Page 182 of The King is Dead
Had to pray we could make it through thistogether.
“Run,” I muttered as I yanked my spears out of the dirt at the base of the outcropping.
“Melek—”
“I said,run,Yilan. I can’t save you from this if they defeat me.”
I started to turn, but she caught my elbow and when our eyes locked again, her teeth were bared.
“You aren’t the only one who can sacrifice—or protect!”
I shook my head. “Yilan… Gall and Istral. They need at least one of us. You know they do. Go.Please.”
Her eyes widened. “But…”
I clasped a hand to the back of her neck and pulled her to me for the briefest of kisses. Then, with a lingering look to fix her precious face in my mind, I ran down that little ravine to stand against the advancing fray.
68. Window to the Soul
~ MELEK ~
The world becomes very small during battle. Very small, and very quiet. A battlefield is a wall of sound, but I heard little beyond my thudding pulse. And the flutter of my mate in my head. Because she was courageous and determined, and apparently too fucking stubborn to make therightchoice.
I’d lost sight of her, but I knew she was behind me now. Back to back, we fought and I was doing my damnedest to make certain that we weren’t turned. Because she was positioned where she had only to kill off anything that got past me on the way to that outcropping. The natural little ravine that had been formed by the rocks on one side, and the rise of the land on the other, meant that most of our enemies remained in the bowl of the land below and as long as I could keep Yilan on higher ground than me, she would be safe.
But in battle movement is inevitable.
At some point I saw a flash of Jann, shouting and throwing a weapon to an ally, but then he was buried in the fray again.
I fought. I fought, and I roared, and I grieved.
My people would not listen. They would notease.And because of that, many would die tonight.
How this kind of crisis had been avoided thus far, I didn’t know. But it made me weep that it was my vision for a future of character and peace that sent them over the edge.
I was so tired, I couldn’t feel my hands. I saw the weapons in them and thrust them, spearing Neph left and right, in chest, in groin, one even in the eye.
My spears grew slick with blood. My breath burned in my chest. My body ached and went numb, and still we fought.
I didn’t even know who I was fighting. I didn’t let myself see faces. Couldn’t. Because the truth was, many of these Neph in their right minds would be loyal followers. But they’d lost themselves to the bloodlust and rage of a frenzy.
There was no choice, but to kill those who attempted to kill me, and to pray there would be enough of us left to rule at the end when the red haze faded.
But as I plunged spearheads into living, breathing flesh, and killed Neph after Neph, I couldn’t feel any sense of triumph.
I only grieved. And loathed myself for not seeing this coming.
Then suddenly, the ground before us was empty of adversaries. I hefted the spear, then stumbled forward.
Dead bodies piled to the left and right. Pools of blood shining silver in the moonlight. And beyond them in the bowl of land below the outcropping, the battle raged on.
Yet I couldn’t tell who was an enemy, and who fought for me.
I staggered to a halt, wiping what I thought was sweat from my brow, only to draw my hand away and find that it was blood splatter.
How many men had I killed who would have stood for me?
I wanted to weep.
