Kira’s blade shrieked as she yanked it from its sheath. She strode away from me, calling out orders.
The Skathe had evolved since they’d first slipped through whatever crack in the veil had allowed them into our world. Sixteen years ago, when my father died, they’d been little more than a few scattered, mindless beasts drawn to magical signatures like a pack to cornered prey. In the past few years, they’d not only grown in number, but they’d also started showing intelligence. Strategy. They’d learned to hunt us more efficiently.
No one knew how they’d originally breached the veil between our worlds. The strongest theory was magical corruption, a wound in the fabric of reality that had festered and spread like rot.
One of my younger soldiers, who’d remained nearby as my guard, spat in the grass. “Damn Skathe hit so fast the poor people didn’t even have time to grab weapons.”
I studied the patterns in the dirt, the way buildings had been torn apart rather than burned. The Skathe fed on magical energy. They’d gorged themselves on the village’s power before slamming through the homes to find those who’d hidden. It wasn’t surprising the place had ignited. All it would take was one torch knocked from the wall before flames would consume one closely built building after another.
Kira divided the soldiers with sharp commands, her voice cuttingthrough the smoke-tinged air. She was efficient, ruthless, and every bit a commander, which was why I’d elevated her to that position a year ago. As my troops spread out through the ruins, I strode closer to what was left of Myrelle.
Soot soon clung to my armor, my boots, and even my leather clothing. Each step stirred gray powder that had once been homes, lives, dreams. The Skathe had been thorough. Bodies lay twisted in doorways where families had tried to flee. Children’s toys lay scattered among the debris, their bright colors obscene against the scorched devastation.
I stopped and ducked my head inside what remained of Marren’s blacksmith shop. He’d forged my first sword. His wife, Della, had baked honey cakes for my nameday. Their daughter was meant to wear white next spring. Instead, they’ll all burn in the same pyre.
Gone.
I was fifteen when my father died. Fifteen when the crown fell to me along with the responsibility for every life in our kingdom. Sixteen years of war and sixteen years of loss since, and I was no closer to stopping the Skathe advance than I’d been as a green boy playing at being king.
If only I’d found a way to close whatever breach allowed them entry into our world.
I came to a stop near the village well. Cratered bodies lay arranged in a neat row beyond it, the dead my soldiers had gathered. The funeral pyre would burn tall and bright today.
The magic in my blood responded to my grief, flames licking along my fingers.
Growling, I started hauling bodies from buildings and adding them to the pile.
Hours later, we’d found them all.
“We didn’t find any living Skathe,” Kira said from beside me, her voice tight with the same grief slashing through me.
We wouldn’t find any dead either as they turned to ash the moment they died.
“Would’ve loved to send a few back to their maker,” she said.
“Me too.”
While my troops clustered behind and to my sides, I stepped closer to the dead and let my magic loose, shooting flames from my hands to ignite the husks of once-vibrant villagers.
“May this fire carry you to the blessed plains of the fates,” I said softly.
The pyre burned hot and fast, magical fire consuming flesh and bone and the remnants of their clothing with hungry tongues. I stood motionless as it worked, watching faces disappear into smoke and memory. Grief made it hard to breathe. Hard to think. But I didn’t move or look away. I would bear witness to this final passing of my people, my friends.
Every village we lost meant ceding territory to creatures that were spreading like poison through the land. Soon, the wasteland that followed the Skathe would consume this village too. And one day, there’d be nowhere left to retreat, and my people would face extinction because their king hadn’t been strong enough to save them.
The rain started as the last bones crumbled to ashas well asinside a jungle on a different plane from where I stood. I watched them both, this place through my eyes, the other through Gavelle’s.
Droplets hissed on the dying flames while droplets dripped from the lush, lethal vegetation.
I tilted my face toward this gray sky and closed my eyes. Through the connection I shared with Gavelle, I felt him ruffle his feathers and squawk in displeasure. My cinderhawk hated getting wet, preferring the dry heat of our mountain valley over the magical realm where we held the first part of the Rite of Bonds.
Sorry, little one. You’ll have treats when we’re done.
I slipped into his eyes, seeing through his gaze as he perched on a rocky outcropping near a cliff with the yawning mouth of a cave. Rain slicked his feathers, but he endured it with the patience of a predator.
I forced my mind back to the village, to the pyre, to the Skathe threat. One misstep here could cost lives. But I couldn’t ignore her entirely. I’d watch just enough to make sure she survived.
The trials were designed to run without interference. Those who survived would be granted the chance to bond. Those who didn’t…
