Across the moor, a black shape emerged through the lightning and mist.
It wore no armor. Its chest was bare, striped with bright red blood, dirt, and bruises. Battered.
Perhaps the terrestrial battle with Kadiatu actually had weakened the mighty king.
The figure stalked towards Ruenen, each step deliberate, as it bent down and ran its fingers through a pile of ash. The ash of a body that had once stood there. The figure then wiped the ash across his chest in a slow, purposeful move.
Disgust wormed through Ruenen, fueling his anger, emboldening him.
Dark magic had claimed more of the enemy king since Ruenen had previously seen him in the dungeon. His arms were fully black from tip to shoulder, as was his abdomen. Ruenen could see the toxic magic, a necrotic poison, inching upwards.
The king held out his broadsword, continuing his steady stride. Ruenen felt each step reverberate through the earth. Powerful. Commanding. Confident.
Rayghast, King of Tacorn, crossed over the dirt road bisecting Tacorn and Nevandia, and finally met Ruenen on the battlefield.
Chapter 33
Marai
This was power.
This was vengeance.
Magic flowed from her hands in steady, controlled chaos. Lightning scorched everything it touched. It turned rows of soldiers to dust. Battalions and regiments were annihilated. Marai wiped one third of Rayghast’s remaining army off the chess board.
I must kill as many as I can. Marai urged her magic onwards. Nevandia had been utterly shattered, its paltry cavalry and infantry torn apart. Around four hundred men remained of the original three thousand. Although Varana had turned-tail, Tacorn still had the numbers to win.
More, more!
The bloodstone ring shimmered; its curse finally being fulfilled after centuries of waiting. Marai, Meallán’s progeny, had unleashed its revenge. The ring’s magic shuddered through her arms, giving itself over to her cause. The curse, a different, darker kind of magic, strained against her direction. It wanted to take every human soul on the field, including Ruenen.
Human prince, it said into her bones as it surged towards him, target acquired.
Marai bullied the curse’s power away from Ruenen and the Nevandians. She had to stay in control. Marai channeled the magic into her own, using every drop. Her well emptied. The ring grew silent on her finger, all but a cinder of power remained, now nothing more than a jasper stone and a symbol.
Marai’s body shook as she continued tugging at the depleted reservoir within.
You’ve reached the limit.
But there were at least two thousand Tacorn soldiers still on the field. Another thousand in reserve. If Marai stopped now, Tacorn would regroup. Varana might return. Nevandia had nothing left to defend itself.
Her magic shuddered out. Lightning snapped and crackled as it retreated within her. She collapsed to all fours in the grass, gasping for breath as if she’d run a hundred leagues.
In the settling dust and aftermath of her magic, the world quieted.
She raised her head. Through the smoldering ash across the moor, Tacorn’s reserves were already taking advantage of the reprieve. They charged forward, passing their retreating comrades. As Marai predicted, Tacorn’s lines were reforming. They’d perform one final charge and win it all. Then they’d storm the walls of Kellesar, and spare no innocent Nevandian.
Marai forced herself to her feet. There was no one coming to save them. It was all up to her, but she had nothing left to give.
Marai . . . Marai.
A beckoning finger of smoke flickered across her brain. Tendrils of black gossamer flames crept up through the earth like weeds licking at her feet. Marai had never before seen that kind of magic.
Use me, the smoke said.
It was tempting. The magic was there, accessible all around her. She could save Ruenen and her people. She could save Nevandia. All she had to do was let dark magic in . . . then it could finish Tacorn and Rayghast forever.
Dip into the darkness, my darling, it purred, a lover’s breath in her ear.
Darkness had always been her candle. Its power didn’t frighten her.
Time to make a choice between your devils and your demons, love, and take the outstretched hand of darkness.
Its allure was strong. Enticing. Great, god-like power at her fingertips.
But then Marai thought of Ruenen, her family, and that intoxicating feeling curdled.
If Marai listened—if she tugged on that power—she’d become no better than Rayghast. She’d taint herself further, create more despicable, unnatural shadow creatures, and then she’d truly be unworthy. Black stains would spread across her body, marking her forever as undeserving and shameful. Marai would never be able to face those she loved ever again, nor herself.
Piss off. She mentally sent the darkness a rude gesture.
Marai gathered herself up, raised her arms, and tugged deep within. Weak strands of lightning sputtered from her fingers. Her well was bone dry, but she kept pulling from within herself. From her life force, Lirr’s seed of glowing energy. Keshel had warned that tapping into this seed would drain her of life entirely, but Marai would use it all if it meant the others would live.
I can buy Nevandia time.
She stumbled sideways. Her body contorted, as if she was shriveling away from the inside out.
Perhaps this was her purpose. The reason Lirr had stayed her hand years ago in that forest near Cleaving Tides. When Marai had once been so ready to end her own life, wondering why she was ever born, Lirr had stopped her. Since then, Marai often pondered why the goddess wanted her to live. Perhaps it was for this moment. Marai was supposed to give her life on this battlefield to ensure Nevandia’s victory. To put Ruenen on the throne so he could make Astye a better place.
