“But I don’t need you alive. All I need is your body.” A wild grin stretched over his lips, his pale eyes flashing with menace. He held his hand—the one still clutching her dagger—toward the Roizan. He hadn’t looked at the weapon after he’d removed it. His attention had been too fixated on Cora. Too engrossed in his own wicked plans to question whether Cora had any of her own. Didn’t think to wonder why Cora had stopped fighting him. Why she didn’t flinch or cower as the Roizan leapt upon the rock.
Morkai’s expression shuttered with relief, his free hand still pressed to one of his wounds. A wound that was surely knitting back together at that very moment.
It didn’t matter.
The Roizan’s eyes narrowed on the blade in its master’s hand, a blade forged from a white horn. It opened its salivating maw over Morkai’s arm and snapped its teeth shut. With a cry, Morkai faced his creature, eyes wide with surprise. The Roizan didn’t seem to see Morkai at all, not even as the duke swung out with his free hand, shoving at the beast’s snout, desperate to free himself.
Cora edged the rest of the way toward Teryn and linked her arm through his. Together they scrambled off the rock, tumbling to the root-strewn grass. She looked back at the rock just as the Roizan opened its mouth again, this time snapping its teeth over Morkai's head. Then his body. Blood poured between the Roizan’s teeth as he continued to crunch through flesh and bone. The monster devoured his master, his maker, until there was nothing left that could be called a being at all.
52
Larylis fought, certain that his next breath would be his last. Part of him wasn’t sure he deserved another breath. Not after what he’d done. Not after the choice he was forced to make. One that ended in his father’s death. Still, he swung his blade. Whether he fought a man of flesh or a wraith of mist, every cut conjured visions of father’s ruined neck, his severed head, his lifeless eyes. He saw the pride, the trust, right before Larylis condemned him to die. It didn’t matter that it was what his father had wanted. All that mattered was that his voice had delivered the sentence. His words had driven the blade.
Part of him yearned to quit fighting, but somehow a fire remained kindled deep in his heart. It drove his arms to move when they were too fatigued to feel, planted his feet on the slick mud when all he wanted to do was sink to his knees and weep.
He fought that urge now as he battled a wraith. Their swords clashed again and again. Larylis’ reaction time was getting slower. His weapon heavier in his hand. But that ember still glowed. Still begged him to fight.
The wraith seemed to slow as well. It had already reanimated several times. Each time it reformed, its misty body took longer to condense into a humanoid form. He’d noticed it with other wraiths as well. The longer a wraith fought, and the more times it was felled, the more hampered it would become, as if the act of reanimating was too much work. The will to fight and die over and over too burdensome to bear. Larylis had already seen numerous wraiths wander off the field and disappear. Others simply refused to reanimate.
Larylis parried a particularly lethargic swing and swept his blade through the wraith’s middle. As it disappeared, he took the chance to assess his surroundings. The haze was still heavy where he fought, as a few of the tattooed vine-wielders battled wraiths nearby, sending new plumes of dirt into the air with every root they drew from the ground. He’d been terrified when he’d first seen them, certain they served the mage. But his fears were quickly assuaged. They were fightingagainstthe duke and his men.
Nearby, he spotted Lex facing off against a mace-wielding wraith. The prince had joined the fray with the infantry charge and had fought with alarming tenacity ever since. He heaved and stumbled, but not once did he give up. Larylis wondered if the same persistent fire that kept him on his feet burned within Lex too.
A misty shape drew his attention. The wraith Larylis had been fighting began to reform in front of him, but he slashed through it before it could fully solidify. A strangled cry rang out, pulling his attention to his surroundings once more. It didn’t ring with the same tenor as a yelp of injury or a grunt of strength. It was neither a battle cry nor a shout of vengeance or rage. Instead, it was a long wail of anguish. Terror. He squinted into the haze and saw a soldier fall to his knees and tear off his helm, his posture slumped. He wore the black armor of the duke’s men. His opponent, a soldier from Selay, went in for the kill. The other man held up his hands in surrender, falling on his back.
Another similar wail echoed elsewhere on the field. A man stumbled by, peeling off his plates of armor, eyes bulging as he stared at his surroundings as if seeing them for the first time.
A shiver ran down Larylis’ spine.
He forced his gaze back to the place where his wraith opponent would surely rise.
It didn’t. No matter how long he looked, the wraith didn’t return. He scanned the field around him. More bewildered soldiers stumbled past. Some fell to their opponent’s swords while others cried out to surrender. Still, others continued to fight, unplagued by whatever drove their comrades to confusion.
Larylis had no idea what was going on.
One thing was certain, though.
The wraiths were gone.
* * *
A screechingbellow echoed throughout the valley. Cora watched as the Roizan pressed its snout to the surface of the rock, sniffing, tasting. Then, with another piercing howl, it began to buck and thrash. Cora and Teryn backed farther away from the rock, their moves hampered by their respective injuries. Cora didn’t dare look away from the Roizan as crimson saliva frothed at its lips. It tossed its enormous head and scraped its front hooves over the rock. Howls turned to grunts. Grunts turned to whimpers.
Then it stilled.
The Roizan's head drooped as if suddenly too heavy for its shoulders. Its eyes closed, its hindquarters quavered. With a final tremor, it fell upon the rock with a rumbling thud. Its red skin began to blacken and char, burning everything from its snout to its tail to the ridge of white horns running along its spine. Fiery veins of red began to spiderweb through its charred flesh. The Roizan slowly opened its maw and released a deep moan. With a final breath, the body of the Roizan collapsed into a pile of ash.
Cora watched as a gust of wind stole some of the ash and sent it scattering over the field. Part of her expected the beast to reform, for Morkai to rise from his bloody remains. The longer she watched the more certain she became.
Morkai was gone.
Just as the duke had said, his magic was connected to the Roizan, and the Roizan’s life was bound to his. The duke’s death meant the end of the Roizan. An end to his well of magic. And—hopefully—a severing of Morkai’s control. Without the duke’s numerous glamours being fueled by the Roizan’s magic, those he’d been controlling should now be free.
That was her theory, at least.
Teryn let out a pained gasp. She whirled toward him, his name lurching from her lips. A spike of terror surged through her. He was badly injured and his wound was still bleeding. Thanks to Morkai, he’d already lost far too much blood. He swayed on his feet. She reached out to steady him, wincing at the pain in her leg. Her own injuries could wait. Without a second thought, she retrieved an arrow and slashed the head through the bottom of her cloak. It wasn’t as effective as a knife, but all her blades were still on the rock. The two the Roizan hadn’t eaten, that is.
With frantic fingers, she wrapped the strip of wool around his torso, relieved that the lesion over his ribs wasn’t worse. It was a jagged cut, both from the sword Morkai had struck him with and the armor that had bitten into his skin as a result. It certainly wouldn’t help that the strip of wool she’d bandaged him in was dirty. At least it would slow the bleeding before he could get to a field surgeon.
