Page 33 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘Wonderful.’
Warsword and ranger stood side by side at the window, not touching, their elbows resting against the stone sill as they stared out into the darkness. But for the chaos of the storm, there was no sign of life in the inky black canvas of night.
Talemir sighed heavily before he spoke. ‘It was during the last battle of Naarva, a little over six months ago,’ he began, his deep voice laced with regret.
Heart quickening, Drue waited.
‘As you know, Ciraun had fallen prior. I had been in the thick of the fighting there too, but was called back to Thezmarr to brief the Guild Master, to strategise on what else could be done to save Naarva. I was at the fortress there when we received the call for aid from the Warswords still stationed here… The wraiths came from both the north and the south, a far more unified and organised attack than we’d expected from them… I rallied the remaining forces at Thezmarr and we answered our brothers’ call immediately. Within the hour, we set sail from the guild’s port south of the Bloodwoods.’
Drue had heard of that forest: the sea of trees that bled the blood of warrior ancestors long dead. A rush of goosebumps raised the hair on her arms as the words washed over her, but she didn’t interrupt, didn’t ask questions.
Talemir pointed into the storm-ravaged night before them. ‘The battle took place out there, beyond the falls, at the heart of the entire kingdom. They had already taken Ciraun to the north, and your university on the eastern island… They came at us from every direction. It was myself and Malik – Wilder’s brother – leading the defence. But what we faced was less of an attack and more of an extermination. We lost more warriors and Warswords than I could count that day, and still we fought.’
Talemir drank more from his flask, as though the liquor gave him the strength to continue.
‘Malik and I found ourselves caught in the fray – right at the centre of the battle, amid the ruins of an old temple. Your people call it Islaton.’
Drue knew the place. It was not so much a temple as a circular stone monument to the Furies. She had passed it several times in her travels en route to the University of Naarva, both as a noblewoman and, later, as the ranger she was now.
‘Our men were being slaughtered around us. Malik and I fought back to back, carving out as many wraith hearts as we could, throwing the bleeding black masses on the ground and setting them alight for good measure. But they were relentless. All reports had underestimated the size of their swarm…’ He trailed off then, gripping the sill, his knuckles paling. ‘Malik fell first. I only knew because I heard Wilder’s scream from across the battlefield. At the talons of two wraiths, darkness pummelled him against the ruins of the temple. I ran to him, but it was already too late. His head, his face… They were unrecognisable from the —’
Talemir sucked in a sharp breath, his words tumbling out, like they were breaking free. ‘That’s when it got me. The wraith. It was different to the others. It had horns; it was far bigger and its power far greater. Ribbons of shadow lifted me into the air and the rest of the world fell away. Every nightmare I’d ever had swirled before me, coated in darkness and pain… And then that thing… It reached inside my chest.’
His gaze slid to hers, and with that single look, Drue knew he had never told anyone this before.
‘It held my heart,’ he whispered. ‘It held my heart, its talons piercing it and spreading its black curse. I felt every agonising second until Wilder speared it through the back. It was enough to distract the monster. It dropped me and I watched through a haze of shadow as Wilder fought it off. That was the last thing I saw… I woke up tied to my horse on the ride back to the ships, after darkness had claimed Naarva once and for all.’
‘Gods…’ Drue murmured, unable to look the Warsword in the eye.
‘The moment I regained consciousness, I knew something was wrong. But it took weeks to understand what exactly plagued me. The wraith that had me in its clutches was no ordinary grunt of their kind. It was arheguld reaper. A king of wraiths that has the ability to sire more. The fucking thing is still out there somewhere.’ He shuddered.
‘And no one knows?’
‘Besides the Master Alchemist at Thezmarr, only you. Though I think Malik suspects.’
‘Malik? He survived?’
‘Barely. He is much changed since that day. He no longer speaks. He’s completely nonverbal, among other things.’
Drue swallowed the lump in her throat, her warring feelings twisting within. There was real human grief there, and deep, unending trauma. ‘I’m sorry. For what happened to you. And to your friend.’
‘I don’t need your pity.’
‘There’s a difference between pity and empathy, Warsword.’
He bowed his head. ‘I suppose you’re right. So now you know… how a monster is made.’
‘Do you think that’s why they’ve taken our people? To make more wraiths?’
Talemir rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I couldn’t say.’
Drue gazed outward, picturing Islaton and its white stone columns amid the once verdant grasses. She imagined the battle as Talemir had described, blood spattered upon those chalk-coloured ruins.
‘I still smell it sometimes…’ Talemir said, his voice distant. ‘Even all this time later, when I’m back at Thezmarr. I smell that gods-awful burnt hair scent of them. I fucking hate it.’
‘You don’t smell like that,’ Drue heard herself say, the words leaving her without a second thought.
Talemir turned to her, brows raised. ‘No? What a relief.’
