Katryna’s stomach ached with emotion. Too many emotions to handle all at once.
“I am a coward…” Giliam whispered. His eyelids grew heavy, and he slowly drifted back into unconsciousness mid-sentence.
Katryna was shocked he had lasted so long and been able to maintain a conversation that was so charged. She kissed his cheek, wiping the tears and spittle from his face.
Before she left the royal chambers, Katryna closed the shutters. The curtains which had been blowing vigorously in the wind slowly calmed down and rested vertically as the cool gusts came to a stop.
Katryna opened the door to see Aunt Rashel waiting patiently at the door, biting her nails.
“Is he alright?” she asked anxiously.
Katryna nodded. “He is asleep again.”
Aunt Rashel looked into her niece’s eyes. “You spoke with him?”
“I did. We said what we needed to say to each other.”
Aunt Rashel gave a smile of relief and embraced Katryna warmly. It was not at all what she had been expecting, but Katryna could not describe the reprieve their conversation had brought her.
“Will you stay with him?” Katryna said.
“Ever since we were little, I would tend to him whenever he grew ill. ‘His little nurse’, is what your grandmother used to call me. I will be by his side until the end. You go get some rest. It has been a long day and we need you sharp-witted.”
Katryna stared at her feet, suddenly feeling a wave of exhaustion throughout her body. How long had it been there for?
“Take care of him,” Katryna said.
It was difficult for her to say. A part of her wanted this to all be over, for some peace to be had rather than the constant fear and anticipation. Another part of her was still furious at what Giliam and Rowan had done behind her back.
Yet somehow none of that seemed to matter as much anymore. All Katryna really wanted was her father to stop hurting. An end to all this suffering.
One way or another.
Chapter 23 - Lost
The last few days of riding from Winterglade had passed like a blur in Tomas’s mind. The horses trudged through the mud and snows of the country roads. The days were barren, and the nights had become bitter. He spent his time mulling over his decisions the past several weeks.
Leaving his home for a war he had no understanding of. He knew his father would have been furious at him for his decision. A part of him wanted nothing more than to return home, to what he knew. There was a comfort that came from familiarity. Another part wanted the complete opposite- to never return home again.
Tomas struggled to forget the fear he had felt during the battle, freezing up like a boulder. ‘Battle shock’ is what Landry had called it. He said that it was a common thing for soldiers to experience, particularly fresh recruits. Some would wet their breeches; others flee like cowards. Some would cower and fake death, while many simply froze, as Tomas had.
The only reason Tomas had survived was Rilan, and sheer luck. He did not want luck to be the determining factor ever again.
They had practiced their sword drills with Landry each night after setting up camp, and that was helping to strengthen his constitution.
Old man Hemish would stumble in to help train sometimes. He seemed to enjoy taking on the teaching role, as he kept coming back and would bestow a sense of enthusiasm on Tomas and Rilan.
The old man was somewhat slow and stiff when he moved, yet he was able to maintain smooth form and flow with each swing, strike, and parry that he demonstrated with his sword.
Tomas was growing more anxious of late, however. The plan was for the company to head for the town of Hollowhill to resupply and spend the night. From there, they would go through the Darkwood straight on to Mooncrest Mountain and the Grand Repository.
However, several miles out from Hollowhill, Captain Gharland spotted rising pillars of black, billowing smoke in the distance across the muddy plain they were crossing.
More and more, they came across bands of peasants and refugees escaping, heading back the way they had come for Winterglade.
A battalion of around two hundred soldiers, battered, bruised, and bloodied, then came fleeing away from the smoke of Hollowhill with many hundreds of townspeople following.
“Soldiers, who is in charge?” Gharland shouted.
“Hollowhill is lost,” one soldier said as he ran past, his lip split open and leaking blood like a broken pipe.
“The captain asked a question,” Lieutenant Britus growled to the fleeing soldiers, his eyebrow twitching.
Most soldiers ignored them, skirting around the group like they were nothing. They just wanted to get away, Tomas realised. He could see the fear in their eyes and their determination to escape.
In the distance, Tomas heard the clashing of swords and steel and the wails of men dying. Those who fought on, trying to protect Hollowhill, most likely. With so many soldiers retreating and most of the town on fire, it seemed like a futile effort.
The air became choked with smoke, embers, and ash. The night-time was alight from the glow of hundred-foot flames in the distance.
There were other noises emanating over the dead plains too. Some that were familiar; others were unnatural shrieks of pain and desperation.
It gave Tomas chills. The company discussed what the horrific noises were.
“Animals, most likely,” Smiling John stated. “Probably trapped in the town, burning.”
Tomas realised that he had heard identical noises during his childhood, from behind
