Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,156

his heart beating. One of Arduinna’s arrows, so swift and silent that he must look down at his chest to understand what is happening, claims him. His soul does not hover or return to his body, but is caught in the massive updraft of the fire and carried aloft like ashes on the wind.

This happens time and time again, too many for me to count. When enough come ashore at once or are out of the archers’ range, I am there to greet them as they crawl from the wreckage. They are surprised at first, relieved it is a woman, mayhap with a tender heart come to bestow mercy.

And in a way that is true, although the mercy I grant them is not what they are hoping for. I smile at them, always a smile, to acknowledge their valiant struggle, to acknowledge their humanity, to grant them a welcome as death claims them with a swipe of my knife across their throats.

I try also to bless their souls, but the updraft of the fire is so great they are gone before I can utter the words. I like to think they can hear them anyway.

I do not know how long this grisly task takes. It feels as if we have been at it forever, but by the faint glow of the sun behind the thick haze of smoke, it has been no more than a few hours.

A few hours to create such devastation.

A few hours to prevent an enemy force from bringing more war to our land.

As Aeva and I follow the curve of the shore, there is a lull in the chaos, the roar of the ships’ fires finally diminishes somewhat, or mayhap the wind simply shifts, carrying the sound to the far shore instead. But in that lull my heart begins to beat so frantically that I can barely hear the sound of clashing metal, thudding blades, and shouts of men. And then, as if it were the gentle stroke of his finger against my cheek, Maraud’s heart rises above the others. No!

“Aeva!”

We scramble over a rocky outcropping covered with scrub brush. Two ships—untouched by fire—have drifted aground in the shallows. On the shore below is a narrow path from the river bank blocked by Maraud, who is cutting the enemies down as soon as they appear. So why the heartbeat?

“There!” Aeva points.

Slightly upriver, one of their captains has pulled the bedraggled remnants of his army into a decent fighting force. They are approaching from the north, hidden by the trees. And while they are on foot, they are armed, and there are nearly a hundred of them.

“Behind you!” I scream, trying to get their attention over the noise of the fighting.

Led by Jaspar, most of Maraud’s small force wheel their mounts around and charge toward the coming attack. Andry stays back to cover Maraud and Tassin as they try to finish off the encroaching stragglers. I unhook the crossbow I have been carrying all morning.

Aeva reaches for her bow as well. “It will be hard to avoid our own men, so stick to the fringes where the bulk of the enemy are.”

“That shouldn’t be hard,” I mutter, “as there are six times as many of them.” Maraud’s heart is still beating frantically, as are dozens of others. Just inside the trees, the commander motions with his hand. Twenty archers run forward.

“Archers!” I bellow down at the others. As if spurred by my words, Maraud administers two final sweeping blows, then wheels his horse around and rides directly for the bowmen, cutting through them like kindling.

Aeva is far faster and more accurate with her bow, but I manage to pick off close to twenty. Maraud’s force—though small—is a wonder to behold. Maraud stands in his stirrups, his sword swinging first to his left and then to his right. Seeing him thus, it is hard not to squirm with embarrassment, remembering my bold proposition that he spar with me.

Whether because the English are weary, or seasick, or simply disheartened by the turn of events, the fight does not last long, in spite of the uneven numbers.

When it is over, the men begin loading the fallen English back into the skiffs they used to come ashore. As the first boat is filled, pale, slender arms reach out of the water to claim it, but for what, I do not know.

I climb down from the outcropping to find Maraud. He is doubled over, breathing hard, sweat dripping down his face. His