Fire Heart (The Titans: Book One) (26 page)

But Will shook his head. “No,” he said through clenched teeth. “You stay there and do what you have to do. We'll hold them off until you're ready, and then we'll all attack the...well, whatever that thing is at the same time.”

“Will, no!” she gasped, reaching for him, but he had already turned away.

“What do you want to do?” Clare asked beside him.

He thought for a moment, and then turned to her, his face set with grim resolve. “We need to find Castor and call a retreat. Maybe if we can draw that thing into the city, we can corner it and kill it.”

“Look at what you have done,” said the Dark One. “Look at the wondrous gift you have given the world.”

Keth's creations ran amok throughout Pallamar, pillaging and burning and destroying everything they found, fueled by their master's insanity. But Keth himself was horrified to see what his madness had wrought. This gift was even worse than the first one.

“This is wrong,” he whispered to his dark companion. “I should not have done this.”

“Immortality was dull,” the Dark One hissed in his ear. “You wished to relieve mankind of that curse, and you did. And now—now look at how exciting their short lives have become!”

And slowly, calmed by the evil presence's words, Keth drifted back into the comforting darkness of oblivion and allowed the Dark One to take control again.

But his actions had not gone unnoticed; the other Titans saw what their sibling had created, and they despaired—none, though, so much as Koutoum, who alone had never stopped loving his brother. And when the Titans wept, only Koutoum wept for Keth.

~

“Castor!” Clare shouted, searching frantically through the seething mass of humans and yaru. “Castor, where are you!” Behind her, Will echoed her cries.

She had gone but a short distance when a grisly specter loomed before her, sword at the ready and covered in blood. “What is it?” he asked. What little she could see of Castor's golden hair from beneath the edges of his helm was now a sticky mass of blood that curled against his face and matted against his skin. His armor was similarly covered, and one of his bracers sported a large furrow dug by a yaru claw. His infamous lion helm, though, was still intact, and the gore that had spattered across its face made it look all the fiercer. 

“We need to retreat,” Will said, coming up next to Clare. There was a tightness in his voice that, while well-disguised, Clare could hear all too well. His injuries had to be paining him very badly. “Serah thinks that thing isn't dead, and we're losing too many men as it is. We need to draw it back into the city. There's no way we can reach it now without letting the yaru in through the front gate.”

“What about the desert woman?” Castor asked, looking around quickly. “Where is she?”

“No idea.”

“I think her bodyguards took her someplace to recover,” Clare answered. “She was hurt very badly when she hit that house the first time. I can't imagine it didn't take its toll on her.”

“Alright,” Castor said with a nod. “There's a second line of archers on the rooftops around the city center. We'll pull back behind them.” He pulled a horn from a loop on his belt and blew it twice in quick succession—the signal for a retreat. “You two get to the center. I'll stay here until everyone else has fallen back. Meet me by that statue of Gefan.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” Will scoffed. “We're staying here with you.”

Castor shrugged and blew the horn twice more. “Suit yourself.”

The rest of the Ravens and the city guard began to retreat, fending off the relentless yaru assault as they went. Soon the wall was clear of people and they were able to move back into the buildings.

“Archers! Hold them off!” Castor shouted.

What few archers remained stopped to fire a quick volley of arrows. A dozen of the pursuing yaru fell writhing to the ground, and were quickly swallowed up by the seething horde behind them. The archers and crossbowmen fire twice more and then, when continued resistance was obviously futile, turned tail and ran.

Fighting on the wall had been chaotic; fighting among the buildings was a nightmare. The yaru were faster and stronger than humans, and could scale the stone walls or leap from rooftop to rooftop
with ease. They pounced from the shadows and on high, dragging their victims kicking and screaming back to the darkness where their cries ended abruptly, replaced with the sounds of crunching bone and ripping gristle.

Clare saw an archer stop to fire, only to have a yaru leap at him from behind. The soldier twisted from the force of the blow and lost his hold on the arrow, releasing it straight into the throat of another fleeing man who crumpled to the ground with a choked scream. The archer stumbled away from the yaru and drew his sword, only to have his arm torn from his shoulder in a spray of gore.

