Page 294 of The Edge of Darkness

“We have to fall back!” he shouted.

“Fall back?” Remic began to protest.

“Yes! Lyceius just sent a second wave in, and the bulk of them are Skadi’s shadow beings. We need to regroup. Get the majority of our forces behind the Dionachs and let them try to wipe out what they can. The fae can take on the rest, but we need to re-form our lines.”

“We’re barely a breath into this battle,” Remic said. “How are we already this disorganized?”

“Because of Skadi!” Niall shouted. “And neither her, nor Lyceius, have shown their fucking faces!” A pulse of his power punctuated his words. “I didn’t want to exhaust our other legions this early, but we’re going to have to. We need to get this under control.”

“And what about the reserves?”

“Their time will come too. But not yet.”

Remic nodded. “Where’s Roirdan? And Aremis?”

“Further toward the front. They cut a line straight through. That’s where I’m headed.”

Seconds later, several keres were bounding in our direction, lured by Niall’s outburst. He only had to look in their direction for them to turn to ash.

Remic adjusted his wings. “I’ll re-form the lines and get the Dionachs to the front. I’ll join you again after.” He turned back to me. “Stay with him and Silas.”

I nodded and watched him sprint away, shouting commands at those nearby.

Niall met me where I stood. “What’s this?” He lifted my hand with concern.

“What’s left of my sword.”

“How?”

“One of the creatures just . . . shattered it.”

Silas joined us. “It was one of Lyceius’s generals.”

Niall searched my eyes. “Generals?”

I nodded. “There were five of them. They all had yellow scars across their chests. And they were shielded.”

Something growled behind us, but Silas was there, cleaving his twin blades. A venomous cat’s head rolled from between them, severed from its powerful body. He twirled his weapons like they were batons as he surveyed the mess and backed toward us. “We should move.”

Niall lifted his sword—Death’s Whisper, the solid black weapon that seemed to be made of darkness itself. “Take this. Use it.” He placed it in my empty hand.

“But—”

“What’s mine is yours. Take it.” He closed my fingers around the hilt and gave me a firm nod. “I know you don’t need it, but a blade like this is meant for war. It would be a disservice to deprive it of blood.” He winked.

I looked down at the broken hilt of my former sword. It had been such a homely weapon compared to Niall’s. There was nothing intimidating about its appearance, nothing that made it stand out amongst the rest, but it served the same purpose, and it had done its job well. I turned it in my hand, letting the pads of my fingers find the grooves in the leather-wrapped hilt one last time.

Knowing Silas was standing guard, I took a knee. With a grunt, I staked the broken blade into the ground until the crossguard met the dirt. I let a piece of my soul be skewered there with it, buried in the soil with the iron. Leaving the shattered sword behind was like saying goodbye to a former version of myself. It was strange, but somehow, it felt necessary.

When I rose up, I gripped Death’s Whisper with a new determination, holding it as if it were my own. I could have sworn I heard it whispering its approval in return.

Niall and Silas were both watching me.

I faced them and said, “Time to coax out the gods.”

We made our way north, to where Roirdan and Aremis were holding together the last of what remained of the front lines. Nearby, there was a small group of Vahrish warriors fending off a slew of keres. Benmoor’s Immortals were there as well, led by Morah. They cut through Lyceius’s creatures with ease, but Niall was right, they were close to being overrun.

Several witches fought alongside Morah and the Immortals, throwing small projectiles that stunned and poisoned our enemies with a deadly green smoke. Yet still, there were too many creatures descending on what was left of the ranks.