A Soul of Ash and Blood (Blood And Ash Series Book 5)
A Soul of Ash and Blood: Chapter 30

The atmosphere shifted.

I felt it in the air as I walked the Rise after Vikter relieved me. I was already on edge, brimming with unspent energy. Part of it was due to the frustration of it going on the second day of the Maiden being an absolute no-show. Whatever that shit was with the Duke. Her nightmares. Mine. That fucking dead Lord Devries. sᴇaʀᴄh thᴇ FɪndNovᴇl.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

But what caused the small hairs all over my body to rise was something else entirely.

The silence on the Rise was unsettling as I stalked toward the front, the cold breeze catching the godsdamn mantle. Up ahead, I saw a whole damn line of guards staring out over the barren lands. Spotting Pence’s fair head, I went up to where he stood at an archer’s nest, bow in hand. “What’s going…?” I trailed off as my gaze left his pale face and focused beyond the Rise and the steel row of lit torches.

Then, I didn’t need an answer.

I saw it.

The mist.

It was so thick that it nearly obscured the Blood Forest, and it moved under the moonlight, churning and slipping across the ground in a way that was not at all typical.

“Fuck,” I muttered.

“Yeah,” Pence rasped. “The mist was normal, you know? Just a foot or so above the ground, but then it started thickening and moving. It’s already tripled in size in the last three minutes.”

That was undoubtedly not a good sign.

Everyone on the Rise knew that—knew what was in that mist.

The Craven.

I hadn’t seen it get like this here, but it reminded me of the Primal mist that blanketed the Skotos Mountains in the east—the magic of the gods that shielded the Kingdom of Atlantia. And it was all kinds of fucked-up how that magic had somehow become so distorted here. How it protected the monsters the Ascended created.

No one could really answer why the mist behaved this way in Solis. Not even the Elders in Atlantia. But the reason wasn’t the most pressing issue at the moment. The mist had already spread out on both sides as far as the eye could see, and while the distance between the Rise and the mist was about the width and length of the Lower Ward, it was not far enough as I watched tendrils seep out, stretching yards ahead. It was like a collective breath was held on the Rise as the mist reached the standing torches.

The breeze stilled.

But the flames began to flicker and then dance wildly, the fire casting frenzied shadows across the ground. What I wouldn’t give for one of our Atlantian crossbows. They were far superior and did a hell of a lot more damage than the recurve bows. I reached for the hilt of my broadsword.

The middle torch was the first to go out. The rest followed rapidly, plunging the land outside the Rise into utter darkness.

“Light it up!” Lieutenant Smyth’s command cracked the silence.

All down the Rise, guards hurried forward with arrow tips wrapped in tight cloth containing a gunpowder mixture behind the arrowheads. One after another, fire sparked. Then they were released, slicing through the night sky and sharply veering down, slamming into a tinder-filled trench. Flames erupted from the furrow, casting a wide, orangey-red glow across the land and the mist.

Silence fell once more along the Rise as the mist rushed forward. The closer it got, the more solid it became. I squinted as it seeped into the trench and beneath the tinder, crawling above it, smothering the flames within moments of them being lit.

Dark, silvery-moonlit shapes could be seen in the mist. Twisted bodies. The entirety of the mist was filled with them.

“Sound the alarms,” someone shouted from the ground below. “Sound the alarms.”

Horns went off at the four corners of the Rise, signaling the impending attack on the city. More like a siege as I turned and headed for the nearby stairs. Within moments, lights were extinguished all throughout Masadonia as homes and still-open businesses went dark—all except for the Temples—the air going quiet with fear.

Because Craven hordes had breached the cities before, and even if none made it past the Rise, many families would lose loved ones tonight.

As archers were ordered to fire, I heard a distant rumble, the grinding of iron against stone. I cast a glance at the castle. Thick and heavy iron doors were already beginning their descent at every entry point to the stronghold. Everyone inside would be safe—most importantly, the Maiden. She would be behind feet of stone and iron in a few minutes, and Vikter was with her.

“Where are you going?” Pence called as he grabbed a quiver of arrows.

“To fight.”

Knowing what that meant, Pence’s mouth dropped open. “You don’t have to. You’re a Royal Guard. You’re the Maiden’s—”

I cut him off. “I know.” As I reached the stairs, I added, “Stay alive.”

