Six days into their march they were going three thousand six hundred priests strong, and at most, seven one-thousand-man generals. At over ten thousand men strong—priest horses ridden by white cassocks leading war horses ridden by black armor—they were a sight to behold, and a force primed for battle.
Then they began doing what Sethlzaar considered the unreasonable.
Sethlzaar frowned at thought of the infirmary. Fighting the Merdendi hadn’t been one of his brightest ideas. In fact, he was beginning to wonder what had gotten into him. He’d won the fight but it was too soon to be walking around in pain. For the rest of what was left of the day he avoided everyone else. He kept himself locked away in his room doing nothing worth remembering. The maids brought his meals as was their duty, but none ever knocked. They left his meals at his door and turned away, as if fearing what would happen should they draw his attention. He di
Nixarv studied Sethlzaar with the scrutiny of a confused man. It was almost as though the man refused to believe his eyes. It should’ve been strange but Sethlzaar found it mildly irksome.“How?” Nixarv asked, his eyes fixed on Sethlzaar’s torso.Sethlzaar shrugged. The how did not matter, what mattered was if the man had a solution to his problem. H
“Ouctun, eg’n ougnad.”Sethlzaar smiled at his brother’s words. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed hearing vrail. Given, there were a lot of priests around and he’d marched with them for a while. But the truth was simple; priests didn’t use their own language very often.He turned to Cenam and nodded. “Yes, brother
The sun’s decline from its apex found them arraigned a distance away from the ruined walls, infantry and cavalry alike.Somewhere before the front lines of their group’s arrangement Vagris addressed them. His words were majestic and designed to strike hope and the glory of battle into the hearts of the men, at least Sethlzaar thought so. The Reverend’s words were lost to him, however. Their glorious order fading away somewhere after the eight row, demanded that only the soldiers of the realm and the first line of priests on horseback heard them. It didn’t m
Sethlzaar froze then recovered in time to side step the girl’s attack. In the times he’d been fighting the Merdendi this was a first. The fact that they’d never brought children to the battlefield was one of the things that had made him doubt the realm’s reference to them as savages. No. He shook his head, strands of hair that could just as much have been white as they could have been black cutting across his view. For some unknown reason he didn’t want to believe they had begun sending their children into war, because if they had, then it was the realm that had forced them into such an action. She might be like Levlin, he tried to convince himself as he stepped away f
The carnage of Cenam’s battle against Berlak seemed to stand out over the war that raged around them as Sethlzaar fought off his two opponents. At intervals, priests and kingblades stepped in to aid him but none of the Merdendi ever interfered. It was like when he’d saved Saelin all over again. The priests and kingblades hadn’t lasted long. While he had outlived two of the three men who’d stepped up to help him, the third man had simply thought his chances better if he faced a more susceptible foe. Still, it had helped him in a way as he evaded a slash on tired feet from the first unsouled who was now one armed thanks to an opportunity he hadn’t missed. And yet, having one arm did nothing to slow it down.
The war raged on within the city walls, though the carnage was not as depressing within as it was without. Sethlzaar carried himself in a full sprint, his previously perceived fatigue ebbing away at the touch of darkness as he followed where Cenam led. Bratvi kept pace beside him and paid no obvious attention to his broken wrist. One thing was certain; even if the Most Reverend could fight, it would be impossible to use both veils.There was no doubt that those who had given the once mythical city of Arlyn its reigning title had never stepped foot within its walls. Still, there wa
Sethlzaar saw the moment the fight was decided. The climax to the torrential build up. Cenam swung the veil in his left hand. A downward stroke designed to take his enemy’s head. Berlak reacted as fast as the stroke itself, his longsword striking the veil from Cenam’s grip, taking away the priest’s advantage. But Sethlzaar had seen such decisions before. Cenam had intended it. The strike, although intended to take the man’s head, had never truly been expected to. Not a feint. A sacrifice.Cenam’s second ve