Page 39 of Oath of War
Talena’s wording, especially the mention of drawing ‘enough’ blood, gave me chills.Did she really expect me to kill people?
‘To open the portal, you must saturate it with the blood of the fallen. A sacrifice is required to enter the Dark Mother’s domain.’
‘I’m assuming we aren’t sacrificing a goat?’ I asked, and both Reynard and Valaram had sudden coughing fits, trying to cover their laughter.
‘No, but you can withdraw, and Alaric will face the consequences of his actions. Enough of this, Lady Annika. End this charade and let me call the executioner!’ The empress’ voice surged with authority, a menacing wave of purple energy radiating from her.
‘If you want me to kill your warriors, I’ll do it, but why not let us go? Let bygones be bygones. No matter how painful the past is, his death won’t bring your mate back,’ I told her, but her expression remained stone-cold. She wasn’t backing down.
‘We are not barbarians, my lady,’ Valaram interjected. ‘No one needs to die except the guilty. All you have to do is shed enough blood to activate the portal. Our healers are ready to take care of the wounded.’
I inhaled sharply. He was risking his empress’ wrath to reassure me.
‘Brother, until the trial is complete, you are not to speak another word, or I will charge you with treason,’ Talena snapped. The ambassador bowed slightly, placing a hand on his chest before sending me a radiant smile. I wasn’t sure why, but his unrepentant help made the ordeal feel slightly less dreadful.
My attention shifted to Alaric as he was dragged towards the portal sigil. Two priestesses chained him in place, their ritualistic movements slow and deliberate. When they cut into his forearms, crimson streaks darkened his pale skin, and I gasped, instinctively stepping forward. Valaram shook his head, halting me. Fury burned in my chest as I watched the priestesses trace the finishing runes in his blood.
‘Alright, Your Majesty. Now that you’ve set the board, what’s next?’ My tone dripped with disdain, and Talena’s lips spread into a cruel smile, her cold eyes gleaming as she studied my outrage.
‘Attack!’ she commanded, her voice reverberating across the arena.
Her order hung in the air for a breathless moment before chaos erupted. The thunder of boots made me turn just in time to see a unit of fae warriors charging towards me. I’d expected more tedious rituals, more theatrics. This outright assault caught me completely unprepared.
Spinning to face the oncoming soldiers, I stumbled on the hem of my torn dress, and the fragile fabric ripped, sending me to the ground.
‘Look out!’ Reynard shouted. I cursed up a storm, but my fall saved my life as a spear flew past, embedding itself in the wall being me.
‘Youmotherfucker,’ I gritted through clenched teeth, eyeing the soldier who threw it. I tore away the remaining fabric binding my legs, ignoring how it left my thighs exposed. The arena seemed to shrink as the warriors closed in, armed and relentless.
The situation appeared hopeless. There were at least thirty of them, if not more—all trained warriors, armed to the teeth. Meanwhile, I stood there unarmed and holding the white hem of my dress like a flag of surrender.
Make them bleed,I repeated in my mind, the words becoming a mantra. That was all I had to do—draw blood. My breathing slowed as I entered a hyper-focused state, detaching from fear, anger, and pain. The world around me dulled, narrowing to the singular task ahead.
I noticed that some of my enemies weren’t rushing forward. I felt the telltale shift in the aether; they were casting spells while the others prepared to overwhelm me physically. Their precision, their unity—it was intimidating, but I wouldn’t let it break me.
I looked at the faces of the men rushing towards me, remembering the guard that had accompanied me earlier. None of us had a choice, but it was for Alaric and the future of Dagome. So I would break through the metal and leather armour, smash apart the magical shields protecting them, and make them bleed.
I was no hero. I was simply a woman struggling against the odds to find a sliver of happiness. I didn’t want to leave behind a sea of tears, but I wasn’t afraid of getting my hands dirty.
I slid my foot back, bracing myself as one soldier swung at my chest. Time slowed. I sidestepped, looping a scrap of fabric around his wrist and twisting sharply. His momentum sent himsprawling. Planting my feet, I yanked hard, and a sickening crunch signalled his defeat as he dropped his weapon.
Another soldier lunged at me, but I was quicker, ducking under his blade to seize the hilt. Pain seared my arm as someone else’s blade sliced through my flesh, but I ignored it, not noticing the way the sand hissed when my blood fell onto it, too focused on securing my weapon. When my fingers closed around the handle, a familiar blue fire erupted down its length. Satisfaction flickered as fear lit my opponent’s eyes.
‘That’s right, pretty boy, now run,’ I muttered, slashing his arm and sending a spray of blood into the air. The crowd roared, their cheers drowning out the strange hiss of the sand beneath me.
Surrounded, I released a surge of raw power. It cost me, but it scattered my enemies, giving me precious space to move. I launched into theDance of the Dead, a deadly kata of fluid movements and precise strikes created for battle mages and designed to allow for the most effective use of blade and magic. It’d been Talmund’s specialty and watching him perform his dance always took my breath away.
My former lover had taught me the basics, and after much trial and error, we had choreographed something that suited my unique talents. Speed and agility were my strengths, and I used them to deliver a flurry of shallow cuts, wearing down my opponents.
The stolen sword sang in my hands as I ducked, spun, and struck with relentless precision. My monster-hunting experience paid off as I moved like a shadow, avoiding fatal blows while I defended myself. When the soldiers pressed too close, I unleashed bursts of magic, though each one drained my strength.
The sand continued to hiss like a viper’s pit, and the sigil on the wall shimmered ominously, its chalk lines bleeding into a dark, wet red.
‘You’re fighting for a murderer!’ a soldier snarled as he fell to the ground, clutching his side.
‘I’m fighting for the whole damn realm,’ I panted, my voice rough. A wave of nausea hit me as magic from the royal balcony lashed at my reserves, sapping my energy.
So much for a fair fight.
