The Heirs of Death

23. 1. The First King

THE FIRST KING

It was raining.

The earth was cloaked in a haze of dancing mist and fog, the light seeping between the foliage grey and dull, barely sneaking past the thick clouds. We'd walked nonstop--crossing magical gates I kept on summoning to skip months-worth of traveling--until my legs were sore and my bones were trembling.

But we had to keep going. It was already the eighth day and time wasn't on our side. Between visiting the temple and reaching the port, the three remaining days were suffocating us.

The only thing that appeased me was knowing that the temple was near; I could sense its magic pulsing in the air, calling the Armedes piece of me that could never be erased.

I trailed behind Aedis and the direwolf, a bunch of steps separating us, their conversation coming and going through my attention like waves. My Ealas was taking use of a wide part of my senses, tracking the heart of the wafting powers. The other piece was making sure the presence following us didn't take us by surprise. It seemed to intensify with each step we took, another pair of eyes adding to the watch. I could never see them, our stalkers.

Even when I felt them so close—as close as feeling a phantom breath on my skin—I was met with no one. Not physically, at least. They were wraiths; I'd come to this conclusion long ago, but it was the magic covering them that I couldn't remove with a massive piece of my magic hibernating that irritated me.

"He was one of your men.'' I heard Saél, still mounted on the direwolf, say to Aedis. "Hawk Archer. Did it happen that you knew him?"

Aedis didn't raise his head to stare at her, his body and face wrapped in his tattered cloak. Sleek and fast and silent, nothing more than moving shadows.

"I did. He was a man amongst the thirteenth team at my immediate command. Fought with him thrice, twice in Nevora, once here."

A heartbeat of silence fell between them, allowing the sound of falling rain to echo around us.

"Do you know them all, your men?"

This time, the Shadow stopped. This time, he met her eyes. And they were burning, smoldering with the memories that flashed in his mind.

"Every single one, either alive or dead, from the day I took my post as highest commander on all Ardoria's forces.''

He truly did. Every single name. Every single man and woman under his control. He knew their families, attended the fallen ones' funerals whenever he could afford. We had spoken once about it during the weeks succeeding returning from our quest. And there was guilt in his soul—guilt of knowing he was the one that sent them to their dooms. He said that knowing them, that seeing that their families were safe, was the least he could do for the price they paid.