Page 131 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

They were shockingly well-prepared for us. It was as if he knew we were coming.

The Pythora King was known to be isolated and paranoid, keeping his castle closed to all but very few select followers. He relied on the cliffs and his neighboring city-states to shield him from invaders, and didn’t keep a heavy force of warriors at the castle itself. But something must have changed recently, or maybe he had been bracing for Atrius’s potential retaliation, because there was an entire damned army here. A small army, yes, but it was enough to catch us off-guard coming straight from the cliffs, and they were charging at us before we had even caught our breath.

How they’d known we were here that quickly, I couldn’t fathom.

I didn’t have time to think about it.

At the approaching battle cries, Atrius’s warriors were on their feet immediately, rallying as if they weren’t already starving and injured and exhausted. Atrius roared a command in Obitraen, and we charged, meeting the Pythora King’s men with blades out and teeth bared.

Immediately, the field devolved into chaos.

Atrius’s men were outnumbered, but they were also far more skilled than these Pythora-afflicted soldiers. Blades clashed, blood spurted, voices roared as steel met steel, Atrius’s men forced to fightthree-to-one. They were everywhere—pouring from the forest, from the barracks to the east and west, from every direction but the Pythora King’s palace itself.

“Go!” Erekkus screamed, single-handedly holding off four soldiers, yanking his sword from one of their throats as he whirled to us. “We’ll hold them.”

He jerked his chin up to the cliff ahead—to the steep upward steps, and the castle perched atop them. His presence reeked of fury, mouth twisted into a bloodthirsty snarl.

Atrius’s lips thinned. We were preoccupied too, fighting through body after body. Though they were cumbersome, they weren’t threatening. Still, I could sense his hesitation—torn between seizing this moment and leaving his men behind.

Tearing his blade from another body, Erekkus edged closer, teeth bared.

“Go make him fucking pay, Atrius,” he said. “We have this.”

Resolve sat heavy in my heart at that, echoing his.

Yes. We’d make him pay.

Atrius’s will hardened, too. His jaw tightened. He gave Erekkus a firm nod, and a quick clap on the shoulder that might as well have been a tear-soaked promise.

Then he turned to me. He nodded to the castle.

“How many?”

I couldn’t tell. Not this far away, and certainly not surrounded by this many souls.

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly.

“Too many?”

The smirk had already started at the corner of his lip.

I felt it at the corner of mine, too.

It didn’t matter that we were exhausted, injured, weak. We were this close to the Pythora King’s throat.

“Never,” I said.

Atrius casually took down another charging soldier, then grabbed my hand.

“Good,” he said, and I held him tight, drew a thread tight betweenus and the stairs, and together, we slipped through it, ready to face whatever lay on the other side.

Up here,it was too quiet. Too still.

Atrius and I had to fight our way across the fields between my thread steps, swiftly distributing death as we cut through the hordes. Between our efficient fighting and my use of the threads, we made it past the onslaught quickly, disappearing into the trees beyond and re-emerging on the steps that led up the palace.

The contrast between here and the world below was chilling. We were barely steps away, and yet here it was so quiet, the only sound the echoes of the battle we had left behind. We were ready, blades still poised, waiting for someone to chase us—waiting for someone to fling themselves from the doors of the castle.

It didn’t happen. I didn’t sense a soul.

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