Pence stood dumbfounded as I went down the narrow steps. I couldn’t blame him. No one in their right mind would want to go beyond the Rise on a good day, let alone now, but while the Ascended cowered in their fancy homes, I didn’t fear a Craven’s bite. No Atlantian did. It had no effect on us.

But I was also not of the right mind on most days, because a Craven could still fuck an Atlantian up. They could even kill one if they gained the upper hand.

I didn’t plan on that happening.

Instead, I intended to work out some pent-up aggression, and it looked like I would be able to do just that based on the size of the horde. There was no way the archers would be able to take them all out.

Once on solid ground, I kept to the shadows of the Rise as I unclasped the mantle. Nearing the gatehouse, I tossed it onto one of the benches and quickly joined the group of about a hundred guards who waited at the Rise gates.

I didn’t look at any of them as arrows whizzed through the air. I had no need to see the faces of those who wouldn’t return. Many black flags would be raised tomorrow.

Seconds ticked into minutes as the anxiety of those waiting around me ramped up. I reached down at my sides and unhooked the short swords, their slightly curved blades glistening like blood in the moonlight. Beside me, a guard trembled as he murmured a prayer under his breath.

“We are the only ones standing between the failure of the Rise,” Commander Jansen yelled from above, “and the beasts in the mist who wish to feast upon your flesh and blood. They take us, they take the Rise. And then the city. Will we gladly meet the god Rhain tonight?”

Denial thundered all around me as hilts of swords thumped off shields and chests.

“Then we will defend the Rise and the lives beyond it with our shields, arrows, and swords.” Jansen thrust his blade into the sky. “Go forth and do unto them as they would do unto you and yours, for the gods Theon and Lailah ride at your sides. Split their rotten flesh and soak the ground with their blood.”

In any other situation, I would’ve laughed at Jansen talking of the gods like that, but not now. Not as bloodthirsty roars echoed along the wall.

“Open the gates,” Lieutenant Smyth ordered from down the Rise. “Open!”

Iron creaked and groaned, unlatching. None of the waiting guards spoke as the gap between the gates grew wider. Foot by foot, the land beyond was revealed, and there was nothing but thick, rapidly approaching mist and the bodies within it.

“May the gods be with you!” shouted the Commander. “And may the gods welcome those who come into their embraces as heroes!”

Not a single guard hesitated. No matter how pale their faces were or how badly they’d shaken seconds ago. They ran forward, swords drawn and battle cries splitting the air, headed out into the land just beyond the Rise. As the gates slammed shut behind us, and arrows continued raining down ahead, striking the monsters in the mist, several lines of guards formed. They braced themselves, many who I knew had never seen battle before. Who were likely facing their first Craven.

I waited, eyes trained on the mist—on the forms inside it.

I didn’t have to wait long.

A sound came next. The low, keening wail of the Craven rising in a crescendo that even sent a chill down my spine as the archers released another volley of lit arrows, reigniting the trench.

I slowly stretched my neck from left to right, firming my grip on the swords.

Then they came, pouring out of the mist, their bodies in various states of decomposition. Some were fresh, still mostly dressed in the clothing they wore when they turned, their faces pale. Others had been Craven for a while, their clothing hanging in rags from milky-white bodies, arms and legs as thin as the bones beneath, faces even more sunken and skeletal.

All of their eyes burned crimson.

They flooded the ground and swamped us within seconds, clawing with elongated fingers and nails as sharp as the two sets of jagged fangs. Claws that had left their mark behind on the Maiden. Claws that had dug into my skin.

The horde swallowed the first line of guards, the men driven to the ground in screams and sprays of blood. The second line engaged, and then there was no more waiting. The Craven were everywhere.

It was time to let my monster out.

I shot forward, launching over a fallen guard as I swiped out with the short sword, cleaving the head from the shoulders of a nearby Craven.

Spinning, I brought the other sword up, catching another at the groin and splitting it straight up the middle. Rotten insides spilled, splattering off the ground. The stench of decay and that stale sweetness increased as I jerked back. Another Craven had taken the spot of the one before me, its clawed hand scraping off the armor of my chest.

Bastard.

Kicking the Craven in the sternum, I knocked it back. Another came at me from the side. I swung the sword across its neck as I twisted, bringing my other blade around as other guards fought, holding their ground. Some fell, and not even I, as fast as I was, could reach them before the Craven smothered them. There were no more wild volleys of arrows, but skilled, purposeful shots. Sharpened arrowheads that flew between guards, striking the Craven.

