Page 75 of Mother of Death and Dawn

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The darkness enveloped us.The road here was not completely deserted, but close to it. There were a few small buildings nestled in the forest—stores, perhaps, or hunting outposts, and a few supply shops closer to the main road—but soon those grew fewer and farther in-between. Our lanterns cast garish shadows and bloody-red streaks over the palms and leaves. Brayan rode ahead, his sword close to his grasp, shoulders square.

We were half an hour past the last dregs of civilization when I heard the sounds.

I pulled my horse to a stop.

I didn’t need to say a word to Brayan. He did the same. We sat in the silence, listening. I heard distant sounds from the last outpost in the distance—a mill. Rustling from creatures in the wood. The wind caressing the leaves.

No. I’d heard something else. I knew I did.

Brayan and I exchanged a look. No words, but effortless communication. Silently, he drew his sword. I unhooked my ridiculous sickle from my saddle.

The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, echoing through the trees:

“Maxantarius Farlione and Brayan Farlione, you are wanted by order of the Queen of Ara. Surrender, and you will not be harmed.”

That, obviously, was out of the question. I gripped the handle of my weapon, turning slowly.

Nothing but shadow.

Wielders. I couldn’t judge how many. It would only take one to disguise them in the trees and obfuscate the direction of their voices, but it was a guarantee that there were more ready to apprehend us.

It was the unknown factor sitting between “more than one” and “a small army” that concerned me.

My horse snorted, uneasy. Brayan and I circled, falling into formation to cover each other’s blind spots.

“This is your final warning.” This time the voice came from a single direction. The underbrush to our left rustled, shadows moving between the tree trunks. Brayan turned to face it, sword ready.

No. Too easy. Too obvious, for magic users capable of stealth and misdirection.

I faced the opposite way, watching the still silence of the forest.

“Careful, Brayan,” I muttered. “These are Wielders—”

I didn’t have time to finish. The figure came at us so fast that it was a smear of shadow and glinting steel, lunging for Brayan.

I moved faster.

Our bodies collided, my horse letting out a screaming whinny. Pain nicked my knuckles as I threw up my sickle to divert a sword, barely succeeding.

Behind me, I heard the clatter of steel.

They descended upon us all at once, from every direction. I had no time to do anything but react.

To my left, a flash of white—a Valtain, silver hair glinting in the darkness. A stab of pain in the back of my head, a burst of wind so strong I had to fight to stay on my horse.

Shadows deeper than the darkness of night surrounded us, moving too quickly for my eyes to track. I blocked and dodged blows as they were fractured seconds away from my flesh.

A wound opened on my shoulder. I retaliated, bending around the blow. My sickle sank into something hard. A voice let out a wheezing cry.

I couldn’t see. Couldn’t rely on sight. Ascended fucking above, what I would do to get my magic back right now.

My horse let out a shriek and suddenly, I was going down.

I threw myself from the saddle, hit the ground hard. Rolled and immediately scrambled for my weapon’s handle.

Just in time to block a blow above me.

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