Clare did not get the chance to see the end, however, as another yaru leaped directly at her from above. She raised her sword far too slowly, her mind screaming at her body to move faster, but she never had the chance to strike. Grim hurtled toward the beast and tackled it to the ground with a savage snarl, and Clare felt the shock from his landing through the soles of her boots. The yaru thrashed and screamed, but its howl was cut short as Grim bit down on its neck. There was a squish of flesh and a snap of breaking bone, and then several distinct pops of separating vertebrae as Grim shook the thing bodily and tossed it to the side in a bloody heap, its head nearly separated from its neck.

Clare must have slowed to watch the spectacle, because suddenly she felt a hand grasp hers and tug on her arm, and she turned to see Will pulling her along. “Hurry!” he cried, and she ran with him. They sprinted as quickly as they could, but the unfamiliar winding streets seemed a labyrinth from which they would never escape. And all the while their retreat was punctuated by screams of agony and howls of rage, and by the whiz and clack of missed arrows and the snap of breaking bone.

Two yaru leaped in front of them from the rooftops, but they barreled through the beasts without hesitation. One raised its talons toward Castor, who with uncanny speed easily lopped off its hand and, in the same swing, its head. Will stabbed the other beast in the chest, lifting it off its feet and carrying it a short way before withdrawing his sword and letting the creature fall to the ground, where it writhed and jerked spasmodically until Grim bit down on its skull.

Soon all Clare could hear were the cries of hunting yaru coming from all around; the soldiers behind them had perished, swallowed by the horde of gnashing teeth and rending claws that was now gaining on them with frightening speed. She pushed herself harder, forcing her legs to pump faster than they ever had before, and her lungs burned as she fought to draw breath. Will's grip on her hand tightened, and it gave her strength.

“We're almost there!” Castor cried, and then a storm of arrows whizzed a mere hand's breadth above their heads. A chorus of bestial screams followed the volley, and the sound made Clare's heart soar. They had finally, against all odds, made it to the inner ring of defenses. “Fall back!” Castor cried to the archers above and around them. “Fall back to the city square!”

Another volley flew through the air, and then Clare saw the archers materialize from the darkness all around them. “Go, Commander!” one cried, and he loosed another arrow. “We'll watch your back!”

They arrived in the city center moments later. Carts, tables, stalls, and great metal fire cages had been set up in a massive ring with yet more archers waiting behind them. Swordsmen and halberdiers stood among them, weapons at the ready and expressions of both terror and fortitude upon their faces. Katryna and some of the more seasoned veterans from the Raven Knights were shouting commands, and as Clare, Will, and Castor passed the ring of defenses she heard one man cry, “Light arrows!” The archers dipped their arrows into the fire cages before once again returning to a  ready position.

The last of the scant few soldiers who had survived the melee atop the wall were just passing the edge of the defensive perimeter, and Clare could see the foremost yaru bounding right behind them. Their bodies seemed to blend in with the shadows, but the sea of glowing red eyes belied their positions; the scene was nightmarish, and Clare felt a chill run through her body.

Right as the last man crossed the barricade Katryna screamed, “Fire!”

The twang of bowstrings filled the air, and countless streaks of fire eclipsed the night sky, arcing majestically over the defenders before raining down on top of the pursuing yaru. Clare had not seen the ring of oil around the outer edge of the city center, so she jumped in surprise when a great, roaring line
of flame erupted a good stone's throw from where she stood. The writhing barrier engulfed the first of the yaru, and the beasts reappeared on the other side as thrashing balls of heat that rolled and flopped comically along the ground, sending clouds of oily smoke billowing into the night air and leaving long streaks of black soot in their wake. The defenders raised a ragged cheer, and it was punctuated by cries for arrows at the ready.

Clare realized that she was still holding Will's hand and reluctantly released her grip, raising her sword before her. “Well, guardian spirit,” Will said, looking at her with only the barest trace of humor, “I guess this is it.”

She flashed him a smile, though it was a strained one, and said, “Don't worry—I'll protect you.” She looked around suddenly. “Where's Serah?” she asked, a feeling of dread washing over her. “I thought she'd be here.”

