The Siege of Shadows: Book one

Shadows of Cruelty (20)

The chaos of battle churned around me, an unrelenting tide of blood and steel. The cries of the wounded and dying pierced the air, but I focused only on one figure—the Black Knight. His imposing frame loomed like a dark monolith in the distance, unmoving amidst the carnage, a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The fae soldiers fought with savage elegance, their movements fluid and unnatural. They were faster than us, their strikes more precise, their endurance seemingly endless. But my knights and I fought with something they didn't understand—desperation. We had nothing left to lose, and that made us dangerous.

I cut down another fae, my blade slicing cleanly through his neck. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless. The stench of iron and death filled my lungs, but I pressed on. Each swing of my sword was driven by rage, by pain, by the unyielding determination to survive.

Yet, for every foe I felled, another took his place. We were outnumbered, outmatched, and outmaneuvered. Still, we held the line, our defiance burning like a beacon amidst the darkness.

Then I saw him.

The Black Knight dismounted from his monstrous steed, his every movement slow and deliberate. His armor seemed to drink in the light, a void that exuded power and menace. He unsheathed his blade—a weapon as black as night, pulsing faintly as if it were alive.

Our eyes met, and I felt it—a deep, primal fear clawing at the edges of my resolve. But I refused to let it take hold. I tightened my grip on my sword and stepped forward, my blood singing with adrenaline.

"Rowan!" Alric's voice cut through the din, but I ignored him. This was my fight.

The Black Knight moved toward me, his steps unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world. The battlefield seemed to shrink around us, the sounds of battle fading until it was just him and me.

"You should have stayed in your city, little human," he said, his voice a low, resonant growl that vibrated through my bones. "This is no place for you."

I didn't answer. Words wouldn't save me now.

With a cry, I charged at him, swinging my blade with all the strength I could muster. He parried easily, his movements precise and calculated. My strikes were wild, fueled by raw emotion, but he was calm, methodical, like a predator toying with its prey.

He blocked another strike, his blade gliding effortlessly against mine, and with a flick of his wrist, he disarmed me. My sword flew from my hands, landing in the blood-soaked snow several feet away.

I stumbled back, my chest heaving as I tried to regain my footing. The Black Knight advanced, his presence suffocating.

Panic surged through me. I took a step back, my heel catching on something soft. I glanced down—and froze.

It was Narok. His lifeless eyes stared up at me, unseeing, his blood pooling around him. My knees buckled, and I fell, my hands sinking into the crimson snow. The weight of his death hit me like a blow, stealing the air from my lungs.

The Black Knight didn't hesitate. He was on me in an instant, his blade leveled at my throat. "Is this how you imagined it would end?" he asked, his tone almost mocking.

I couldn't move. Couldn't think. The coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils, mixing with the chill of the air. I was frozen, paralyzed by fear and grief.

Then, something inside me snapped.

With a desperate cry, I jerked backward, the movement tearing my cloak from my shoulders. My hood fell away, and my long copper hair tumbled free, catching the faint light of dawn.