“You’ve just delayed the inevitable,” Sentar spat. “Nothing will stop me from crushing your race, and everyone you hold dear will feed my vats. I will once again get the essence I need, and it will be bought with the blood of all those humans seething in the city below. You think you’ve dealt me a blow? Then think again. Before I release you, I want to hear you beg for your life.”
The grip on Ella’s throat relaxed slightly. Ella gasped in a breath of air, filling her lungs as her chest heaved.
Ella met Sentar’s dead eyes with her own stare. “We’ll stop you,” she said. She looked down from the height. She was dead anyway. “Let me go.”
“With pleasure,” Sentar Scythran said.
He released his hand from Ella’s neck, and she fell.
Ella’s limbs twisted, clawing at the air as she rolled over and over, plummeting through the sky.
The great fall happened in heartbeats. Ella’s life flashed in front of her eyes. She saw the face of Brandon Goodwin, then Lady Katherine, and then her brother’s awkward movements from the bruises he’d taken at the Pens. Ilathor’s face swam in front of her, and Shani’s, and she remembered the mad charge into Tlaxor, capital of Petrya. The devastated world of Shar was more of a blur than a memory, but one face came to dominate her vision, clear above all. Ella saw Killian.
As the water came up to meet her Ella gasped a series of activation sequences. Her dress hardened around her, and rather than fiery heat, she projected a cushion of air.
Ella smashed into the water, directly in the midst of the cargo ship’s remains.
She immediately sank, her speed so great that even the pocket of air couldn’t prevent her plunging deep into the sea. Something inside her body broke with a crack.
Ella’s eyes shot open with the pain. Her vision became a series of flickering images. The light cast by the shining runes of her dress revealed the murky sea. Wooden beams and bits of metal and rope drifted downward. Sinking barrels were everywhere, many of them intact.
Many weren’t.
Black liquid clouded the depths, the essence meeting the salted seawater and rushing past in the swirls and currents.
In the midst of it all, Ella felt her vision close in, and she fell into darkness.
51
The army rushing through Tingara’s west passed tall, three-legged towers glowing with purple light, and though the single color didn’t offer any information, it told every soldier that Seranthia was under attack. It gave them hope that the city still held.
Then, still a week from Seranthia, the allied army came across a battlefield. This was a place where the dead had fought the dead, and with only broken revenants filling the landscape, even Miro had never seen anything like it. As the creatures hacked at each other, trying to destroy their foes by decapitation or loss of limb, the result was a horror Miro hoped never to see again.
No one wanted to linger, and Miro and Killian kept the slower men moving as they looked for survivors and put down any still twitching.
Miro scanned the endless field of corpses and tried to make sense of what had happened.
“The Akari made a stand here,” he said to Killian. “You can see over there where they fought in a circle that grew ever tighter as their numbers were thinned. They fought to the end. Needless to say, the Akari did not emerge victorious.”
“So the revenants of the Akari are gone, all of them.” Killian said as he scanned the battlefield. “Come on—there’s nothing to see here. We should catch up to the men.”
Miro nodded and opened his mouth to call his personal guard away from the bodies, when he saw a commotion in the distance. A couple of Tingaran legionnaires crouched at the center of a circle of dead Akari warriors, waving their arms to attract attention.
Miro and Killian exchanged glances.
As the two men stepped around the mangled bodies, the corpses became so thick Miro was forced to step on the occasional arm or torso. Finally, the legionnaires made way, and Miro saw a warrior in armor of bleached leather being helped to his feet.
Miro eyes widened as he recognized the huge man, close to seven feet tall, with long white hair and silver thread woven through his forked beard. His eyes were closed, but he stood, and his breathing was strong and even. Blood welled from several places on his chest.
“It’s the Dain,” Miro said.
“Quick, fetch a stretcher!” Killian called.
“I don’t need a stretcher,” the Dain growled, opening his eyes.
“Don’t be a fool,” Miro said.
“No!” the Dain said. “I can walk on my own two feet.” The Dain wobbled, but he drew in a deep breath and straightened. “I’m fine.”
“Dain,” Killian said. “We’re marching hard, and you need attention. I’m ordering you to get seen to.”
“No one gives me orders, lad,” the Dain said. “My apologies,” he corrected, putting a hand to his temple, “Emperor.”
Even among all the carnage, Miro smiled and shook his head. “He’s a tough one,” he said.
Killian’s lips twitched. “Dain, we’re marching for Seranthia at best speed. If you can keep up, you’re welcome to join us. First, however, you’re going to get those wounds looked at. Then you can tell us what happened here.”
“All right, lad,” Dain Barden said.