“Then perhaps you should have reconsidered attacking a fire god with his own element,” Lucius laughed, waving his hands through the air. In an instant, every flame they had went out, plunging the army into absolute darkness. The cavalry horses whinnied in alarm, echoing the panic that gripped the human army.
David was dismayed to learn Lucius had managed to revive his powers, knowing that he had to move quickly, for the armed men would not stand for long. He found Danulf rows ahead and sent him the clearest message he could muster, hoping their once telepathic channel was still open. I must go now before it’s too late.
“Oh, sweet Radu, do not retreat quite yet,” Lucius called down, good naturedly. “If I set you all ablaze—which, rest assured, I can do quite easily—where would the fun be? I must give historians a good tale to write in their books. Come in, let us have a proper fight.”
On his command, the chains holding back the drawbridge released, lowering with clamorous exertion before landing with an echoing thud. All was quiet before hundreds of armored nemorti appeared from the shadows.
“Attack!” the general cried.
Go, now. He heard Danulf’s voice clear in his head.
The battle had begun.
Pandemonium ensued. A maelstrom of violence consumed the outer courtyard of the castle, the groans of dying men reverberating off its stone walls, the smell of mortal and immortal blood thick in the air.
David’s eyes burned, a gruesome concoction of blood and sweat dripping down his body. He’d removed most of his armor, annoyed by the way it limited his movement, and remembered the dormant warrior inside, unleashing him without restraint. He tore through Lucius’s nemorti swiftly and with ease, his muscles singing in recognition as they responded effortlessly to the call. It was hard for him to remain grounded, nearly losing himself to exhilaration he hadn’t felt in many years. It helped that nemorti provoked no guilt in him, for their ended lives were necessary for the good of all.
David wiped his brow as he paused to reassess his surroundings, bringing back a smear of jet black on his hand. He was not far from the castle, the bulk of the soldiers on the ground, ensuring that he could enter the Hunters’ gates without resistance.
The clank of metal cracking against metal rang in his ears as he pushed through the bodies towards it, dodging swords that sliced off appendages and axes severing heads. The nemorti who died by silver weapons were lucky to explode into clouds of dust, while the rest groaned pitifully on the ground, their bodies unable to replenish the loss of so much blood nor regrow their severed limbs. He took pity on those directly in his path, knowing they had no choice in becoming what they were and beheading them swiftly with his sword so they could die quickly and rest in peace.
He hadn’t seen Danulf nor Radu since the battle began, the horde becoming harder to push through, even as he cleaned up the fallen bodies. He began to speculate whether he could leap to the towers without drawing attention to himself when a nemorti blocked his path, hissing with its teeth exposed. David plunged his sword into its heart without hesitation, pulling the blade out in a spray of ink.
The dead creature’s dust sprinkled the human remains beneath him as David took a moment to ascertain who had suffered the greatest loss of men. He struggled to differentiate between the blood drinkers who fought at their side and those loyal to Lucius, the copious amount of spilled blood obscuring any discerning marks.
He turned his attention back upwards, catching the familiar sight of Prince Radu, who had been tossed from his horse and was now cornered by a group of nemorti. David ran forward and impaled them swiftly with his sword. Radu nodded his thanks, adjusted his helmet, and disappeared once more into the battling assemblage.
David narrowly avoided another collision as he continued to press on, taking out several more creatures along the way. He caught an advancing spear out of the corner of his eye, grabbing the pointed end with his fist and inverting it to the owner’s demise.
Finally, he saw Danulf up ahead, spinning his axes with ease, connecting with the necks and severing the arteries of the dozens of nemorti who tried to arrest his barbaric, but artful killing. He noticed David’s approach as he took out the two creatures who flanked him by extending out his axes in a perfect display of murderous ambidextrousness. “I thought you were headed towards the castle,” he called out over the clamor of swords.
“I am headed there now,” David responded, ridding his sword free of creature gore with a flick of his wrist.
“We are losing men quickly. We need to find a better way to kill them.” Danulf warned him as he took a moment to catch his breath. He had also chosen to fight free of iron, grime and blood covering his bare, tattooed chest.
David felt a cold drop on his shoulder and looked up to see storm clouds had collected above them. Fat droplets of icy rain began to expel from their glutted reserves, turning the earth to mud. The soldiers began to slip and swerve as they struggled to keep their footing. Danulf was right, the rain washed away enough gore for David to see that the majority of those still standing wore Lucius’s dragon on their armored chests. If he was correct in his assumptions, they were down at least a hundred men.
