Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 35: Tendrils of Darkness

Music is The Party Revenge from the Beyond: Two Souls OST. Play it!

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"Squire Rutherland!" King Terrell gasps in relief once he registers that an ally has come to his aid.

But I barely hear him over the blood pounding in my head. Sir Isaac. Sir Isaac was stabbed—Sir Isaac, grumpy and caustic and alive just a few moments ago. Now he's bleeding to death.

With a roar of fury, I lunge for Sir Kendrick.

With inhuman speed, he brings Bloodslayer up, meeting my blade with his. He suddenly releases his strength, letting me stumble forwards clumsily, and whips around to knock the hilt into the king's head. King Terrell immediately crumples onto the floor.

No shock ripples throughout me anymore—I'm simply too numb to it. I nearly lost my hold on my State just now, when I allowed emotions to fuel my strength. No more. I must control myself.

My grip on my longsword tightens. It's die fighting or survive fighting now.

A vision of Sir Kendrick—Diomedes racing to slash my arm flashes in my mind. I dodge; the tip of his sword grazes my tunics, slashing through the layers. My opponent moves with frightening speed. Visions hit me with rapid succession; I rely on them far more than I rely on my own skills, instincts twisting and contorting my body to evade strikes. With annoyance, it dawns upon me that the attacks are not meant to kill. They're meant to incapacitate.

My longsword is flicked out of my grip.

I leap backwards, automatically transferring Miraterciel to my right hand. Diomedes hisses at the sight of it. Why hadn't I used it earlier?

A groan escape Sir Isaac's lips. I feel a wave of coolness emanating in the air, making me shiver. Abner doesn't have to explain to me that it is the cold of a dying person. I have to get to my trainer now, before it's far too late.

"Out of ideas, Constantine?" The necromancer's mocking tone grates my nerves. I continue to study his movements; he isn't making a single move to cast some form of ancient, unknown spell, fortunately. Why hasn't he done that though? I shake my head furiously. Don't think about it just yet—focus.

"Far from it." A jolt of sadistic glee shoots through me when I abruptly gather shadows in my hand and fling it at him. Tendrils of darkness wrap around him like thick, unrelenting vines.

"Think of the shadows as an extension of a necromancer's soul," says Abner. "When Pst. Zorah had first given her favoured the gift of Death, she'd somehow imbued part of their souls into the darkness itself, her territory of dominance. This is why necromancers are always more powerful in the presence of shadows, not just the night itself."

"So the shadows are like an extended limb?" I muse.

"Yes. But still...Your abilities as Deathslayer do not explain why you have such control over the shadows. Either there's some strange magic at work here, or you're truly an exceptionally talented necromancer."

A conversation I had with Abner a few days before automatically plays in my mind while I watch a mere sweep of my hand induce a full wave of shadows. Clearly Diomedes didn't expect it—his confident expression wavers slightly, unable to react to my attack for the moment.

I take the brief moment of surprise to sprint to Sir Isaac's side. He'd been stabbed through the abdomen. Without any second thoughts, I rip King Terrell's cloak from his back and wrap it around the knight's torso, making sure that the improvised bandage is firm enough to slow the bleeding. Pst. Galen, let that be enough for now. At least Sir Isaac's guts aren't spilling out.