Leela regretted looking over the battlement.

  The Maelim had been gathering outside the city for the past month, pouring in from the east, and now they had surrounded the city. They had been hard at work too, building siege engines, slaughtering messengers, tightening the proverbial noose.

  She held her bow tightly as she dared to peer over the battlement. Never had Leela seen so many Maelim in one place! It was an ocean of red and black eyes. They were heavily armored and armed, their plate obsidian in hue and as polished as star iron. These were no rabble, no brigands, these were warriors, as equal in skill and martial prowess as any Benelim. Their chanting was unending and loud. A chorus of monstrous guttural voices and snarling roars.

  To make matters worse, a score of true Nephilim had joined their forces. Their forms stood out from the crowd like beacons of maliciousness. Leela saw with dread a great and terrible rectangular shape rising from the horde below. It was covered in sheets of heavy blackened steel like scales on a leviathan, and it held dozens of portholes of which bolts were jutting out. It was more than able to reach the Benelim on the tops of their tree-like bastion.

  Behind the tower came a smaller engine, similar armored, like a turtle, it seemed. A single opening revealed a long piece of metal, capped with a manticore’s head at the end, frozen in an eternal snarl. A dozen catapults also formed up, the spoon like arms loaded with chunks of metal and fire.

  A single armored Maelim came to the front of the host and approached the gate, a large amber colored wooden fixture. He had a scroll in his hand. “I speak on behalf of The Scythe. May King Christoros come forth to parlay?”

  Leela saw the ancient Benelim, the son of High King Ioannis, come forth. King Christoros was the spitting image of his father, if younger, with a golden crown instead of an emerald one, and with words perhaps not as strong. He nevertheless maintained his regal bearing as he strode to the top of the gate. “I am here,” he intoned. “What does your wretched master want?”

  “Surrender peacefully, and your city will be spared. The Scythe in her grace will allow you to live. She has not forgotten the valor both you and your father showed in the Second Novalim War. She has long respected you. But times have changed, and your kingdom is not as great as it was. The age of the Maelim has come. The Bitter Winter shall give way to a Maelim Spring. If you do not surrender, then you and everyone in your city will die.”

  King Christoros' eyes narrowed. “Tell The Scythe this. Amnisos has stood for eleven centuries ever since Domina Terra gifted these woods to us. No Maelim has ever conquered the Golden Wood! Ours is the greatest of the Benelim kingdoms. We are timeless and indomitable. We will not give an inch of our sacred lands to you. If you truly respect my father, you shall disperse at once!”

  The Maelim messenger snarled, but another voice spoke before he could reply. “Do you not know your death when you see it, Christoros?” The voice was feminine and sharp, and it came with the loud scream of a monster. A great winged beast rocketed into the air from the back of the host.

  It was gargantuan, dwarfing its rider easily. It was a strange beast, its fur was scarlet. It had a blackened mane and a spiked armored tail. The end of the tail was sickly pink and throbbing obscenely, dripping poison from its barbs. Its feathered wings were alabaster and maroon, and gusts of wind burst with every flap. Its blackened eyes were lusting for carnage and slaughter.

  The rider was heavily armored in an old black suit of Murexen stock. She wore a bronze plumed helm and a red plaid cape. She had four arms, a twin pair of scythes in her hands. Her face was rugged and scarred, an eyepatch covered one of her eyes. She shuffled impatiently, keeping a stern eye on her monstrous mount, lest it rebel. “Gone are your glory days. Most of the Firstborn are dead! The Secondborn must now take what is theirs. You’ve had your fun, now it’s our turn! I will take what is mine, and you will not stop me, old man!”

  The manticore’s eyes glowed, and it belched a greenish flame at the battlement before his rider stopped him. Leela gasped as the projectile hit the battlement. Yet there was no time for fear or despair. The clarion horns rang out. Leela had more pressing issues as the Maelim army charged.

  With a rustle and snap in the air, the catapults launched a volley of fireballs, raining burning brimstone and death. The defenders scattered, but there was little room to move. The projectiles landed among the group like fallen stars, sowing utter chaos and discord in their wake. The yellow glow of fire and the blackness of smoke blocked out the sun and bathed the defenders in hellish light.

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  Leela adjusted her helmet and whipped her bow forward. The surviving Benelim joined her, and soon a row of bows and crossbows arrayed themselves. It was hard to hear the commands in the tumult of chanting and battle. The volley was unorganized as a result, scattered arrows and bolts leapt out toward the monstrous horde below. The Maelim were so numerous, one couldn’t miss, and they were killed in their hundreds, yet still more came.