He looked up at the castle, still unable to push himself through. The grim faces of the dead preserved on iron spikes stared blankly back at him. He had an idea. Gathering his strength, he lifted one of the stakes out of the ground, letting it fall flat onto the muddy earth. He whispered an old Druid verse of reverence before gingerly removing the corpse from its picket. Danulf appeared from behind him, grunting his approval. He shouted at the men closest to them to follow suit.
Soon, their army had dismantled most of the castle’s barricade and began driving the clean pikes into the necks of Lucius’s warriors, some two or three at a time, the force popping their heads from their bodies or immobilizing them until they could be killed by silver tipped blades. Danulf disappeared once more as the scuffle intensified. David gripped his own spike tightly in both hands and charged, driving through bodies until at last, he reached the edge of the moat. The churning waters that funneled out of the Arges reminded him of the Underworld, the freezing rain feeding it as it pummeled around the bend of the castle and down the mountainous ravine. The moat had been one of Lucius’s more clever ideas, for no human enemy could possibly hope to cross such a death trap.
He removed his armor, securing his sword across his back and took a deep breath, picturing Anubis and Libraean standing before him. “Whatever power you have given me, I call upon it now,” he told the heavens, and then he took a deep breath, and dove into the choppy abyss.
CHAPTER 9
THE DRAGON SLAYER
Although the blood in his veins ran cold, the water swirling around him was so frigid that it still hit like pin pricks against his skin. He was glad to discover he was strong enough to fight the current, battling against the river demons as he kicked himself forward towards the castle wall.
He struggled to keep his head above the waves, the deluge of icy water from above making it difficult to see. The water stank of refuse, its pungent odor choking him as he continued to propel himself forward until he nearly collided headfirst into the wall. Fortunately, the stones that made up the castle were unevenly laid, making it easy for him to grip and hoist himself up out of the thrashing channel. He scaled the tower without difficulty, grateful that the splattering rain had not yet turned to ice. He found the closest window and threw himself into it, landing on the castle floor with a thud, broken glass following closely behind him.
He paused to catch his breath, picking the embedded particles out of his skin. The keep was eerily quiet in comparison to the war raging outside, the steady drip of condensation the only sound echoing throughout its halls.
“Hekate? Morrigan?” David’s voice shattered the silence as he stood. He shook the water from his hair, the droplets that dampened his skin catching the musty castle air. He checked to make sure Radu’s sword was still in place, relieved to discover that it had stayed with him through his watery journey and hasty ascent.
Outside the castle, the battle racket raised in intensity, letting him know that his idea to use the upended spikes had proven itself worthwhile. He quickened his pace, still unsure how much longer he had before Lucius discovered he was still alive, climbing the winding staircase to Morgana’s quarters two steps at a time.
The keep was neglected in her mental absence, roses withered in their vases, a thin film of dust settled on her hanging collection of avian bones. He followed the path to her bedchambers, his anxiety building at what he might find. His senses had instinctively heightened in response, but his nose picked up nothing unusual, only the scent of Morgana, her telltale clash of rustic cedarwood and lavender still lingering throughout the halls.
He reached her door, steadying his nerves as he opened it.
A woman in a stained nightdress stood at the open window, the frosty evening air lifting her tattered clothing and threatening to extinguish the low burning candles that surrounded her.
The room was painted red, a pool of it darkening the center of the bed. Soaked linens lay in heaps at the floor, and David found himself once again piecing together what tragic event had transpired in Morgana's bedroom. The acetic bite of human blood dominated the air, but there was something more, something distinctly pungent. He inhaled sharply, realizing it was henbane. He knew instantly—Hekate was dead.
Morgana turned from the window, her face a malnourished mask of sunken eyes and dry lips. David did not hesitate, rushing to where she stood and gathering her against his chest. “I am too late,” he managed in a confusing blend of disappointment and relief.
Morgana was relaxed in his arms, the dual entity apparently being controlled by her stronger half. But when he pulled her away to peer into her eyes, they were tarnished brown without a hint of Morrigan’s telltale blue.
“Hekate was unable to complete the task,” she explained, observing his bewilderment. “Delicia’s mind has long gone, her body an empty shell. I possessed it to care for my niece as she unexpectedly gave birth. You can rest assured that you speak now to the Morrigan.”
David felt relieved now without the nag of guilt, grateful that she was still in control. Before he could help himself, he grabbed her face, kissing her ardently on the mouth. He was disheartened to discover that she tasted of decay, a hint that her time with him would be brief.
“So, you remember me now?” she asked softly, responding to the kiss.
