“Tell me why you’re here,” I demand. “Unless you want to end up like your friends.”
When the warrior shakes his half-shaved head in refusal, I grip a fistful of his braids and slash the blade across his cheekbone before pressing the tip to his jugular once more. “Answer me, you bastard, or I’ll carve you into pieces right here. Slowly. And I will take pleasure in every agonizing second.”
He’s covered in the blood of the villagers from Hampstead Loch, so any measure of mercy I might’ve possessed before seeing him up close no longer exists. But I need him to talk.
He spits blood on the ground, chin coated with red. “For the king. We’re h-here for the fucking king.”
That much I knew, but there’s more, I know it.
“Then why were you riding toward Penrith?” I tighten my fist in his hair. “What were your orders?”
Again, he hesitates. Mistake.
I slice off his ear with one quick swipe of my knife.
“Godsdamn you!” he screams, trying to fight me off while reaching for his bleeding ear.
I pin his arms to his torso with my knee and lean down until we’re face-to-face. “Fucking tell me what I want to know, or your cock is next. I won’t be as kind to you as I was to your friends.”
Eyes wild and nostrils flaring, he finally answers. “My orders were the same as everyone else's! Raze the valley! Leave none of you weakling witches alive!”
“And theprincegave you those orders?” I growl.
“Of course he did! And General Vexx! I fucking hope you cross his path, and that he makes you pay for this.”
Vexx. I know that name, somehow. And not because he’s a military legend for the Eastlands. He isn’t. It just stings familiar.
“And how did your army get this far?” I shift more of my weight onto his body. “Don’t make me ask twice.”
This is the part that wouldn’t leave my mind as I rode across the valley. The Northland Watch is a greater adversary than the vale’s Witch Walkers. These warriors should never have been able to breach our shores.
The Eastlander starts laughing, an evil expression twisting his smug face. “Wouldn’t you like to know? But I’ll never tell. You’re going to kill me anyway.” He spits in my face. “Fucking Northlander.”
“Guess again,” I say. “Northlanders aren’t quite so violent, now are they?”
Without another word, I slit his throat.
When I start back toward my horse, passing the other dead bodies, the mother from Hampstead Loch watches me in terror. She clutches her weeping son to her breast, shielding his eyes and covering his ears as I told her to do.
I swing up onto Mannus’s back behind her. “I’m sorry you had to witness that. I couldn’t let them live, though.”
Trembling, she nods, and we keep moving.
When we arrive in Penrith just before dusk, I send a young messenger to the other villages in warning, along with a herd of women and children on horseback, including the two who traveled with me. They’re guided by a group of guardians who will hopefully see them safely east to Littledenn.
One group of Witch Walkers still patrols the forest’s edge, singing magick, attempting to keep the veil around Frostwater strong. There’s no sign of the Eastlanders yet, so I command another group to begin forming a protective veil around the village.
As they work, the wardens help everyone else wet their thatch, ready their weapons, and secure positions on rooftops and in windows—anywhere they can holdsomeadvantage. Because of this, Penrith isprepared, though barely, when the Eastlanders breach the boundaries of their lands.
But, unlike I had hoped, their magick is not enough. The Eastlanders’ arrows—and their ruinous crows—somehow penetrate the Witch Walkers’ veil like it isn’t even there.
The people, at the sides of their wardens, must fight.
It’s a valiant effort, one that cuts the enemy’s numbers, and for a while, I have faith we might survive. But soon, I’m riding with a band of villagers toward Littledenn—Eastlanders and that flying flock of death on our heels, Penrith burning in our wake.
As Mannus’s strides eat the ground, I glance over my shoulder. Dusk has fallen to full dark now, but the sky behind us glows, the western horizon aflame. The Eastlanders’ torches are everywhere, scattered across the valley, chasing us like a raging fire through a dry field.
A band of Eastern warriors drifts north toward the wood, sending a chill down my back. Fewer soldiers for us to battle is a good thing, but it means the Witch Walkers protecting the barrier are about to be slaughtered, and Frostwater Wood will be left vulnerable.
