Blood.
“Yhkon…” She put her palm against the ache, dimly feeling the hot, sticky blood as it coated her hand. The pain was becoming sharper.
Ahead of her he turned, somehow hearing her hoarse voice, and came rushing back. “Talea, you need to help me. I can’t get through that many of them. You need to—”
She couldn’t see his expression very well, but she knew he had noticed the blood soaking her stomach. Even without seeing, she could sense his dread. His voice, unsteady, not even swearing like he usually did under stress. “No…no, Talea, no, you’re alright. Come on.” He gripped her arms tightly, keeping her upright when her knees buckled. “You’re going to be alright. Listen to me. Talea!”
His voice was losing its clarity, fading into the incessant hum of noise like everything else, drowned out by the pulsing in her ears. Rising above the hum was Ahjul’s choked cry for help.
“No!” Yhkon dragged her a few steps. “I can’t…he…you have to, to stop them, Talea you have to…”
With his help she raised trembling hands. There was a soft glow in her veins, but she didn’t feel the usual energy waiting to be used, the inner warmth and chill on her skin. Even before she released it she knew it wouldn’t be enough. And it wasn’t. A few lightning bolts that were too small and poorly aimed to make a difference.
Yhkon let her go, running forward. He wouldn’t get there in time. She knew he wouldn’t. He hacked down Kaydorians wildly, yelling as he fought, heedless of danger to himself or the futility of his mission.
The blood and strength seeping from her body allowed one mercy. It weighted her eyelids, drawing her mind toward oblivion. Slumped on the ground, eyes closed, she didn’t see it. But she heard Yhkon scream Ahjul’s name, and she knew it had happened. It was the last thing she knew.
16
Casualties and Candidates
Y hkon finally broke through the Kaydorian forces seconds after Ahjul had fallen with a sword through his chest. He took up position over Ahjul and Terindi’s motionless bodies and fought any man dumb enough to attack him. His whole body was hot, heart racing, vision tinted with red. He knew he was abandoning strategy and cunning and instead letting anger drive his blade. It didn’t matter. Anger was more powerful. It got the job done.
At some point he became the only person still standing upon the knoll. The other Wardens and wards were still battling throughout the valley, and in the back of his mind he recognized that they would win, sooner or later. With his help it could be sooner, but he didn’t join them. He dropped his sword and knelt beside Ahjul.
Ahjul’s chest was still heaving with ragged, feeble breaths. His eyes opened and landed on Yhkon. They were full of pain, and fear. “Y-Yhkon?”
He was supposed to offer comfort and hope. To say it was all going to be alright, that he could pull through, just hang on. What was the point, when none of it was true? “I’m here,” was all he said.
Ahjul coughed, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “Terindi…”
Yhkon moved to Terindi’s side, putting his fingers to her throat while scanning her body. She had lost a lot of blood, but her pulse was steady—she would recover. “She’s alright.”
“I’m n-not…ready…” His face contorted in a grimace, entire body clenching with a spasm of pain. “Terindi… my fami—” he broke into another coughing fit, groaning at the pain but unable to stop. Yhkon took Ahjul’s hand, holding as tightly as he dared. This was a fellow warrior that had shown him respect and friendship he had never deserved. If Grrake were there, he would be doing all he could to give the young man some peace before he died.
Grrake was not there. Yhkon cleared his throat, knowing he had to do his best. All he felt was exhaustion, and a dull anger, but for Ahjul he knew he had to find some light. “You fought bravely. You hear me? You’ve…you’re twice the man any of us are. No one could have fought better, Ahjul. You did well.”
Ahjul tried to say something. Nothing would come, as he coughed on more blood. His grip on Yhkon’s hand tightened. A convulsion made his muscles rigid, before they slackened. “I can’t...please...don’t—” His breath caught, head lulling to the side, eyes fixing on nothing.
Those eyes that had always been so full of light and kindness, were now dim.
Yhkon put Ahjul’s hand down and stood. He lingered a moment, not quite able to pull himself away. Somehow he knew this would be the last time he could have the emptiness. That the next time he allowed himself to feel anything, it would be so much harder than nothing, than the hollow weariness.
It was Talea that made him leave. When he returned to where she’d collapsed, she was unconscious. Alive. But she wouldn’t be for long. The sword had gone straight through her stomach, there was no surviving that. Except…
No. False hope would only make it worse. None of the “light” he’d faked for Ahjul was real. Real was Ahjul dead, Talea dying. Ahjul, one of the kindest, purest men he knew, one of his only friends, was dead, he who was the farthest from deserving it. Talea, his ward, the leader of the Eight…Narone was supposed to protect her. She was His chosen leader, as ridiculous as it was. Well, all the more proof of what Yhkon already knew: Narone was not the loving, involved Creator He was claimed to be.
Talea. Just fifteen years old, too young to be thrust into this violence and bloodshed, or the burdensome life she was supposed to be destined for. She was dying, and there was no use denying it.
Still, he tore off a strip from his shirt and wrapped it around her torso as a temporary bandage, to at least slow the bleeding. Part of him wanted to stay. To take her in his arms, to pretend she wasn’t dying and do all he could to save her, to wait for her to wake up.
The other part of him wanted to kill every Kaydorian still standing.
The emptiness was not lasting as long as he’d hoped. Rage was already taking its place. At least that rage would accomplish something, it might keep the number of casualties to only Ahjul and Talea. So he picked up his sword, located the densest cluster of Kaydorians, and attacked.
He almost always felt a thrill in combat. This, however, was something else. It was the same wildness he’d felt when Talea had been captured by the Asyjgon. And when he’d lost Tessa. It was consuming, numbing his mind to remorse or fear, numbing his body to pain or fatigue, fueling his movements and making every kill a satisfaction. His senses were heightened. A pulsing heat burned under his skin. Every sensation—his muscles contracting, the sharp clatter of iron, drafts of air from his movements, the resistance of armor and flesh against his blade, the fear or intensity on the faces of his opponents—all of it was vivid, distinct.
It was a feeling he knew, and the Kaydorians didn’t stand a chance against it.
It ended too quickly. He thrust his final victim aside, all satisfaction lost now that the fight was over. The driving anger didn’t abate. It only grew stronger, without an outlet to escape from. Because now…now he couldn’t avoid the reality of Ahjul’s lifeless body a stone’s throw away, of the life slowly draining from Talea’s.
When a hand landed on his shoulder he whirled, sword ready to hack it off, stopping at the last second as he caught sight of Grrake’s nervous eyes. “It’s alright, it’s me. They’re all taken care of. Tarol’s leg is badly injured, everyone’s hurt in some way, but they’ll make it. Where’s—”