The sounds of combat grew louder as Wyatt and his force drew closer to Ashenstead. They were all mounted—over a hundred soldiers on horses and camels. Riding through the forest to the haunted castle was one of the oddest experiences of Wyatt’s life. Less than a week ago, they wanted me and my people dead, and now we’re going to war to save the world.

It sounded insane, even in his own thoughts, but Wyatt knew what was at stake. Claire was both incredibly powerful and extremely bitter, a potent combination that could unleash havoc on the world if her plans came to fruition. It had something to do with Marek, which made sense, given he was a trained Mage of the Citadel and Wyatt wasn’t.

“Chieftain!”

Wyatt turned in his saddle to see Gyek riding towards him, with Votdú a pace behind. While Votdú armed for war wasn’t surprising—he had been Yarran’s Chief Scout after all—seeing Gyek armored and ready for combat wasn’t something he had expected.

“Gyek,” Wyatt said. He motioned to the armor he was wearing, and the bow slung over his shoulder. “I wasn’t expecting you to fight.”

“Bah,” Gyek scoffed. “You may have won the Challenge and you may be our Chieftain, but you truly know little about our ways. Any man or woman who can hold a weapon is expected to fight.”

Wyatt looked back and studied the Kulok warriors that had come with him. Most were of fighting age, but some were young, almost bright-eyed children, while a few others had seen many winters. They were silent and expectant, staring straight ahead at Ashenstead through the treeline.

“I see,” Wyatt said. He turned back to Gyek. “Is everyone ready?”

“We’re prepared to die to defend our home,” Votdú said hotly, moving his horse to stand alongside Gyek’s. Gyek turned to stare at him for a moment, making Votdú grimace. “Chieftain,” he added, closing his eyes in exasperation as he turned to face Gyek. “By Noam’s Light, Uncle, must you make me say it?”

“He won the Challenge,” Gyek said, his voice hard and his eyes like slits. “We may be about to die, but that does not mean you should betray our people.”

“He is not part of our people!” Votdú said loudly, loud enough some Kulok nearby turned to look at him. Votdú flushed but kept going. “I know he won the Challenge, but that does not mean he should be leading us. What about you, Uncle? You are my father’s brother. Why not lead our people into battle?”

Gyek stared at him for a moment expressionlessly until he threw back his head and laughed. Votdú was confused for a moment before his face turned pinched, like he had bitten into something unexpectedly sour.

“You, boy, are an impertinent fool,” Gyek said, his voice a little strained as he collected himself. “You know that our Chieftain is within his right to kill you for your audacity.”

Votdú paled. “He would not do such a thing before a battle,” he said quickly, sneaking a glance at Wyatt, who felt more amused than anything else. “He would not.”

“He should not,” Gyek agreed, “but now you have explicitly said that you want me as Chieftain, a traitorous idea. You must—"

“Enough.”

Gyek frowned at Wyatt’s interruption but fell into obedient silence. Votdú’s face reddened, and he was about to speak up again when Wyatt held up a hand. Votdú finally subsided, but it was a mutinous silence that could erupt if he were not careful.

“Everyone!” Wyatt said, pitching his voice loud enough so that everyone in the immediate area could hear him. “Come close! I must speak to you.”

Word traveled quickly for those who couldn’t speak Common, neighboring Kulok translating to their companions. It took a few minutes, but soon all the men and women that composed Wyatt’s force gathered around him, mounted on their horses. Wyatt rose in his stirrups so that he could look down at them all.

“Gyek,” Wyatt said lowly so that only Gyek and Votdú could hear him. “Translate for me.”

“Yes, Chieftain,” Gyek said, moving his horse right beside him. “Begin when you are ready.”

Wyatt took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. I need to inspire them and make them want to follow me to their deaths. It was a tall order for even the most beloved general, but he would try his best.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Wyatt began. No one said a word at this, but Wyatt knew they silently agreed. It’s a miracle that I’m still alive so that Claire can kill me.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Wyatt re-iterated. “Neither should you. I will not speak ill of the dead, but Yarran should not have chased us here. None of you should have chased us here.”

