Page 100 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
And he followed.
When he entered, he wished he hadn’t.
Torches lined the walls, but they did nothing to quell the swelling dark. For the space was full. Full of Naarvians: some of them already wraiths, some of them mid-change, all of them chained to the wall like animals. There were those crying out in agony, those snarling, swiping their talons in a manic frenzy, those who hadn’t made it.
Drue gave a strangled cry, skidding to her knees on the damp ground before a smaller creature, the remains of a knitted jumper hanging off him in strips.
‘Gus?’ she sobbed. ‘Gus, I’m here. We came for you —’
Talemir’s instincts kicked in and he coiled his shadows to his will, blocking the entrance to the antechamber for their protection just as Wilder and Adrienne burst in, horror etched on their faces.
For a moment, they were hidden from the monsters beyond, but it didn’t matter, for there were plenty of monsters within. Some, like him, had taken on wraith traits still in their human form – wings, talons, black veins webbing their skin… Others had shifted fully, complete with elongated bodies and leathery, sinewy flesh. But the anatomy didn’t matter. The blank, black stares and the stench told Talemir that they were lost. And those who weren’t would be soon enough.
‘It’s too late,’ Adrienne gasped, scanning the state of her once fellow Naarvians, now creatures of the night.
Drue was clutching the limp half-wraith, rocking him in her arms. He looked younger than Talemir had expected, still very much a child, with an unruly mop of dark curls framing the pallid complexion of his face. With a broken cry, Drue peeled the tattered knit away from his too-thin body, revealing the wings that drooped from his bony back and the talons that darkened his unmoving fingertips. His onyx gaze was vacant and unblinking. Gone.
‘Darkness has claimed them all,’ Wilder murmured in shock, before his eyes found Talemir and widened. He had seen what Talemir had done, what he truly was…
A monster, just like the rest.
Just like the creature who had felled his brother.
Sorrow closed a fist around Talemir’s heart, but he couldn’t fall apart now. He had to be strong for Drue, for all of them. He had to do what was right for the midrealms, for the poor souls whose free will had been taken from them, whose bodies and minds had been cursed with such poison.
With acid on his tongue and daggers in his chest, he sought the nearest vessel of shadow and lifted his blade.
‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Drue’s voice carved through all else.
Talemir couldn't look at her, couldn't bear what he would see written on her face. He looked only to the poor bastard and the uncontrollable onyx ribbons unfurling from him. ‘Ending this.’
‘No.’
But Drue didn’t understand the torture. Drue couldn’t see that there was no hope for these creatures. He had been a Warsword when he was turned, and he was a Warsword now. Through the powers of the Great Rite, he possessed strength and endurance that these poor people did not. He had been trained to fight evil for as long as he could remember, and that had saved him. But there was no saving the Naarvians. They were succumbing to the curse; many already had. The most merciful thing he could do was put them out of their misery, and eliminate them before they were added to the army of darkness outside.
‘It is the right thing to do, Drue…’ He raised his sword.
There was a blur of movement.
Steel sang as swords met.
Drue blocked his blow, placing herself between the Naarvian–wraiths and him. ‘I’ve come all this way,’ she spat, her beautiful, tear-streaked face contorted with rage. ‘And I did not do so only for you to kill them now.’
‘Drue,’ he pleaded. ‘Don’t do this.’
‘You will have to go through me, Talemir.’
Talemir’s grip on his sword did not slacken. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You already have.’ Drue’s silver-lined eyes hardened.
But Talemir couldn’t leave things here, couldn’t allow the wraiths to strengthen their army with people who had once been innocent Naarvians. He would have to disarm Drue and then do what needed to be done.
She would never forgive him for it.
But if he didn’t, he would never forgive himself.
He hit her blade aside, but she stepped to the left, answering with a strike of her own, delivering a precise slice to his bicep.