“I am,” said a voice behind them, and Clare turned to see Serah limping toward them, one arm around one of her bodyguards' shoulders to steady herself.

“Are you going to be alright?” Clare asked.

“I do not think so,” Serah breathed, the pain audible in her voice. “This injury will not kill me...but the traitor might.”

“What do you mean?”

Serah pointed over Clare's shoulder, and they followed her gesture. “One of the seven Fallen is here.
Were
you awakened to your full potential, Will, you could easily dispatch him on your own. But for me, it will be a far more challenging fight. Perhaps if Borbos were here, or Leyra, it would be different, but I do not think I will survive this battle. If I die, you
must
run, yes? Promise me this one thing, Will, I beg you.”

Will took a deep breath to steady himself, and his eyes flicked briefly to Clare.

“I can't,” he said quietly. “I'm sorry.”

Nobody said anything; they simply stared at the roaring shield of flame and waited. Serah hung her head in defeat. Clare glanced between Will and the desert woman before looking away.
If that is his choice,
she thought,
so be it. I'll fight until the end. I suppose my time has finally come.
She barely heard the commands being shouted all around her; all of her attention was focused solely on anything that might come through the fire. Yaru might not be the most intelligent of creatures, but they were tenacious and nefariously cunning. The fire would not stop them for long, and she had given her promise to Serah: anything that came for Will would have to fight through her first.

But the yaru never came. The defenders waited tensely for what seemed half a belltoll, and all the while the barrier of flaming oil continued to rage with unchecked fury, its heat washing over the defenders and making Clare sweat despite her distance from it. The moon and stars were now almost completely concealed beneath a thick blanket of smoke, and the flickering orange light from the fire cast a demonic glow across everything it touched. And then...

“What's that?” Will asked suddenly, and Clare felt a thrill of fear course through her.

An inky black figure in the shape of a child had materialized within the inferno. It walked toward them slowly, its outline wavering and distorted by the intense heat that should have been melting the skin from its body. But the flames parted around it like the petals of some monstrous flower, driven back by a slowly pulsating field of dark energy. Then the child was through, the hole in the fire snapping shut behind it with a resonating thud. The boy stood for a moment, surveying the soldiers before it with an expression of placid indifference.

“Titans.” It growled the word as though it were an insult, and its voice was hoarse and gravelly. “Disgusting creatures.”

“It sounds different than last time,” Will murmured.

“You are a blight on this world,” it continued, its red eyes glaring in the inky shadows of its face. It spoke haltingly, as though constantly fighting to draw a shallow breath. It almost sounded ill. Clare wondered if perhaps the wound Will had inflicted upon it in the forest was graver than they had thought.
“But no longer,” it continued. “
Your
destruction is nigh.” It cocked its head slowly to one side. “And yet still you fight. Your tenacity is admirable.”

“You once worshiped us as gods,” Serah suddenly said, her beautifully clear voice a sharp contrast to the boy-thing's. The sound of it returned strength to Clare that she had not realized the boy's was sapping. “Or have you forgotten, traitor?” The last word she said with such venom that Clare felt a shiver go up her spine.

“Do not lecture me, Wind Witch,” the boy hissed. “I was a human once, and a slave to your power, but no longer. Now I am something more. I have a power no man could dream of possessing.”

“A stolen power.”

“But it is mine all the same.” It was silent for a moment. “Dragon King,” it said at last, “I know you are here.” A murmur rippled through the ranks of the soldiers at the creature's words. “Your scent has been covered since last we met, but I know you. Your predecessor never fled from a fight—especially when innocents were in danger. I would hate to see his shining reputation tarnished by your cowardice.”

A choked scream reverberated suddenly across the city center, and Clare snapped her head around toward the source, her eyes widening in surprise. A man was dangling in midair, his body seemingly supported by nothing and his limbs flailing in terror. He went still a moment later as though paralyzed, and then with agonizing deliberation his sword hand began to turn inward. Soon the point of his blade was resting against the base of his own throat, and his wide, terrified eyes locked onto the shining metal.