Page 36 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
‘Your eyes,’ she rasped, deflecting an incoming blow with a wince.
‘What?’ he half shouted over the pandemonium, dodging a swipe of barbarous talons, his own fury surging.
‘Your eyes, Warsword. They’ve gone all dark and veiny, like you’re —’ She let out a cry as a cord of darkness struck her side, sending her flying.
Heart seizing, Talemir threw himself after her, but Drue was already dragging herself back to her feet, panting, her eyes bright with pain. ‘Did you do this?’ she croaked, gesturing around wildly. ‘Did you lure them here?’
‘Does it look like I’m on their side to you?’ he yelled, beyond incredulous, beyond furious. He was not fighting tooth and nail to have something he couldn’t control thrown back in his face.
Drue staggered towards them. ‘Then rein the wraith side in,’ she spat.
And suddenly he felt exactly what she referred to: the simmering of power beneath his skin, the tightness around his eyes, the burning between his shoulder blades where his wings threatened to burst through and the itch at his fingertips where talons longed to break free.
The darkness was trying to lure him, but Talemir Starling refused to let it take him. Not this time.
Taking a breath, he centred himself and then launched once more into the fray of battle. He became one not with the shadows, but with the blades that sang in his hands as they carved through the monsters before him.
Blood rained, shrieks cut through the roar of the howling storm, and still they fought on. Talemir thrust one sword through the side of another beast, twisting the blade roughly before dragging it across the creature’s abdomen, its guts spilling from its withered flesh. Looping his other sword around, he hacked off an arm; the wraith lurched for him, snarling in his face, its breath sour and rancid.
A different scream pierced the night. A scream of inner agony from Drue. It was the same sound he’d heard ripped from Wilder’s throat during the ultimate battle for Naarva, when Malik had been —
Talemir spun on his heels, nearly slipping in the blood coating the stone floor as he searched for her among the bedlam.
Drue was pinned to the wall by a wraith, and he surged for her.
‘No!’ she cried. ‘To Adrienne!’ She managed to free her hand, pointing frantically to the other side of the room.
A wraith stood looming over the half-conscious general, its talons poised above her breast.
‘Save Adrienne!’ Drue sobbed.
Talemir faltered, just for a second, as he sized up the wraith upon Drue first, and then the one at Adrienne’s chest. Instinct roared at him to lunge for Drue, but that was not what she wanted. She wanted him to save Adrienne.
And so he did as the ranger bid, no matter how much it pained him.
He sprinted towards the general, launching himself at the wraith above her and tackling it bodily to the ground, the force of the impact vibrating up his bones as they hit the stone.
He unsheathed his dagger from his boot and dragged it viciously across the creature’s throat, hot blood spraying, before plunging the blade into its chest, digging its heart out messily, flesh tearing apart at his hands. When the organ was cut from the body, Talemir leapt to his feet and flung himself towards Drue —
But she was upright and alive, her sword hanging loose at her side as she gasped for air, covered in black muck. She pointed to the broken windows.
‘The last two,’ she managed between ragged breaths. ‘The last two fled.’
Slowly, in a daze, Talemir surveyed the surrounding carnage. It was as gory as any battlefield he’d seen, worse, even, because it was contained to such a small area. Coltan held Baledor under the arms, keeping him in a sitting position, the older man bleeding profusely from the head. Raw red marks marred his exposed skin, likely where the darkness had lashed him. Several of the other rangers were also in various wounded states around the room, while Adrienne… She had recovered herself and was now crouched over Wilder by the door.
Talemir’s throat constricted. He rushed towards them.
Adrienne had her hand beneath Wilder’s head, trying to help him sit up from where he lay in a pool of blood on the stone floor.
‘Wilder,’ Talemir murmured, his voice raw.
His protégé wheezed. ‘Just a scratch, Tal. It’s this fucking armour.’
Wilder had passed the Great Rite after the fall of Delmira, where the Warsword armour had been made for centuries. His was a poor imitation of the previous craftsmanship and he had been complaining about its gaping fit for months. Talemir’s gaze fell to the dark wet patch at Wilder’s middle. Slowly, he lifted the soaked fabric from his friend’s stomach.
His own stomach bottomed out at the horrific sight. The wound was deep, a single, ragged slice that spanned from Wilder’s ribs through his abdomen, blood pulsing from it. A wraith’s festering talon had carved through flesh, tissue and muscle, splitting Wilder apart.
Talemir swallowed the bile rising in his throat.
