The Blood of Darkness

Chapter 64

Val

As Arden disappears over the rail, a mangled shout escapes me. Shit, shit, shit.

In a moment of utter stupidity, I run toward the edge of the mezzanine, leaving myself open to attack from my other sides. Spies' swords swing at me in sweeping arcs, and I quickly drop to the ground, realizing my mistake.

Before I can be surrounded and at an immense disadvantage, I send a wave of darkness pulsing from me, knocking the nearest spies to the ground. Then I jump back to my feet and face my next attackers, knowing that I can't try to see what is happening below until I finish what I'm supposed to do up here.

Good thing I'm particularly adept at the art of killing.

My swords sing as I whip them through the air. I slash one man's gut even as I dive under the blade of another. He swings at me and I parry then kick him in the knee, burying my blade in his chest as he falls. Wasting no time, I attack the next advancing spy, driving him back before slicing off his hand at the wrist. The soldier screams, his blood spattering in my face as he collides with the men coming from behind him.

It soon becomes screaming and chaos, spies tripping over the bodies of their dead companions, me maiming then killing them in short, rushed intervals between each side. I rely on speed rather than strength, anticipating strikes and moving out of the way only to dance back in for the kill.

It's almost as if I can feel their fear, hear their too-quick, panicked breaths and the quiver of their terrified hands clutching weapons that will not save them. I grin, drunk on their terror, dark satisfaction filling my monstrous heart.

I engage with an older man who seems to be more skilled than the rest—his clothing is slightly different, his chin held a bit higher, eyes clouded with rage rather than fear. Maybe Arden's new Second? I keep him at a distance, dodging his thrusts, matching him parry for parry, until I get a hit on his shoulder, then another on the side of his neck. 

A sting across my face—and the warm rush of blood pouring down my cheek. I jerk my head back as the spy's blade comes within inches of my throat. I whip my sword back to my left, viciously cutting into the man's side. He falls to his knees, and I pivot, turning to meet another soldier, this one fiercely impassioned, eyes alight with hatred. He roars and strikes out, but I parry, catching his blade between mine.

Still locked in combat with the other man, I feel a sharp burn at my ankle, then my knee. The spy dying on the floor behind me is dragging a knife up my leg. I send a wave of darkness to envelop him; he screams, then goes silent, and the pain quickly ceases.

The spies really aren't that difficult to fight—it's just that there's so many of them.

Another soldier comes up behind me and smashes the base of a dagger into my right arm. The muscles of my wrist seize then go lax, and one of my swords falls from my grip, clattering to the floor. Fuck,

As I shake my arm out to regain my strength and replace my blade with a spare dagger while simultaneously sparring with a skillful opponent, someone punches the side of my face from behind. I stumble, narrowly avoiding my opponent's strike to my knees. Catching my balance against the railing, I attack with renewed vigor, raining blow after blow upon the men surrounding me. One of them makes his way into my blind spot, his Lychnus sword slicing along my ribs. Pain sears through me. My dagger slips against my palm, slick with blood.

Suddenly, I hear Kye shout my name from across the mezzanine. Blinding panic seizes me for a profound moment. Is he hurt?

Using my darkness to push the spies back or have them dive for cover, I turn frantically to see Kye gesturing haphazardly, waving to his left with one hand while sinking his knife into a spy's chest with his other. That's when I see—five or so of the smarter spies on each side are no longer advancing toward either of us, but are instead lingering on the middle sides of the mezzanine and notching their longbows, aiming them at us.