The Beauty of Darkness (The Remnant Chronicles 3)

We stood there, looking into the quiet. We had already said everything there was to say. Done everything we could do. Dalbreck’s troops were in place. Our odds were better. Venda outnumbered us only two to one now. But they still had better weapons. Something deep inside me wanted to drag Lia away, keep her safe, but I knew I couldn’t.

“We’re as ready as we can be,” I said.

She nodded again. “I know.”

Her gaze traveled along the silhouette of ruins on the cliffs, their ghostly edges lined by silver moonlight.

“They were great once,” she said. “They flew among the stars. Their voices boomed over the mountains. And this is all that’s left. Will we ever truly know who they were, Rafe?” She turned toward me. “After tomorrow, will anyone know who we were?”

I looked at her, not caring who the Ancients were. All I could think was, It doesn’t matter how many universes come and go, I will always remember who we were together.

I leaned down. Kissed her. Slowly. Gently. One last time.

She looked at me. She said nothing. She didn’t need to.

* * *

The meadow grass rippled in the breeze. By the next day, it would be trampled. Burned. Bloody. Our scouts had ridden in tonight. The Komizar’s army would make it to the valley entrance by morning.

The crowned and beaten,

The tongue and sword,

Together they will attack,

Like blinding stars thrown from the heavens.

—Song of Venda

CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN

LIA

Nurse the rage.

My heart pounded wildly.

The army was a blur at the end of the valley. A solid rolling wave. Condensing. Rising. Solidifying as the valley narrowed.

Their pace was leisurely. Unworried.

They had no need for worry. I’d already seen them approaching from the cliffs at the entrance to the valley before I rode back to take my position. I had seen how far they stretched, how unstoppable they were. Even the trail they left behind them was staggering, like the dust of a star shooting across the sky. It reached back for miles. They marched in ten divisions, infantry at the lead, followed by what looked like supplies, artillery, and herds of brezalots. More infantry followed, and then a fifth divison of soldiers on horseback. There was a heaviness to this division, something thick and weighty and more foreboding than the rest. There was no doubt in my mind that was where he rode, in the middle, within quick reach of all divisions, keeping a close watch on his creation, sucking in its power and breathing it out again like fire.

The army’s slow pace wore on nerves—just as he’d calculated.

A squad of their scouts had spotted us, then raced back to their front lines, probably reporting our pathetic numbers. Five thousand of us defended the exit of the valley—five thousand that they could see. More were ready to stream in behind us. The Vendan pace continued syrup slow, unflustered. We were merely a stone in the trail to be trampled underfoot. Even if the whole Morrighese army blocked the exit, the Komizar wasn’t worried. If anything, we only whet his appetite. At last he was getting the first course of the feast he had anticipated for so long.

Morrighan.

I heard the name of the kingdom on his lips. Amused. Sticky and cloying like a jelly drop in his mouth. He swallowed it down like a treat.

If rage pulsed in my veins, it was masked by the fear that roared in my ears for the thousands who stood behind me. This might be the day they lost their lives.

Rafe and Kaden sat on horses on either side of me. While I was dressed to be recognized, their clothing served an opposite purpose. Both wore black cloaks with the hoods drawn—the uniform of Morrighese Guardians. Jeb, Tavish, Orrin, Andrés, and Griz were in a line behind us, wearing the same. We didn’t want them recognized too soon.

“He’s playing with us,” Rafe said, his eyes locked on the slowly progressing cloud.

Kaden cursed under his breath. “At this pace, we’ll be fighting by moonlight.”