Now Araes prayed that the impending hoard dwindled in numbers. Although a handful of city guards were assigned to the convoy, only two had proper military training. They could fight well enough when it came to petty theft and lesser criminals, but he shuddered at the thought of these men, boys really, facing off with death wielders.
The tallest creature, with heavy limbs outstretched and talons sharpened, lunged for the lieutenant. Araes dodged the attack, watching the death wielder stagger clumsily to the sandy shoreline.
He felt the brush of disturbed air before the second creature could swipe a razor sharp claw along his left cheek. The lieutenant ducked and swung a kick, sending the death wielder sprawling. Before the creature had the opportunity to regain its stance, Araes plunged his silver blade through its chest.
With raging fury, the remaining two creatures chattered their teeth. The closest flared its nostrils and released a groan that paralyzed Araes to the core. Even if these creatures weren’t the fiercest he’d battled in hislifetime, they were the most unsettling. Maybe it was the incessant clicks and croaks that slithered up their throats or the oozing grayish flesh that sent his heart leaping.
Araes shut down the trembling shivers of panic and held his blade in the defensive position. He’d wielded this weapon so many times, it felt like an extension of his own hand. The death wielder, with newfound strength, leapt from its mangled, crooked feet.
A brief moment of shadow passed overhead as it flew through the air, its shredded cloak rustling against the exposed, hollowed ribcage. Araes clenched his core, waiting until the last heartbeat of opportunity to dive out the way. Over his shoulder, the squelch of oozing, rotten flesh impaled on driftwood made his stomach turn. Fucking disgusting.
The creature, now trapped against a jutting log, hissed and shrieked as it flailed and clawed at the gaping wound in its abdomen. Two down.
Araes whirled to face the final creature. This would be an easy battle. Two down and only a mere droplet of stale blood dripped from his blade. The last of the death wielders snapped its unhinged jaw in Araes’s direction. Araes, as stealthily as possible, unearthed a fist sized river rock from the sand at his feet. He smirked at the creature and pummeled it across the river’s edge. It plunged beneath the shallow surface, its impact echoing in the air. The creature twitched and jerked toward the sound source.
Araes felt the prick of anticipation at his throat. Something deep within his chest delighted at the impending kill. He hated that piece of himself, made more prevalent by spilled blood on the battlefield. Innocent lives he upheld with the highest of honor, but these creatures…they were born to cause suffering, made to revel in burning chaos. He didn’t think twice before plunging the sword through their rotting carcasses.
His slow, silent steps were steady in their resolve ashe approached the unsuspecting creature. Before it could catch wind of his scent, Araes sank his blade into its back. The Aquilaean steel cut through flesh like butter. Shame, he had bloodied his weapon in the end. Now he’d have to polish it.
The final death wielder slid from the sword and squelched in the sand. Black sludge oozed from the open wound as its final remnants of life escaped its throat with a croaking growl.
Someone clapped behind him. Araes whirled around to see the autumn king himself traipsing down the trailhead. “That sure was entertaining, Lieutenant. Otto was right in his assessment. You’re a fine warrior.”
Araes wiped the sweat from his brow and mastered his shallow breaths. “Thank you, my king, but there are more coming. These creatures travel in hoards,” he replied, ripping a scrap of the impaled death wielder’s cloak from its body. The carcass jerked with the motion, causing carrion-scented sludge to waterfall from its jaw. Araes sat beside it and wiped his blade clean.
The god nodded, as if already aware of death wielder behavior, and snapped his finger. The thud of multiple bodies dropping to the forest floor echoed from just beyond the opposing riverbank. Clicks and moans of dying creatures filtered through the canopy, sending ravens and spring doves fleeing to the skies.
“That should do it,” the god said, a scruff of amusement edging the corners of his glowing eyes. Araes dipped his chin, feigning respect.
He, in reality, didn’t honor a single thread of this immortal’s being. Tethys tried to suppress the trauma he’d caused with cruel retorts and unbothered expressions, but Araes saw it. He’d seen it the first day their paths crossed.
“Now, before I ask my wife’s version of the story,” Procyon’s irises cooled into menacing embers, “care to explain why she awoke me from a rather enticing dream,soaking wet, and thoroughly exposed?”
The god prowled toward him, malice dripping from each syllable he spoke.
Araes fought the urge to reach for his blade, now sheathed. He realized, suddenly, that Procyon hadn’t just sat idly by as he battled the three death wielders out of sheer amusement. The god stood there, unmoving and invisible in hopes that Araes might slip and fall victim to the ambush.
“My lady wanted to bathe before we packed camp. These three…” he kicked the carcass beside him with a leather boot, “ambushed us while she washed in the river.”
Procyon crossed his arms, his temper flashing with specks of ruby light in his narrowed eyes.
“And did you look upon her as she bathed? My wife is rather beautiful, only a blind man wouldn’t be tempted. You can tell me,” he replied, his voice eerily calm. Araes straightened at the accusation. His fury matched the immortal inferno blazing before him. Procyon may be a god, but Araes wouldn’t submit to the slimy prick for even a second.
“My eyes do not wander across what they aren’t given permission to,” he seethed.
Procyon’s breath caught. Araes supposed he wasn’t used to such defiance. Maybe the god would smite him where he stood. A snap of those greasy fingers, and the lieutenant would cease to exist. It should’ve scared him, should’ve sent him to his knees. And yet, he didn’t waver under Procyon’s flames.
“I’ve executed mortals for lesser defiance than yours,” Procyon replied, stepping a hair’s width closer. Invisible claws brushed against Araes’s neck. A warning to tread lightly.
“And yet, I’ve broken no laws, Your Highness. You asked me two questions. I’ve provided two answers.” Araes raised a brow, lighting the match. Procyon’s pride was drykindling awaiting a flame.
The ground trembled, sending river pebbles tumbling into the water, now glassy and unmoving. Cumulonimbus clouds formed overhead, blocking the peachy pink sunrise until the world was shrouded in quartz light. Araes placed a firm hand on the hilt of his blade and unclipped the sheath’s button.
“Careful, Lieutenant,” Procyon warned, his voice no more than a grumble at the back of his throat. “We don’t want you losing control.”
“I could say the same to you, my king,” he replied through gritted teeth.
Procyon’s nostrils flared as he took another swaggering step toward the lieutenant. Araes tried to rein in the trembling rage now coursing through his system. It wasn’t just the residual high from spilling an enemy’s blood that flooded his vision in streaks of red. No, it was also a simmering hatred toward a male with such arrogance, such skewed morals, that he’d stand idly by and watch his wife fall to the wolves of her own broken mind. The marital vows were meant to honor and protect one’s partner, and yet, Procyon did nothing.
