Page 50 of Slaying the Shadow Prince
Of course, he told her none of this.
As the beginningof another dusk bloomed on the horizon, Talemir found himself in a sickeningly familiar setting. A circle of white stone columns cast long shadows across the withered grass, and a thousand memories rushed to the forefront of his mind.
Islaton.
Screams pierced the night.The scent of burnt hair and the metallic tang of blood as it spilt upon the stone filled his nostrils. Talemir rasped a breath and suddenly he was back amid the carnage, the wraiths closing in and Malik fighting at his side.
‘Glory in death, immortality in legend,’ Malik murmured in his ear as they charged towards the enemy. He had said those words on many occasions before, usually on the precipice of battle, but none as bleak as this. Never before had that phrase seemed so imminent, such a likely outcome.
All around them, wraiths shrieked and carved through their Warsword brothers, talons flashing, blood spurting.
A giant monster, perhaps ten feet tall, swept Malik from the ground as though he were a rag doll, not an enormous man in his own right. The wraith slammed him face-first into the stone, a horrific crack sounding upon impact.
Talemir cried out, lunging towards his friend.
Gone was that ruggedly handsome face, in its place, a bloody pulp —
But Talemir was suddenly kicking the air as he too was lifted. He flailed against the death grip, struggled still as the creature pinned him to a rock —
He strained against its hold, desperate to go to Malik, or at least stop Wilder from seeing him like this —
But what gripped him was no ordinary shadow wraith. It was bigger, horned, and worse in every way imaginable. He had never seen one in the flesh before. Only heard whispers of what they were…
Rheguld reapers.
The sires of the shadow wraiths.
Kings of darkness.
They thirsted for power.
And this one had found his.
Talons pierced his chest, tiny pricks of pain at first, then a blazing agony as those talons penetrated his flesh, reaching into his body as though he were nothing but mist and shadow himself.
Talemir screamed as terror and talons alike latched around his heart. The fear was not of death, never of death – Warswords knew better than to fear Enovius. But Talemir was afraid what might await him in its place: a life of darkness.
Wilder’s nearby shout of fury drew the wraith’s attention away.
Talemir fell to the ground on his hands and knees, blood trickling from a star-shaped pattern over his heart.
But it was too late.
He could feel the onyx power in his bones.
‘Talemir?’
Talemir blinked rapidly, finding himself panting, his palms resting against rust-coloured stone.
‘Talemir?’ Drue said again, approaching him on foot, her hawk perched on her shoulder.
Struggling to swallow, his throat tightened painfully, as though his screams from the past were still lodged there. He couldn’t remember dismounting and leaving his stallion on the outskirts of the circular monument. He couldn’t remember anything but the horror.
Heart hammering, still dazed, he looked to where his hands rested now.
The rusted colour beneath his fingertips was old blood. There was no mistaking it. He and Malik and a dozen of their Warsword brothers had all bled at Islaton. All had lost someone or something that day.
‘I get them too…’ Drue said quietly at his side.
