The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Tryliktas

As the minutes stretched into hours, the fire within her grew colder, replaced by a numbness that settled into her bones. The warmth of the blade in her hand was the only thing keeping her grounded in reality. The rain grew heavier, turning the ground into mud and the air into a mist that clung to her skin.

The boy's head lolled to the side, his breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. Kara knew she was close to breaking him, but she also knew that death was not an option. Not yet. Galion wanted information, and she would get it, no matter the cost.

"Where is he?" she demanded, her voice firm.

And then, finally, a whisper, barely audible above the storm's crescendo. "I will tell you," he rasped, his voice hoarse from the pain. "But you must promise me one thing."

Her hand tightened around her knife's hilt. "What could you possibly offer that I would consider?"

"Kill me swiftly," he begged, his eyes beseeching. "Do not let them have their fun with me."

Her hand tightened around the knife, the cold metal a stark contrast to the heat of her anger. "Tell me what I need to know," she hissed, "and I will grant you a swift death."

The room grew still, the only sound the incessant drumming of the rain. He took a deep, shuddering breath, and then the words began to spill from his lips, each one a secret that could change the course of the war.

Yezreel's eyes searched the night sky before speaking. " I have heard whispers of the hidden sanctuary... His Majesty has sent a band through the forest to cut off your lifeblood."

Those words.

The mention of the Nest sent a shiver down Kara's spine. Black filled the visions of Galion and Yezreel's eyes. King. Monsters. The fledgling.

Kara's gaze flickered between Galion, Yezreel, and his guard, their talons were slowly unfurling, ready to rip him to pieces. They would start with him as you would with a spider: Find a spider and trap it in a corner, and then you would slowly pull off its legs one by one. And before it reaches peak terror, you squish it into a jelly with your thumb.

"Please..."

Kara felt a fierce grin spread across her face. "You will not have the Kingdom of Thorns," she vowed. "We will not let you win."

"Please..."

She leapt forward, her talons slicing through the air as she and Yezreel met in a clash, their blades ringing out in a deadly rhythm. Kara's claws sliced through the air with a whistling shriek, but Yezreel's blade seemed to move of its own accord. His blade bit deep into her talons sending sparks flying as they danced across its surface.

The world seemed to slow as they circled each other, their breathing heavy and laboured. Kara's heart pounded in her chest, her muscles screaming for mercy as she absorbed the force of Yezreel's attacks. Kara saw her opening – a momentary lapse in Yezreel's guard. With a triumphant cry, she launched herself forward, her nails flashing down in a deadly arc while her talons met the Motal's chest in a shower of blood as she plunged her hand in and ripped out his heart before the Ravens would slowly rip him apart.

Yezreel's snarled at her, "You damn bi-"

"A promise is a promise." She turned to meet his bared canines in her face.

"A promise from a Mirtinas is like broken bones."

"I gave my word. I will leave at dawn," she declared, rising from the chair. "Galion, gather a trusted team. We fly at first light."

The crow's cry grew loud, insistent. The dawning air seemed to thicken around them, charged with the anticipation of the coming storm. Kara knew she had to act swiftly.

The young soldier nodded, his eyes dark with rage. "Yes, Captain."

Galion stalked out of the tent, ignoring the squelching his boots made in the rivers of blood that flowed out of the canvas.

"You had no right. You-!" His voice died in his throat. No words would do him justice. He knew that Kara to grant his plea.

He remembered how long it took his father to become accustomed to being blinded in one eye, and how long it took to soothe the pain. The sight of him struggling to eat, the mush coming out of his nose and the corner of his mouth. Remembered his mother always holding him in her arms while he was lying on the bed. He remembered the tears, the pain, the horror that shone on his father's face after the Mortals had carved it up. And those horrible scars still lingered.

No. How could you grant him that? Not after what our kin has gone through. Not after... He hurried over to the barracks to where his cadre were resting. By the heavens! Her kindness will be the death of her someday!

Outside was a charnel house, with bodies piled high ready to burn, and blood-soaked earth stretching as far as the eye could see. The stench of death hung heavy in the air as Galion gazed upon the ruin of his home. The soft beat of wings rose and fell as the wood pyres rose around the rings of stones stretched across the borderline. Before him lay the bodies of his kin, their lifeless forms stretched out on wooden pyres like so many sacrifices to the gods of war.

The air was heavy with the scent of death, a pungent and acrid smell that clung to the nostrils like a morbid shroud. The soldiers' eyes, red-rimmed from lack of sleep and the horrors they had witnessed, were fixed on the rows of bodies, their minds reeling from the scale of the carnage. With a solemn reverence, Ravens placed two stamped coins across their closed eyes, and three in their talons. For Dubnos, the other-world of the dead.

"Farewell, my kin. May you rest in the arms of sleep and we, if God wills, will join you soon."

As they worked, the soldiers whispered prayers, their voices barely audible above the creaking of the wood and the distant howling of wolves. Their kin would rest at last, but it was not a peaceful burial. The pyres were built high, with oil-soaked straw and dry wood awaiting the torches that would soon set them ablaze. Galion winced at the bellow from the corporal, and he pressed his face into the soft feathers as the torches were raised and their flames licked up the oil-soaked straw. FOOOOOOOMMMM!

Flames crackled and spat as they took hold, casting flickering shadows across the faces of the watching soldiers. The bodies began to writhe and contort in agony, their skin blackening and blistering as the fire consumed them. The stench of burning flesh wafted up on the wind, a noxious cloud that clung to the soldiers' clothing and hair like a bad omen. The smell of meat, charred and blackened, hung heavy over the pyres, a grim reminder of the cost of war.

As the flames danced higher, casting an eerie glow over the desolate landscape, the soldiers watched in silence as their comrades' spirits were consumed by Death itself. They knew that these men would never again march alongside them, never again laugh or fight or live. They were gone, lost to the flames and the darkness.

The pyres burned on through the day, casting a macabre glow over the battlefield. The wind carried the stench away, out into the distance where it mingled with the cries of the Mortals. And when at last the fires died down to embers, only then did the soldiers begin to weep.