Page 170 of War

People don’t know what to make of it. Not even as those bones begin to approach them.

The horseman has never done this before, never wholly turned on his own army.

I glance back at War. His eyes are stormy, his expression resolute. He’s made peace with my punishment.

My punishment.

“Stop.”

“Mevekange vago odi anume vago veki. Odi wevesvooge oyu mossoun yevu.”

I thought you’d want them dead. You’ve made it your mission.

He’s right; I had made it my mission to pick off his army. But now that he’s turning on them just like he has every other city … I’m reminded of our shared humanity.

“Stop.Please.”

But he doesn’t.

I don’t see the first bit of blood spilled, but I hear the scream. Now a true, blood-curdling cry goes up. It’s not fear I hear, butpain.

Another scream accompanies it, then another.

Most of these undead creatures are nothing more than brittle bone and a bit of dried sinew. It should be effortless to pulverize them into dust. And I’m sure some people do just that, but there are so many dead, and they care nothing about self-preservation, only carnage.

A skeleton bites a man in the throat so hard blood spurts. Another twists a woman’s neck. All around me people fall to the ground dead.

All the while, War watches the massacre impassively.

He’s an evil motherfucker.

I don’t bother begging again. I tried that tactic before, when Warwasn’ttrying to punish me. I begged right up until the very end.

I won’t give him the pleasure of my anguish. Not again.

This is what heartbreak looks like on a horseman, and it isterrifying.

Now people are scattering, and the dead are giving chase. Some run towards me.

My guards, who haven’t joined the fray, unsheathe their weapons. The moment someone comes too close, they attack.

Another wave of screams come from the tents that ring the clearing.

Zara. Mamoon.

I feel the blood drain from my face.

“War—” I was wrong, I’m willing to beg. “War, please, stop this.”

He ignores me, his eyes focused on the fight.

I stride towards him, my hands beginning to shake. My friend, her nephew; I couldn’t live with their deaths on my conscience.

“War!”

My guards block my way. I try to shove past them, and they grab me, holding me back.

“Damnit, War, look at me.”

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