31.

  Hawkeye

  The Basilisk stalked the length of my cramped study like a caged predator. Shadows rippling over him every time he passed the hearth light. The flames spit sparks against the stone, but the real heat in the room came from the two of us circling the same impossible argument.

  “This is our city too,” I said, voice steady but thin.

  He froze mid-step and slanted a look at me, his pupils tightening to narrow slits.

  “Our city,” he echoed, a bitter laugh hissing between his teeth. “Yet you ssspeak of joining the army as if we were born for it. We’re not soldiers, Hawkeye. We are thievesss. Spiesss. Assassinsss. We work from the shadows. Not on open war fieldsss.”

  “So what?” I shot back. “Will we sit here in the dark while they tear through the walls and spill into our tunnels? You want to lose our underground city?”

  He bared his teeth. “They’re already in the tunnelsss. Those cursssed portals are vomiting them straight into our veinsss.”

  “Then we can’t wait!”

  The words tore out of me. Louder than I meant them to, sharp enough to cut the silence clean in two.

  We both stared at each other, startled by the echo. I never raised my voice. Never needed to. But the months of strain were piled high behind my ribs. And for a moment they crushed the air out of me.

  “I’m sorry,” I murmured, dragging a breath in through my nose, grounding myself.

  “No,” he said quietly, a dangerous calm settling over him. “You’re right. We can’t wait…”

  His hand shot out, faster than thought. Fingers twisted in my collar, dragging me closer. My heart skipped a beat when I felt cold steel kiss the hollow of my throat.

  “But do not forget who I am,” he hissed.

  A tremor slid down my spine. I swallowed carefully, feeling the knife press skin. A warning. Then I nodded.

  The Basilisk released me, stepping back while the air between us stayed tense.

  “What if we send half…”

  “Half?!” he snapped.

  “Fine. Not half. A third. One third of our guild.”

  “One third…” He paced again, muttering the words as if tasting them for poison.

  I rubbed at the bridge of my nose, frustration knotting at the base of my skull. I understood him, I did.

  Our whole lives we’d lived in the shadow because the High King hunted us through the streets like vermin. Prison if we we’re lucky. The gallows if we weren’t.

  And now, with war spilling across every horizon, the same king begged for our help.

  His scouts had seen it: a host of ten thousand Underworld creatures marching on the eastern gates of Westray.

  “There are more Black Hawks than soldiers left in his army,” I said softly. “And Westray is ours as much as his. We live beneath it. Our women and children are hiding in Armenelos. Are we really going to wait until the Fiend’s hordes tear through the wall and flood the place we swore was safe?”

  That stopped him. Truly stopped him.

  His jaw ticked, muscles jumping under his skin.

  “Okay. One third. But no more. We will need men to close those cursed portalsss before the tunnelsss become a ssslaughterhouse.”

  Relief loosened something tight in my chest. But it lasted only a breath.

  “And you, Hawkeye,” he added, turning toward me with that unreadable expression he wore like armour, “will command them as lieutenant. I’ll stay and guard Armenelosss.”

  A cold weight rooted itself in my stomach.

  Lieutenant.

  A battlefield.

  “Understood,” I whispered, though every part of me tightened at the thought of stepping into open war.

  ? ? ?

  With Henry’s relentless discipline and my authority behind him, we gathered two thousand guild members who were willing to stand on the front lines.

  Two thousand shadows stepping into the light. It warmed my heart to see so many members ready to defend their home. Most were trained in close combat, the brutal and efficient kind that kept you alive in alleyways brawls and tunnel skirmishes.

  And many of them owed their skill to Henry himself. He was one of the finest instructors we’d ever had… and he refused to stay behind.

  If his students marched into war, then so would he.

  Rows of hardened faces faced me, illuminated by the cold lantern glow, shoulders squared, blades strapped tight. When I looked at them a swell of pride rose sharp and sudden in my chest.

  These were Black Hawks. The ones the world had thrown away.

  Urchins, runaways, gutter snatchers, knives-for-hire.

  Broken things, once.

  And the Basilisk, Deathrose and I had built something out of that wreckage. A home. A community.

  A place for those whom the city spat out and pretended not to see.

  Morally grey, yes. Shadows always are, but ours were shadows that protected one another.

  And I was proud to stand at their head.

  “Today,” I called out, letting my voice roll through the cavernous expanse of the underground city, “we fight for our city!”

  Their answering roar crashed against the stone walls, a single thunderous voice rising from two thousand throats.

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  “Today we fight for our families! For the ones we love!”

  A deeper swell of sound this time. Fierce, raw and alive.

