The soldier who informed me of Gideon’s disappearance barks orders at his comrades. He says, “My lady.”
He says, “What should we do, my lady?”
He says, “They are approaching. My lady, please!”
“Send any man with a bow to the perimeter,” I reply. “You—” I point to a bearded soldier at the front of the line. “Lead the group around the fallen trees and continue toward the citadel.” We can’t be far. We’ve been traveling the majority of the night. “Orla, hold on.”
“I’m not sure I can hold on any tighter,” she squeaks behind me.
While the group bolts for the citadel, I position Iliana at the side of the road. Pallas’ men are spaced equally apart, their bows drawn, as is mine. A select few, those with swords or daggers, travel with the group ahead.
Now that the storm has passed overhead, the smell of ash hits full force. They are here. They have come.
“Show yourself,” I hiss.
A beast lumbers from the wood.
It is larger than my cottage back at Edgewood. Red, slitted eyes regard me above a squashed mouth stuffed with jagged fangs that drip black fluid.
The soldier to my right cries, “Take your mark.”
The air speaks in whispers, and it coaxes out another of its kin, and another. A stream of darkwalkers emerges to flood the space between our unit and the trees.
“Aim.”
Five, six, seven more. Then eight. Twelve.
“Fire!”
Screeches echo throughout the woods. Those hit by the salt-tipped arrows explode into dripping ichor.
Two men, their backs to one another, fend off three at once. A guard on horseback leaps toward the sidling creature, slicing it from neck to groin. Its flesh splits, and an arrow to the chest finishes it off.
Yet still more come. One melts away, and another materializes to take its place. Nock, draw, release. Head, eye, chest. They fall, and they do not rise.
It’s a struggle to hold Iliana in place. The soldiers fight and fight hard, but the more men we lose, the harder it will be to reach the gates in one piece.
“It’s no use,” I call to Pallas. “We can’t hold them off!”
“Retreat!” Pallas cups one hand against his mouth. “Retreat to the citadel!”
And then the air rings with the sound of thunder, frozen mud flinging from the horses’ hooves. The darkwalkers give chase. They lack keen eyesight, but they’re swift, using the surrounding darkness to aid their camouflage. In the chaos of the stampede, a man trips in his desperate run, cowering beneath the darkwalker looming over him.
Digging my heels into Iliana’s sides, I tighten my thighs around her as she leaps toward the beast’s victim. Drawing back the bowstring, I let the arrow fly.
It lodges in the center of the beast’s chest. Scarlet veins slither through the smoke before it ruptures in a spray of night.
The man gapes as I order him to his feet. “Move!”
On we go, rushing ahead. A break in the trees reveals the citadel, an eruption of black stone against the snow-topped mountain at its back, the promise of salvation.
“Open the gates!” I scream.
They part with a shuddering groan. A surge of man and horseflesh heaves toward the safety of the courtyard.
“Go!” I slap a nearby horse on its haunches, and it hurdles across the threshold. The remainder of the group rushes forward. When the last soldier slips past me, I drive Iliana through the gates. They slam closed with a resounding boom.
35
