the burning village, the slaughtered horses in the street, the butchered sheep in pens. Everything these people had called home was now dead. “The bulk of our army marches behind us. If you wish it, we will escort you west. There is a settlement there on the coast. It is where we are headed.”

“This is all we’ve ever known.” The woman glanced back at the rest of the villagers, her gaze lingering.

“You need not make your choice now,” Vaeril said. “We ride northwest to Camylin, but I will stay and tend to your wounds. When the rest of our forces arrive, you may choose then.”

“You ride to Camylin?” An older man with a thick grey beard moved forwards.

“Aye.” Erik raised a curious eyebrow. “What have you heard?”

“Trader passed through last night, said Camylin had fallen with the setting sun. And that the Uraks move west.”

“West?” Dann’s heart quickened. “You’re sure?”

“Sure as I am the grass is green.”

Dann turned to Vaeril and showed him his sliced palms. “Can you do something about these and my shoulder? I’ll send a messenger back to Tarmon and the others, tell them to quicken their pace, then ride for Camylin.”

By the timeDann dismounted on the plains before Camylin, the sun was at its peak in the sky, its light blending with that of the crimson moon. The first time he had laid eyes on the city, he’d marvelled at the red slate rooves, the enormous walls, and the massive cylindrical towers. It was the first city he’d ever seen, the only time he’d ever gone further than Ölm.

Now those red rooves were shattered and broken, smoke billowing into the sky. Whole sections of the walls had collapsed, and only three towers still stood. It was a ruin.

---