Sweat covered my skin in a sticky sheen from the heat of the sky as we raced toward the battle raging in southern Deucena.
The final battle.
The Second Sundering.
It all seemed like a sort of fever dream whenever the Bondsmith or Faylinn spoke of it—like it would never really come to pass.
But it was all too real now. The tangy scent of blood hung in the heavy air as ash twirled from the sky. Cries of pain and war echoed in the slowly lightening night. Though I was unsure that daylight would make this scene any better.
If this wasn’t the end of the world, then I wasn’t sure I wanted to see it.
“Orders?” Ilyas asked softly, his shoulder brushing mine.
We’d ditched the horses roughly a mile ago, not wanting to subject innocent animals to the torment they’d suffer either inadvertently or purposefully.
They were happy grazing by a creek at the very start of the hills where the battle raged. Hopefully they’d be safe.
I didn’t hold the same hope for any of us.
“Fan out!” I called, uncaring if my voice reached other, less savory ears. Hopefully they were too distracted by Rohak’s and Torin’s forces to bother watching the southern border.
There’s a lot hinging on a few misplaced hopes, I thought with a grimace.
The remaining Mages and Vessels from Vespera heeded my call in an instant, spreading into a thin line.
I wrinkled my nose at the lack of force we brought; most of the army wasalready with Rohak. Hopefully we could provide some reprieve, some freshness, before we were all swept up in the fight.
There it is again. That fragile hope.
“Ready your magic and Vessels with blades! We don’t know what we’re going to encounter there. First order is to protect the General and Torin, if they’re still alive”—I swallowed past a sudden lump—“then to attack Solace’s forces. If you are to die, do it well. And take as many of those bastards with you as you can.”
Emotion clogged the back of my throat and stung my eyes as the remainder of Vespera’s fighting force rallied behind my words with a savage cry.
As one, we moved forward, climbing over small embankments until we could see the battlefield below.
It was chaos incarnate.
Blood soaked the ground, turning the normally dry dirt to thick mud. The just-greening grass was trampled beneath thousands of boots. Bodies lay in various states of death, all while soldiers climbed atop corpses to find a better angle of attack.
My stomach roiled and protested everything that I was seeing, but I couldn’t stop, couldn’t let myself succumb to that disgust.
I canvased the area, searching for any signs of the General and Torin.
At first, I thought they were lost, consumed by the endless stream of Solace’s forces and innate greed.
But, there, a few hundred yards north, was a small circle of bodies. Men and women fell to their deaths as swords struck tender flesh. Two men stood back-to-back, their blades a silver blur as they dodged and struck at their opponents.
“There!” I called, hope bolstering me once more. “There they are!” I shouted.
Cries of “The General! To the General!” echoed through the night, drawing more than one look our way.
“For Elyria!” I shouted as I ran down the hill, Ilyas’ large hand clutched in mine.
“For Rohak,” I whispered.
Soon, my soldiers eclipsed me, instantly flinging magic in the air as they attacked the surprised enemy forces with a reckless abandon that should have been schooled out of them at the Academy.
Now, though, I couldn’t fault their exuberance, their lust for blood and revenge.