  The siege tower’s ballistas turned their attention to the battlement, and a distant whistling was all anyone heard before the bolts came. They impaled the Benelim, piercing through their armor with ease. The world became awash with blood and splintered wood. The defenders closest to Leela were stuck together by the same bolt. Their shrieking and panicked flailing caused them to fall off the wall to their deaths.

  Like a giant beast, the tower turned to face them. Leela grunted angrily, the tower chose their spot to board. Leela aimed her bow at the Maelim pushing the engine. Maybe if she could take them down, the siege tower would stop. A cunning plan that would come to naught. She could barely get a shot off before a barrage of projectiles slammed the battlement. Those few who survived were similarly pinned down.

  A rhythmic thudding told her the battering ram had reached the gate. Leela peered over to see a tide of Maelim surrounding the engine. Their shields blocked most of the projectiles as they eagerly awaited the carnage to come. The battlement darkened as the tower reached the wall. With a great whirring of gears, the heavy metal ramp crashed down on the battlement, kicking up a cloud of dust and woodchips, the sheer weight lowering the entire section of the wall.

  Leela was eagle-eyed, and before the Maelim could even board, she launched an arrow into the nearest one’s throat. A mass of glowing red eyes, jagged metal blades and angry curses descended on the battlement. Leela moved like an automaton, shooting arrow after arrow. Each shot hit home. The defenders fought valiantly, each one fought like a lion, matching the ferocity of the Maelim and answering with martial skill.

  Soon the battlement was drowned in the chaos of battle. Elsewhere, Leela heard screaming and the snapping of wood. Had the gate been breached? Leela had no time to react because Maelim kept on coming. Leela paled when she ran out of arrows. She drew her sword, it was a heavy awkward thing. The commander gave it to her, he said she couldn’t use her hunting knife.

  A Maelim charged her, and she barely got her blade up in time. With a flick of her antlers, Leela sliced the Maelims face, giving her the opening to stab him through the heart. Another Maelim shoved her back, raising a great two handed axe. Another Benelim tackled him, shoving the two off the wall. Leela crawled away, struggling to find her footing.

  An insidious roar drowned out the chorus of battle as Leela staggered to her feet. She looked up in horror to see The Scythe bearing down on them. Leela had no time to sign a warning as the manticore belched a blast of green flame, incinerating Benelim and Maelim alike in magical fire.

  When the smoke cleared, Leela found herself alone.

  The Scythe landed upon the wall, uncaring of who was under the gnarly claws of her monstrous mount. Her eye looked over Leela with an acute gaze and narrowed. She pointed a finger. “You. I have a score to settle.”

  Leela tilted her head before signing. “What do you mean? We’ve never met?”

  The Scythe scoffed and rolled her eye. “My grudge is not with you, lowly Animite. But hurting you will be retribution against another. Your ‘child’, the human, the so-called Godshard.”

  Leela’s eyes widened in realization. “You mean Ruth?” she signed.

  The Scythe nodded. “She killed my father, The Butcher. He was foolish, soft and too merciful, but he was still my father. And now word reached me that she killed my beloved consort, The Prince.” The Maelim pointed her weapons. “I’ll kill you as revenge. Once the Golden Wood is mine, I’m attacking that island next, then Primus. I’ll flay your cold body and mount it on my standard as I ravage the Cradlelands. I’ll drink your adoptive daughter’s blood from a chalice made from your skull!”

  Leela had enough. Her eyes darted to another quiver, full of arrows. Their owner long dead, a part of the growing sea of bodies. Leela dashed and snagged a handful. The Scythe dismounted and charged. Leela backed away swiftly, shooting arrow after arrow. But the warlord’s weapons were too swift, the Maelim blocked every projectile. With blazing speed, she closed the distance and brought her weapons down.

  Leela’s bow was torn into pieces. In the same moment, Leela’s right hand was severed. In the next moment, one of Leela’s antlers broke off, and a slash bit deep into Leela’s torso. Warm blood flowed as Leela bleated in agony. She hit the ground, curling up into a ball, pressing her surviving hand against her torso, trying to stem the bleeding.

  The Scythe kicked Leela onto her back with a grunt. “And so it ends. Like all who oppose me.” The warlord raised her weapons over her head. “The realms of Benelim and human are wheat, and I am The Scythe.”

  A strange horn rang out, causing The Scythe to pause. She peered over the battlement and frowned. The Scythe turned back to Leela and raised her weapons, eager to finish her off before investigating. But when the manticore roared and started to fidget, The Scythe broke off the attack with a curse. Within moments, The Scythe was back in the air again.

  Leela groaned in agony. Her breath was heavy, and she strained to move her body. She rolled and limped her way to battlement, propping herself up. She could barely get an eye over the top. She gasped at the sight. Were those humans? Among them, a soulfire burned bright. Leela would recognize that blaze anywhere. Could it be?