“And what is that supposed to mean?”
He smirked. “Sailors gather a lot of information on their travels. Let’s just say you are a hot topic amongst the Shattered Isles.”
Roque paled, chewing his lower lip. “I don’t want to enter another war.”
Tadeas nodded. “Leave it to me. We will bait Cesan, and then it will be done.”
Memphis collided back into the present so hard he rolled over and emptied the contents of his stomach. Gasping for breath, he threw up his iron walls, sealing them tight, and the well of voices quieted until it was just him.
But then he noticed how silent it was outside the tent.
The hairs on his arm rose, and Memphis silently stood, slinging his pack over his shoulder and unsheathing his weathered sword. Everything made sense. How hard Tadeas pushed them to reach the capital, how loud they were being. It was practically ensuring Cesan would come sniffing. To fall into the King’s trap. Only for Tadeas to kill him with no chance of justice.
Rage ripped through Memphis at how fast Roque had risked them all, had bent to the claim of being King.
What did Cesan know?
What was Roque afraid of being found?
Cursing, he pushed the thoughts down for now. The firelight danced outside, and he could see Brokk and Alby’s silhouettes, their voices a low murmur.
Settling into what felt like a restless sleep, Memphis sighed. Closing his eyes, a sound cut through the night so suddenly, the hair on his arms stood on end. Eyes flashing open the howling was distant at first, a low humming in the night. Lurching out of the tent, Memphis’s heart leapt into his throat. His breath was misty puffs in front of him.
Brokk and Alby were standing as well, swords out, faces drawn. Squinting into the bleak night, he tried to make out what was making the sound. On the horizon, nothing stirred. Bringing his sword in front of him, he exhaled slowly, gripping the handle with white knuckles.
The sound of hundreds of thundering footsteps filled the night as his heart dropped into his stomach.
It was the same effect as losing all sense of clarity. The lurching panic and then helplessness, as you grappled to hold on to anything. The screaming started first, at the north end of the camp, as Memphis took in what was causing the chaos.
Their bodies were like sleek armored plates, gleaming and muscular. Their elongated torsos were like serpents, twisting and flexing as they propelled forward with long black legs. Their bald bodies shimmered like water against the fading firelight, reflecting their drooling maws and inky teeth. Their orange eyes gleamed with madness as they cut through tents and bodies.
Memphis had heard of creatures of dark ancient magic before; ones that were told to children as myths to scare them. But as he saw the first monster rip the throat out of one of Tadeas’s men, this was the furthest thing from bedtime stories of old.
Terror gripped Memphis as Brokk threw himself forward, shifting in one motion, and his colossal paws rumbled, shaking the earth. Alby in one motion, became invisible; roars rose from the creatures as he assaulted them, unseen.
Everything moved in slow motion. Memphis felt himself take in the numbers of monsters as they poured into the camp, their rage and might crashed into their own.
It was a battle of tyrants.
Yelling, Memphis bounded forward, his ability already two steps ahead of him, reacting to his fear. Wielding it like a sword, Memphis slashed his ability into the minds of the monsters, his talons sinking into their wills. Simultaneously, Memphis held their bodies, ten at a time, as Brokk made his killing blows.
Blood trickled from Memphis’s nose when, screaming, he let go, moving with his blade. Slashing, his steel cut into the side of the creatures closest to him, blackened blood spurting over his face. Ducking, Memphis parried another onslaught of attack, raising his blade as talons swiped toward his chest. Panting, his ability reacted, unbinding the creatures mind as it fell, twitching in front of him.
He was a darkened duet of body and ability, the two forces creating a lethal harmony.
Their inky talons and severed bodies filled his senses as he heard the King of the Shattered Isles roar.
Memphis’s consciousness slid into Brokk’s, “Brokk. The Isles.”
They were one unit, had always been one. The giant wolf before him flung himself onto one of the creature’s backs, his talons digging into the black flesh. The anguish of the monster’s cry split through Memphis, adding to his adrenaline. This was too convenient. Too easy. These creatures born from the night had known where they would be.
Memphis ran. Blood curdling screams surrounded him, and to his left, a man was crying. To his right, a student was screaming as a monster slowly tore into his arm socket, his blood spurting over them both. The smell of smoke clung to his lungs as bile seared his throat, spilling through his lips. But through his panic, Memphis didn’t stop.
His mind whirled, trying to connect the dots as he fought his way over to Tadeas’s men. Too many had already fallen: fellow students, teachers. Iasan was the only one in Memphis’s peripheral left standing, his body fluid and blurred as he cut through them. He was pure malice, yelling, as he found his way to Tadeas as well.
Sprinting, not looking back, Memphis’s mind brushed up against Alby’s and Brokk’s consciousness. They were following behind, weaving through the carnage. His fear sliced through him, consuming him, as one-by-one, the fires were extinguished.
From the shadows, to his left, a monster exploded from the night, its teeth flashing as he barely reacted fast enough to save his life. The monster dropped when the tendrils of his ability fanned out, making a protective shield around Alby and Brokk as well.
They were outnumbered.
It wasn’t a fight—it was a slaughter.
Running faster and trying