But for those of us out beyond the Rise, there was no skill in this kind of battle. No art. There was no thinking, and in a way, it was kind of a release. It was all about moving. Staying on your feet. Keeping out of reach. It was hacking and cleaving my way through what seemed like an endless wave of dry, gray flesh. I chopped off limbs. Tore skin open. Dark, oily ichor flowed, joining the brighter, redder blood spilling across the packed ground. There was no way to tell how many I took down. A dozen. Two? Three? Still, it got my heart and blood pumping.

It silenced my mind.

I spun, slamming my elbow into a Craven’s face, feeling the bones cave in as I snapped forward, kicking another off a fallen guard. A mortal brought his broadsword down on the Craven, a flash of white snagging my attention. My head jerked up just as an arrow whizzed past me, slamming into the skull of a Craven sneaking up on a guard.

A Royal Guard.

Vikter.

He stood several feet away, his cheeks splattered in blood as he turned to the Rise. There was this moment—a brief one—where I knew I could strike now and take him out, wound him enough that a Craven would quickly finish him off. It was necessary because then he wouldn’t be around when it came time for me to take the Maiden out of the city. This was my chance. A perfect one. My fingers twitched around the hilt of a sword. No one would know. No one would suspect a thing.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t even know why.

Vikter turned back around and spotted me almost instantly. Our gazes locked for a heartbeat, and it was as if we both realized the same thing in that instant.

If he was out here, and so was I, that meant…

Motherfucker, Vikter mouthed.

“Shit.” I spun, sheathing one sword.

I bolted over the slippery, body-clogged crowd. The Maiden was safely tucked away in the castle, where no Craven could reach her, but that didn’t mean she was safe.

Especially since she was locked away with the Ascended, and even though she was important to them, I didn’t trust a single one.

Grabbing the half-torn tunic of a Craven, I tossed it to the ground and brought the bloodstone sword down, straight through its chest. Cursing, I withdrew the blade and pressed on. I didn’t like leaving the fight, not when a decent number of the horde was still standing, but the Maiden was unguarded, and knowing my luck…

Near the foot of the Rise, a guard drew his blade free of a Craven’s chest. The man stumbled back, lifting his sword arm. The skin of his hand was a mangled mess.

He’d been bitten.

The guard turned, and in the chaos of the battle, his wide gaze collided with mine. I didn’t recognize him. Had no idea who he was, but I knew he understood what was coming for him now. One bite. It was all it took. His jaw set in determination.

The man dropped his sword and withdrew the dagger attached to his hip. I knew immediately what he was about to do. He didn’t hesitate. Not for a damn second, and he couldn’t if he hoped to finish this. The bite would make it impossible in minutes.

The mortal guard showed more honor in that moment than most were capable of—more than the Ascended ever deserved.

He cut his own throat.

Fuck.

I looked away. The quickness it required to be successful? The bravery to do that for what was basically the greater good?

Fuck.

At the gates, I looked up. “Commander!” I shouted, catching a Craven with an uppercut of my sword, splitting the bastard in two.

Jansen whipped around, looking down. The way his jaw hardened, I knew he wasn’t pleased to see me—the only free Prince of his kingdom—outside the Rise, but he would have to suck it up.

“Open the gate!” he yelled.

Stepping over the fallen Craven, I hurried forward and squeezed through the minuscule opening. I didn’t waste time with being checked out, I just ran to the nearest steps and climbed the Rise. It was the quickest way to get back to the castle. Jansen shot me a look as I reached the top. Hiding a smile, I took off down the wall, passing an empty battlement and then another, nearing the portion of the Rise that hadn’t been manned earlier. There simply weren’t enough skilled archers to fill each—

Something caught my attention. I slid to a quiet stop and turned. My eyes narrowed. One of the nests was no longer empty, but that wasn’t what had stopped me. Frowning, I crept back and peered inside. At first, I wasn’t sure what I was looking at.

Someone knelt in the archer’s nest, hidden behind the stone ledge. Someone who was cloaked as they pulled the bowstring back, releasing an arrow, firing at a Craven approaching the top of the Rise.

I dragged in a deep breath, scenting the air. I smelled the decay of blood and Craven on me, but there was also a distinctively fresh, sweet scent that belonged to only—

The godsdamn Maiden.

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