Aligning the Forgotten ✓

Chapter 43: Roux

The soldier kneeling in front of me groans when I rip the sword out from his abdomen. Not bothering with waiting for him to fall, I step around and move onto the next kneeling, withering man, and hover over him. He doesn't look up at me; my boots are more interesting to stare at.

"Do you surrender?" I demand. The previous one said he didn't surrender, he wanted to keep fighting and even attempted to slash at my shin with a hidden knife. Behind me, his body thumps to the ground and he won't rise again. The only recognition from his fellow soldier is a quick dart of his eyes in that direction. "Answer me now or I take your silence as disobedience."

"I surrender." His voice is hoarse and laced with the pain of loss, but he offers over his sword and the remainder of his weapons. Their craft isn't nearly as intricate as Esaria's, but they'll cut a man—or woman—if it's necessary. He doesn't try anything, he bows his head to the dirt and doesn't falter in the blood splatter or mud now caking his forehead.

Across the battlefield, the rest of the Esaria soldiers are doing the same. They approach each winded soldier, asking them if they're willing to give their life to another kingdom, and those that accept keep their lives. Those that don't—they're killed. If they're not willing to ally after loss, their work is reduced to nothing.

The king has already departed from the battlements. Escorted by Maury and Qian, he'll write a letter to the king of Saebia to ask for complete and total surrender. If he doesn't, the king and his army will pay their palace a visit in the next few months. I will go along if that is the case, the king will need my power's expertise to demolish wherever the king of Saebia resides.

I'm still feeling the effects of a Drainage. Every step is heavy, the world spins when I look in one direction too quickly, and like I haven't slept in days, I'm longing to slump against a soft mattress and sleep this off. It'll take days, three at the most, to recharge what is inside me. The power and ground and the small sliver of storm hidden deep within my reserve, as well.

Until then, I'll be using the king's strength rather than my own. The skills he imparted on me, how to fight, battle tactics, the strength I've developed over recent months to give myself more muscle and more bulk, will all come into play while my power heals. It's dangerous for a witch to attempt at using that power before it's fully restored; during revival, magic is still considered weak.

A witch can reach a Drainage much faster when they're not full equipped. And a second Drainage, more dangerous than the first, can end a witch's life. As I'm still young, it's vital for me to hold down from the use of my power, resisting the urge to kill the rest of these soldiers with it. But I must. My life depends on it, and my king needs me.

A gasp followed by a groan echoes across the empty field, and I look over, finding a soldier falling against Takata's blade. She hardly resists her urges to kick them in the face, the knee to his chin is nearly as brutal and more so effective.

Binx is somewhere, as is Darius. They're likely accounting for fallen Esaria soldiers, taking the royal emblem from their chest with their names engraved on the inside. If they have any loved ones back home, that belonging is the only thing returning. Tucked away safely in a wooden chest, attached to it—a letter from the prince expressing his condolences.

In the satchel slung over my chest, I've already collected enough for the strap to weigh heavy against my neck. Many Esaria soldiers died, a greater number than I expected, and it's not a result of enemy lines. The emblems I've gathered are from soldiers near the blast I created with my power to take out fleeing enemies. As it so happens, Esaria soldiers were nearby, too. One of them being Salvador, lying face down in the mud with his arms sprawled over his head. It didn't take me long to recognize the way he died—lifted from the ground and death by broken spine.