The Raven: Prince of Iron and Blood.

Numeris Dvidešimt antras

Rya spat out blood from his blood-coated lips, gripping his sword. The gamble with the Zephyrians had proved. His army had ascended the wall of silver thorns and hysteria had descended upon the Ravens.

The nest crumbled under horse hooves and they were driving the Ravens back. Though the surprise attack was a success, the Ravens stirred awake and soon, hundreds of them filled the sky and took back possession. Hundreds were slaughtered.

But amid this, Lord Harrow's army had split and ten thousand men had snuck through the swamp and forest, cutting off the Raven's escape from the back. The battle had even come to the gates of the old city of High Water, where Queen Aliss' father had set his foundations as King and his name was proclaimed throughout the kingdom. The Ravens were destroyed. Females were crucified from the timber of the forests for all the males to see.

It was not known of the fate of those who escaped.

Rya wiped the giblets of Raven from his breastplate. His commanders had begun plundering the camp. Men, women, children. It made no difference to them.

"What treasure!"

"We'll be rich!"

The camp was littered with feathers and blood, the screams of the dying echoing through the trees. The commanders were pleased and ripped the wings from Ravens' backs while they screamed for mercy. Took their jewels, their gold, their very dignity. Some were stripped naked and then skewered. Her twitching body was dragged to a bonfire and tossed in.

Gold laurel wreaths were found and soldiers placed them upon their heads. Heavy pendants bearing the signal of the Raven King, adorned with intricate, whiplike extensions that resemble raven feathers, each tipped with a tiny, shimmering opaline bead. Precious stones were flicked out of the mounting fires where the putrid smell of corpses rose in the gray air. None were left to rot and decay. Everything would be burned to ashes.

Slaves with axes were ordered to break apart the silver wall of thorns for miles surrounding the Ravens' nesting ground. They would be returned to the blacksmiths. Wagons were drawn into the bloody earth and the trophies were loaded: Raven wings.

Vakarė produced two flasks and tossed them to Lord Harrow and Prince Rya. They tipped it back down their throats. It was liquid gold wine. Rya drank deeply, wiping his mouth. "Have your captains split the booty. What remains of food, serve it for the feast."

"Will you stay for the feast?"

"No. I received news from the capital and plan to return."

"For pleasure?" Lord Harrow asked mockingly. He still felt a strong desire for his wife, even though her temper could be like a cut, her sweetness was like euphoria.

Vakarė laughed. "Says the man who will give him his daughter. Tell me, will she please our princeling?"

"Nothing compared to this." Rya rolled his shoulder. Like a pet dog on a leash.

"She'll arise his love for you."

Rya gave them a carnal grin.

The captive male Ravens were frog-marched out of their camp, past the horrendous sight of the bodies of their crucified mates on the trees. Their bodies were bloating and scavenging birds were feasting on them and drinking the pools of blood on the drunk ground. Some of the males screamed and tried to wave them off from defiling the dead. He was struck and driven on, tears stinging his eyes. The males had been spared from the butchers who had fallen on the dead by cutting off their wings. Instead, the beautiful feathers were looped with heavy chains so it was impossible to even lift them from the ground.