  “For Armenelos!”

  “For Armenelos!” they echoed, the word hitting like a war-drum.

  And with that, we moved. A tide of shadows marching toward the light of a war none of us could avoid.

  ? ? ?

  For hours we stood before the walls of Westray, lined up in rigid formation beneath a sky swollen with storm.

  The Fiend’s army had been sighted only a few hours out. And every living soul capable of holding a blade had been summoned to the gates. At first the anticipation tightened every spine… but after four long hours of waiting, the edge dulled.

  My legs ached. My back ached. Even my boredom began to ache.

  Behind me, discipline frayed. Weapons dropped. Men and women slumped to the grass or leaned on one another, murmuring, joking quietly. Anything to distract themselves from the stagnant fear pooling in the air.

  The fields before Westray were a tapestry of bodies and steel. Men, elves, Silver Soldiers. The High King’s army, once a pride of ten thousand, now barely five. Another eight hundred silver-clad Silver Soldiers were scattered over the city, glinting from the walls and streets.

  Our own Black Hawk detachment numbered two thousand… and then the elves. The last true bastion of elegance left in this crumbling realm.

  Three thousand had ridden in months ago. Only a thousand stood here now, but by Herdus beard, they still looked unbroken. Green-silver amour with organic patterns. Bows poised. Faces calm as carved marble.

  Lord Reyzana sat astride his copper coloured stallion at the front. He was speaking low to his advisors, the image of quiet, ancient certainty.

  Suddenly a sound reached our ears. A distant, rhythmic pounding, deep and steady as a heartbeat. Thousands of feet moving as one. A disciplined march.

  The horizon darkened. As did my feelings, sharpening my senses.

  Closer and closer they came. A black mass crawled forward. Slow at first… then growing, stretching, devouring the distance between us. I took in a shuddering breath, adrenaline surging through my veins.

  The closer they came, the harder the truth pressed against my ribs: this was no chaotic swarm of monsters.

  This was an army.

  Ten thousand Underworld creatures. Undead spellcasters with dead blue fire in their sockets. Devils of lower ranks, armoured and orderly. A wall of undead marching or dragging itself forward.

  A murmur of fear rose behind me. My people-- – shadows, thieves, assassins – all of them more than capable of surviving the night knives of a city… yet even they felt the cold fingers of dread curl into their spines.

  I turned to face them, hiding the tremor gnawing at my own resolve.

  “Who are we?!” I shouted.

  “The Black Hawks,” a few answered, uncertain.

  I raised my voice, sharp as a strike.

  “WHO ARE WE?!”

  “THE BLACK HAWKS!” they thundered back.

  “Good,” I said, letting their own strength reverberate through them, through me.

  “Then let’s show these Underworld filth they chose the wrong city. This will be a dark day, a red day, but hear me well: we will fight… and we will win.”

  I drew in a breath deep enough to steady an army and roared, “FOR ARMENELOS!”

  “For Armenelos!” they bellowed, their voices suddenly alive, burning.

  Hope, fragile and defiant, flickered through their ranks.

  Then the rain began.

  Slow, cold droplets tapping against armour, against steel, against the earth itself. A funeral rhythm, steady and patient.

  Around us, lieutenants raised their voices and blades, rallying their lines. The air thrummed with tension. That electric silence that exists only in the heartbeat before slaughter.

  The Fiend’s army halted mere running distance away. The front line stood still as statues. Then their chant rose.

  A low, guttural, hell-born, rhythm that slithered through bone and marrow. It burrowed into the mind, into the soft places behind the ribs. A sound that made even the brave ones shiver.

  And then… like a dam shattering they charged.

  Lord Reyzana twisted in his saddle, his faze sweeping across every formation, every legion. His eyes met mine for the briefest moment – a nod, quick but deliberate – before he lifted his sword high.

  “For the Mid Realm!” He cried, and spurred his horse straight into the coming storm.

  The cavalry surged forward, a thunderous wave of hooves and steel crashing into the oncoming dark. We didn’t hesitate either. Couldn’t.

  Instinct pushed our legs long before thought caught up. We sprinted after them.

  The world narrowing to the roar of battle and the taste of metal in the air.

  Every trembling doubt, every scrap of fear I carried was shoved into some distant corner of my mind. Years of combat training swallowed me whole.

  Shadow-work.

  Silent strikes.

  Every lesson carved into muscle and memory.

  My blade met the first devil-creature with a scream of steel. I pivoted on instinct, my heart racing. Slicing through its arm, ducking low as its remaining talons sang past my skull.