Wyatt waited for Gyek to translate, watching the faces of the crowd. Some anger sprouted, and one or two of the younger ones called out angrily in Kulok, but they were quickly silenced by those closest to them.

“You have made mistakes. I made a mistake in being too trusting of my friend. Ashenstead has him now,” he continued, hoping against hope that he was wrong. “So, we must do what is necessary to protect ourselves and our loved ones.”

As Gyek translated, Wyatt could see the people in the crowd stiffen. Reins were held more tightly, and weapons were grabbed and held onto. Many leaned forward, which gave Wyatt some optimism that they were truly listening to what he was saying.

“You may not agree that I am a suitable Chieftain of the Kulok people. I agree with you! But I did this because I knew that I was the only one who could do what was necessary.”

Wyatt placed a hand on his sword as he waited for Gyek to translate. When he stopped talking, Wyatt drew his sword and held it above his head.

“We will fight to save this land and all of its people!” Wyatt shouted. Gyek shouted his translation with him, and the Kulok all drew their weapons. “We will do what we must for victory, even if it costs us our lives!”

“KULOK!” came the shout from a hundred throats. Their voices exploded into the clearing, full of emotion. Tears slid down some faces while others were grim and unyielding. All held their weapons above their heads, whether they were bows, swords, or spears. All looked ready to fight and die.

“We ride to our deaths with weapons in our hands and defiance in our hearts!” Wyatt roared. “FOR DIEV! FOR FREEDOM!”

The crowd of warriors bellowed with him. Beside him, Votdú echoed the call, swept up in the tide of emotion that would hopefully carry them through the gates of Claire’s fortress.

Wyatt turned to face Ashenstead. A glimmer of emotion that was not his settled in the back of his mind like a heavy shroud. It was amused but also ready for him.

Claire, Wyatt mentally growled. He settled back in his saddle, ready to begin the attack, but it was not Claire who came to his mind next.

Lea, Wyatt thought, still able to picture his beautiful wife after all these years. He saw Lea and his daughter Bella, laughing and waving to him. His two beautiful girls, taken from this earth far too early. His rage vanished, replaced by a heavy longing that he had never been able to erase. He hadn’t wanted to. They had been his world, and that had never changed.

I’ll see you both soon, Wyatt thought. He sent them his love before he banished those feelings and turned back to the rage that was simmering beneath the surface. It was a fury that came from Captain Nathaniel, the Citadel, Marek, and Claire. While it was Claire that he had known for the shortest amount of time, it was she, most of all, that he hated. She had almost certainly turned Marek against his people by exploiting his ever-present need to protect. She turned a good man into her dupe at best and thrall at worst.

I’m coming for you, Claire. I’ll gut you from behind like the coward you are.

“Forward!” Wyatt cried, bringing his sword down in a flashing arc. His blade briefly reflected the moonlight. He nudged the side of his horse and spurred it forward, charging down the trail and directly to the bridge leading into Ashenstead. Behind him, the Kulok roared as one, spurring their horses and camels and charging behind him.

“FOR NOAM!” came the cry, and Wyatt was shaken out of his concentration for a moment.

If there are any gods or goddesses out there, watch over us, Wyatt prayed. We’ll need your help.

The gates were wide open—No, Wyatt thought, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes. The gates have been blown apart. There were two armies fighting, one army besieging the other. There were trebuchets, ships coming to shore, and men climbing up ladders onto a crumbling wall. They looked solid, but as Wyatt came closer to Ashenstead, he could see that they were pale, unnaturally so. They were see-through, ghosts from a different time re-enacting the same battle he had seen in the courtyard.

“Reinforcements!” came a ghostly cry. The cheer was echoed by the dead soldiers around them, who saluted Wyatt and his warriors as they continued their charge.

