Page 136 of The Exquisite Torment of Loving Your Enemy
“North wall is breached,” rang Tenet’s voice.
So that had been the strategy.
The wightlings swarmed the breach.
“Tenet, Haven, Solace, with me on the ground,” called Verity. “The rest of you defend the walls.”
The four Wardens pressed their tacn together and separated, drawing a brilliant blue line of warding across the breached wall. Again and again they drew the line, and again and again wightlings crossed it, were reduced to a black-red slurry, and crossed it again.
This level of seith output wasn’t sustainable. Aurienne called Corinne and Nym to her side and descended into the courtyard. Verity made eye contact with her and nodded. In turn, each of the four Wardens at the breach fell back to the three Haelan, pulled off their gorgets, and had their seith topped off.
The Wardens still on the ramparts, now reduced to one per wall, held off wightlings attempting to climb them.
Another wave of wightlings descended through the V-shaped breach and into the courtyard.
“So bloody many,” said Haven.
“They emptied their garrisons,” said Tenet.
“We’re wasting seith on these wretches,” said Verity. “The worst is yet to come—”
She cut herself off with a gasp. A line of white rose behind the wightlings pouring into the breach. It descended quietly behind the mass that heaved towards the courtyard.
Haelan tacn touched wightling flesh. A shiver of seith passed over the courtyard—seith that wasn’t, for once, carefully doled out, wasn’t administered per clinical practice guidelines. Wightling brains splattered out of noses and ears before they could turn around. Eyes wererendered into gelatinous discharge. Hearts were pulped. Joints were blown.
So it went until the line of white met the line of blue. By the time the wightlings turned to face what had come upon them from behind, they were a semisolid mess.
“Well done,” said Verity to the Haelan who neared, now covered in filth.
Abercorn’s puffin deofol, winging above the fortress, said, “Look sharp. Incoming.”
The breached wall darkened again with forms stepping over broken stone and wightlings.
This time, the figures were larger. Armoured in black plate and horned helmets. They stepped with certainty instead of a brainless shuffle. Upon their backs hung enormous scythes. Like the Wardens, their gauntlets had a removable partition. Black death’s head tacn grinned from left palms.
“Dreor,” spat Haven.
Yes—these were fully fledged Dreor.RealDreor. Death-knights.
They filled Aurienne with dread.
Not so with the Wardens. The four in the courtyard closed ranks. In their eyes there was nothing but fury.
Wardens hated Dreor as much as Haelan hated Fyren.
“Be careful,” said Aurienne. “Their haemokinesis—”
Blue-white light burst through the chinks in the Wardens’ armour. “Light shields,” said Haven to Aurienne. “As long as we’ve got these up, their foul seith can’t touch us. All Haelan—get back.”
Tenet was less smug. “Light shields deplete seith quickly.”
Verity, fearless, tall, her spear at her side, stepped towards the advancing Dreor. “The cowards finally join us,” she called.
“We wanted to warm you up,” replied the lead Dreor. It was a woman’s voice, hoarse through the helmet.
“Where are our little ones?” asked another Dreor. “Where are our sick, precious babies?”
“They aren’t yours,” said Verity.
