The corrupted’s eyes filled with delight, and Killian felt the pull. He’d been healed more times than he cared to count, and while that felt like warmth and life, this was cold. This was death.
Fight.
The instinct that had been marked into his soul surged, and he smashed the bridge of his helmet against the man’s face.
The corrupted hissed and pulled back, and Killian reached between them, finding the hilt of his sword. He pulled, carving the blade through the man’s guts until he let go of Killian’s throat. He punched the man in the face, knocking him back enough that Killian was able to get out from under him.
He clambered on hands and heels, trying to regain his feet when a massive shadow charged. His horse appeared out of the darkness, bleeding and angry, and his hooves slammed against the corrupted’s back and neck until one steel-shod hoof crushed the man’s skull.
“Easy.” Killian caught hold of the reins. The horse was too injured to ride, so he added, “Stay out of trouble.” Then he broke into a run across the field.
His soldiers had held their own better than he’d expected, but they were still being pressed hard. One of the corrupted knelt over a dying Mudamorian woman, his expression filled with ecstasy as he drained her life. Killian took off his head, then threw himself into the battle.
The enemy was flowing over the top of the wall. The Mudamorians and Gamdeshians struggled together to push them back, but there were too many. And he knew on the far side there were hundreds clambering their way up the slope, standing on one another’s shoulders or pulling themselves up with rope or ladder. And beyond, thousands more ready to follow.
“Retreat to the wall,” he shouted, and those who could ran in the direction of the fortification.
Killian cut down two more men, then followed at a sprint. But it was done. The wall was breached, his soldiers fighting on the ground rather than trying to hold them back to the far side. They were falling, dying, and the walls were shaking and swaying with the press of too many men. He fought alongside them, exhaustion slowing his arm, the blood of a dozen injuries slicking his skin as he tried to hold the line even as it fell back, step by step, the battle moving past the wall and into the field.
Just kill as many as you can, he ordered himself. Every minute you slow them down counts.
But it was over. He knew it was over. Victory had never been in the cards.
Then a low rumble filled the air, the ground trembling.
“What is that?” someone screamed, but then a horn sounded over the field. Not the deep bellow of the Derin army, but a high, clear call that made Killian’s heart skip.
“Split the line,” he roared. “Move to the flanks!”
Sonia echoed the order and their soldiers scrambled to comply, the enemy flooding through the gap they’d formed even as the rumble turned to thunder.
Then cavalry burst from the tree line, hundreds of soldiers on horses caparisoned with Falorn black and green. They spread across the field, a wall of horseflesh and lances and steel, and at their head galloped a woman in shining armor.
Dareena’s eyes latched on Killian and she lifted one hand in salute. Then she slapped her visor into place and lowered her lance. “For Mudamora!” she shouted over the noise. “In the name of the Six, let’s drive these bastards back!”
Mudamorians and Gamdeshians alike echoed her call, rallying as the Falorn cavalry hurtled toward the enemy.
The Derin soldiers wavered, then broke, racing back toward the sagging wall.
But it was too late.
The collision was deafening, lances breaking, the screams of men and horses filling the air as the Derin soldiers tried to retreat through the gap, clambering overtop only to be picked off by Falorn archers. When they tried running down the length of the wall to escape into the trees, Killian lifted his blade. “Show them no mercy!” he roared; then he led the charge back into the fray.
64
KILLIAN
“Wake up, you idiot!”
Killian felt the impact of a palm against his cheek, and he jerked upright, nearly colliding with the sturdy old woman leaning over him. Blinking, he stared at her before recognition set in. “Glenda?”
“That’s Councilor Glenda, to you, Lord Calorian,” she snapped, straightening her white robes.
Pushing up onto one elbow, he took in the interior of the unfamiliar tent.