There were no cries of alarm or shouts from behind him, which was good. They could only fit three horses abreast on the bridge. If one man were to start or hesitate, it could ruin the charge and devastate their chances of stopping this madness.

There was a shudder that reverberated through Wyatt’s bones the moment he entered the courtyard, which was ablaze with fighting. The courtyard was packed with men fighting and dying. A ghostly boulder came flying over the wall, burning and covered in oil. It slammed into the ground, killing two men and wounding another.

Wyatt launched himself into the fray, swinging his sword at the first defender that charged him. He grunted as his sword met real steel. He slashed again, cutting the man’s throat.

The man fell, but his horse was immediately surrounded by four other men. Wyatt hacked at them, killing one. He wasn’t quick enough for the other, who stabbed a spear into Wyatt’s horse’s chest.

Wyatt threw himself off his horse as it collapsed. The two soldiers moved to take him down, but an arrow sprouted from their forehead, followed by another.

“KEEP MOVING!” Gyek shouted. Wyatt looked up to see the old man loosening his arrows with the grace of a much younger man. “KILL THE NAK!”

Wyatt ran forward, ignoring the screams of both the living and the dead fighting all around him. He barreled into one ghost shoulder-first, sending him to the ground. Sensing someone behind him, he spun, avoiding a lunge from another ghost. He swung, cutting deep into the ghost’s face before jerking his sword out and killing the other ghost that was still sprawled on the ground.

Even as badly outnumbered as they were, Claire’s defenders were putting up a ferocious resistance. For every man that died, two attackers followed. Wyatt glanced back when he had a moment, noting with dismay that many of his warriors were dead.

I don’t need them, Wyatt thought, ignoring the amusement that he knew was Claire’s. I only need to get in there and stop Marek.

Wyatt doggedly continued toward the Main Hall, killing as he went. There was no time for fancy tricks or excellent footwork. He was a butcher, and these were pigs marked for slaughter. He treated them as such, roaring and nearly cutting off a man’s head entirely with one swing of his sword. He hadn’t expected there to be such little resistance. He nearly stumbled onto another ghost’s blade before he, too, fell with an arrow between his eyes.

“GO!” Votdú shouted, waving him onward. He shot another man in front of Wyatt, then another. “DO NOT STOP!”

Wyatt turned to leave but stopped as Gyek screamed. Wyatt’s eyes widened as behind Votdú, the older man was pulled off his horse and hacked to pieces. Votdú looked back and screamed in anguish, his face a rictus of agony and grief.

“GO!” Votdú screamed at Wyatt a final time.

Wyatt nodded and ran forward to the Main Hall. Almost all his men were dead or on their way there. Votdú screamed again behind him, his voice cutting off suddenly in a way that almost surely meant he was dead.

More men sprang in front of him, doing their best to stall him. They all died quickly. Wyatt cut through them like a scythe through wheat. He was an avatar of death. Every stroke of his sword went through shields, shattered blades, and killed men.

Wyatt reached for his magic but found that he was already holding it. He didn’t know when he had done that and didn’t care. He had other things to worry about.

Wyatt finally made it to the doorway when he saw Marek walking malevolently towards Anton, who looked as though he didn’t know whether to fight or flee. The last of Talon’s men were lying on the ground, dead, and Anton was about to follow. Marek’s eyes glowed, and he grinned in a way that reminded him of Claire.

“CLAIRE!” Wyatt bellowed as Anton saw him and began to run toward him. “CLAIRE!”

Marek stopped moving. It looked as though he was struggling with himself. He groaned, and for a moment, Wyatt felt hope stir within his chest. Marek’s eyes seemed to dim, and the fighting outside seemed to grow less terrible, less fierce. Then Marek rocked back on his heels, blinking. The light in his eyes returned, growing even brighter and the malevolent presence returned.

“Wyatt!” Anton cried, running toward him. He came to a stop beside him and turned to face Marek, who stood there and watching him. “What do we do?”

“We fight,” Wyatt said grimly. “Stay behind me and wait for an opening.”