Constantine (Daughter of War #1)

Chapter 50: Wervas, Fortimus (Part 2)

A/N: Music is Monster by Paramore. Not really sure if it fits the chapter, but I was spamming it so...Play it!

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Endless. The catacombs are endless. I should use my shadows to give me the extra sense, to scout out the area before me. But I'm far too tired to do so.

One foot in front of the other. One foot in front of the other. I chant the words over and over in my head, the only thing keeping me awake and walking at this point. Gilbert's weight didn't seem like much when the king and I first struck out for Rutherland. Now though, it feels like I am carrying a mountain. A fragile, exposed mountain.

One foot in front of the other.

I should ask King Terrell to stop. I should suggest that we take a break under the pretence of caring for his well-being, when it's really all about me finally getting a good rest. No. I have to carry forward. I have to reach Rutherland as soon as possible, warn the people of our defeat and Cordair's fall. I have to reach there...

The weight on my back shifts with a groan.

"Gilbert?" My voice is parched with exhaustion.

He emits another groan. "Where are we?"

King Terrell rushes over, helping to ease him off my back. While pushing unruly hair out of his eyes, Gilbert scans the area with confusion, clutching onto the king for support. "Where are we?" he repeats.

I swallow some saliva. "The catacombs," I say. "We're heading for Rutherland."

"Rutherland? But—" His eyes widen in horror as the entirety of the situation dawns upon him. He suddenly looks like he's about to bolt away; King Terrell firmly latches onto his arm. "We can't! We have to go back!"

"It's too late, my boy," King Terrell says softly.

Gilbert shakes his head vehemently. "This—this is cowardice! We must go back. Please, Constantine, surely you understand." I flinch guiltily, looking away. I feel his eyes pinned onto me. "No..." He releases a snarl, a feral one that is not unlike a Creature's. "You traitor! You left those men to die!"

"It had to be done." Oh, Pietists Above, what am I saying? I never wanted to leave them. I never did.

Gilbert takes a step towards me. I stare at him. We're of similar height. However, the pure, smouldering fury on his face makes him loom over me. He raises his fist, ready to strike. The temperature in the room plummets; I see faint hints of frost crystalizing over his skin. I continue to hold his eyes, refusing to back down.

I will never apologise for my decision.

"Peace, Falkner," interjects the king, coming to my rescue. Reluctantly, with another low growl, Gilbert backs away, lowering his fist. He stalks off and plops himself onto the floor, looking determined to mope for quite a while yet.

King Terrell walks over to him to lay a hand on his shoulder. "There's nothing we could have done, Falkner. I'm sorry for your loss. I truly understand. They were my men too." A sharp pang hits me; King Terrell had known the men for a far longer time than us. I send a silent prayer to Heaven, not just for all the lost souls, but for the king as well. This loss, it's not a burden for anyone to bear. Unfortunately, he's our leader—he is forced to take the brunt of it.

"It's just—" Gilbert takes in a deep, shuddering breath. "I could have done something. I should have done something."

"The past is past. Nothing we say or do changes that." With the firelight casting eerie shadows, King Terrell's face doesn't look like it belongs to a man of fifty odd. Rather, it should be of one who is well into his seventies. He grows silent for a moment; silver liquid starts to line his eyes.