  I slipped around its back and drove my sword deep. Its dying shriek tangled into the drowning chorus of battle. I had not time to celebrate.

  No time to breathe. Or think.

  My focus narrowed on the next enemy.

  For all my years as a master thief, nothing had ever prepared me for a war like this. Not truly.

  Fighting a handful of guards in a tight corridor was nothing compared to facing an endless tide of horrors. Each more grotesque than the last.

  I missed the simple times. Missed being the king of rooftops, the ghost of alleyways and the blade in the dark. I felt like a novice thrown into the ocean without learning how to swim.

  Somewhere behind me, a Black Widow unleashed a scream that froze the marrow in my bones. But there was no room in my skull for fear.

  Another undead swung at me. I severed its head, only for a blast of corrupted magic to slam into my ribs. The world spun. Fire seared through my veins. I fell on my side. Hands grabbed my arms, strong and swift.

  An elf soldier hauled me back to my feet. I nodded a thank you, breathless, and he jerked his chin toward the mage preparing another spell.

  With renewed spirit I followed him. Together we closed in from opposite sides. The mage barely turned before we cut him down. His final cry sending a bolt of relief through my old bones.

  We moved on together, then with others. Elves, humans, Black Hawks. Arrows whistling past, blades flashing in the rain, screams echoing over the piling dead. Each one sending a jolt of fear through me.

  My thoughts screaming, hoping it wasn’t someone I knew. Knowing damn well that we wouldn’t come out of this unscathed.

  Bodies carpeted the ground. And as I looked, my breath caught. Too many of them wore the Black Hawk insignia. Every familiar face struck a blade deeper into my chest. I had let them here. I had asked them to stand with me. And the price was being paid in blood.

  Still, we held.

  For what felt like hours. We held the Fiend’s horde back.

  Barely.

  Our numbers thinned while theirs seemed endless… but small victories sparked hope. We cheered for every devil that fell, for every undead silenced for good.

  And then he arrived.

  The drake’s roar cut through the battlefield like a jagged blade. We all looked up. Courage sinking into our shoes.

  He descended upon us astride a drake so enormous it blotted out the sky. A living storm of black scales and lightning eyes.

  At a single command of his hand, the drakes dived.

  Screams tore through the legions as men and women were plucked from the ground. Devoured whole or shredded mid-air, raining blood onto the churned earth.

  “PULL BACK!”

  A lieutenant’s voice shattered the chaos.

  “PULL BACK!”

  I turned and ran, pushing toward the city gates as Black Hawks and soldiers broke into a frantic retreat.

  A monstrous beast, horned like a twisted ram, charged from the flank. He tore down one of my men.

  One of the younger men I knew. Just reached his twenties. Anger surged through me and I lunged.

  My sword plunged into its chest. But the monster swung its massive hand and nearly took my head clean off. I dropped the blade, pivoted and vaulted onto its back. All in one swift movement that brought a smile onto my face. These old bones still had it in them. My dagger found the gap between its horns and drove it deep. The beast collapsed with a shudder.

  I retrieved my sword and hauled the injured young Hawk upright. His leg hung useless, bones shattered.

  He leaned heavily into me as we staggered toward the gate.

  “Leave me, sir,” he gasped.

  “No,” I hissed anger flaring again. “We don’t leave our own.”

  A roar split the sky. Panic struck me. A gust of wind slammed into us.

  Teeth… colossal, cold, merciless, clamped around my waist so tightly I cried.

  The boy was crushed against me as the drake hurled us upward. The world spun wildly. Pain flared through every bone, snapping and breaking. My scream died in a soft whimper.

  I was flying. Or falling. Or both.

  Through the ringing in my skull, I realized the truth.

  The drake had thrown us. Flinging us high above the battlefield like discarded meat. Tears stung my eyes.

  The ground rushed up, distant and merciless. At least it would be over quick, I hoped.

  They say when death approaches, your life flashes before your eyes.

  I had never believed that.

  But as I tumbled through the grey sky, limbs numb, breath gone. I saw it all: the long roads as a hired guard, the dusty caravans; meeting the Basilisk in a back-alley brawl that should’ve killed us both; our rise through the guild; every victory, every mistake.

  And Deathrose.

  My Deathrose.

  Her smile. Her voice. The warmth of her hand in mine.

  A faint smile curved my lips. I was going to see her again.

  The rain had stopped. A few rays of sunlight broke through the clouds. Pale, gentle beams brushing warmth over my fading senses.

  After rain comes sunshine. It brought hope to these old and broken bones.

  It was then the world slammed into me.

  A white flash tore everything apart.

  Beautiful and bright before….

  Darkness.