Iryana fumbled for her bow and quiver leaning against the pile of spikes beside her row. But she didn’t know what to do either. The dakii met the first line of spikes, leaping over them with great bounds. Most scraped across the sharpened points with angry growls, but some made it across unscathed.
“Get back to the wall!” someone yelled from behind her.
But she saw Pyetar already running—not toward the wall, but toward the line of soldiers that was already breaking.
Everything was moving so fast around her, but she felt frozen in time.
Pyetar held his arm out, and Iryana felt herself focusing on it. Dark magic lengthened from his hand, the color a blend of indigo and charcoal, forming the long beast spear. The three spear tips gleamed, even from that distance.
“Form up!” Pyetar yelled, snapping her out of her daze. “Spears to the line, shields and finishers cover from behind. Archers, get to higher ground and cover us!” His voice cut through the chaos.
Everyone immediately moved to obey his order, even though he was no one’s captain, no one’s commander.
Iryana didn’t think. She climbed onto a dulled spike partially buried in the dirt, lodged her foot into a crack to steady herself, and drew her bow.
A two-horned dakya burst through the line of spears, black pouring down its sides, and launched itself at the soldiers. Pyetar met it midair, dark forged spear driving deep into its chest, holding it long enough for a soldier with a metal-forged warhammer to bash its skull. Another beast made it through, skidding into the nearly set spikes two rows before her. It roared as wood tore into its underbelly, and Iryana finished it with three arrows to the throat.
Pyetar kept barking orders, the soldiers rallying around him. He moved through the fray, repositioning archers, bracing spears, and steadying the line.
Iryana’s arms trembled as she fired again and again, blood roaring in her ears. She looked for the next dakya to aim at, but a horn blast came from the wall, short and sharp, signaling the threat gone. It took a moment for her mind to catch up with her tense arms, for her to lower her bow.
They’d survived it, defended the fort against so many dakii.
She didn’t want to admit it, but if it hadn’t been for Pyetar, she doubted they would have held. She was in a bit of a daze as the soldiers began to drop their stances, release their forged weapons.
The injured were taken to the medics, more soldiers arriving to help haul the bodies of the dakii away. Iryana sat on the lip of one of the trenches, bow resting in her lap, as she looked at the new damage to the rows of spikes.
It would take days to finish the repairs now.
Her arms still shook, though she didn’t want them to. Her chest felt hollow, her throat ragged from breathing so hard. The golden brown hair that had escaped her braid blew wildly around her in the breeze.
Pyetar passed nearby, hands slick with mud, a gash on his forehead already crusted over with dried blood. He slowed, then paused. She didn’t speak.
He made a vague gesture toward the forest. “Could’ve gone worse.”
She huffed, not amused. “Could have.”
Silence.
He kept looking at the trees, as if he could see through them. His jaw shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something but changed his mind.
Finally, Iryana muttered, “Didn’t think you were the type to command soldiers.”
His head turned just a fraction. “Didn’t think you were the type to listen to my orders.”
She shrugged.
“You did well,” he said, as if it grated on him. “How a soldier acts under pressure says a lot.”
A dry laugh almost escaped her, but Iryana reined it in. “Maybe I’m more cut out for this than you think.”
“Maybe.” His face tightened, and he didn’t sound convinced.
She heard the crunch of boots behind them and looked up.
Karvek strode between the trenches, the lack of mud and blood on his polished armor standing out against the other soldiers. His presence was sharp, cutting away the fatigue in her muscles. Iryana straightened immediately. She hadn’t known Karvek was back. Beside her, Pyetar stiffened. Karvek’s eyes swept the wreckage, then landed on Iryana.
“Major,” she greeted, the word rushing out a bit too quickly.
