Page 17 of Reign of the Talon
“They will return,”I reply, more confidently than I feel.
But they do not, even as the battle sounds cease. I do not like this. Tense in my saddle, I take in the luminous golden eyes of my snakes—and the narrowed brown ones of Iseul. Something has gone amiss. I feel it, deep within me. A mistake, a misstep. Unthinkable. I have spent months with only one casualty. Have I truly just lost three Imugi?
To—what? The new swords? Surely not…Howwould that be even remotely possible? My creatures are the harbingers of terrible storms. Their venom can fell a group of soldiers in mere moments. They are wicked and wild and fearless. I gnash my teeth together, my breathing growing heavy and my rage growing palpable. Overhead, thunder booms. I am not as deft at storm-summoning as Sonagi and her brethren, but sometimes, when rage overtakes me, I can call upon the winds and rains. I do so now, tasting lightning.
“Do we ride?” Iseul asks, voice grim. Beneath her, Uloe sways expectantly.
My jaw works back and forth. I expected to declare our assault with the sweet feeling of triumph, of a battle already won, of an enemy distracted and fatigued. Now, I only feel suspicion. It is dark and edged with thorns.
“Child of Venom?”Sonagi asks slowly.
“Empressss,”implores another, and its voice is joined by the hisses of its siblings,“we mussst look for our fallen. Otherwise, they will take our scalesss again, use them for armor…”
“Sssacrilege!”
“Savagesss!”
“We mussst avenge!”
The entire forest is alive with the demands of the Imugi. They sway back and forth like cobras in a basket, listening to the song of a flute. Teeth snap and tongues lash into the air. They wait for my signal.
Grimly, I give it.
And we move.
The few miles between us and Seocheonkkotbat are nothing. Sonagi slices through the forest like a knife through flesh. I clutch my bow and arrows, wind whipping my hair back from my face as the night-darkened and blood-splattered garden looms into view.
The camp is littered with broken tents and extinguished camp fires. Soldiers are helping up their wounded, clapping each other on the back, gathering around the limp bodies of my Imugi. Dakho is the larger one, coated in his own green blood. Param and Garam, twin serpents, are twined together and deathly still. They were Sonagi’s fiftieth-borns, younger than most. Rage overtakes me, and I let out a primal scream.
Bodies, some from my army and some from the Wyusan-Gyeulcheon alliance, scatter the thick ground of tall grass. With roars, we ride over them and crush the hundreds of vibrant flowers as we make our entrance, a cascade of scale and storm. Rain, seeping past the foliage, runs down the creeping vines that loom overhead, pummeling the flowers as large as trees with heavy drops of rain.
The soldiers shout, yell, stumbling backward as my forces utilize our favorite formation. We spread, in the shape of a fan, taking up as much space as is physically possible.
My plan has worked well. Wyusan and Gyeulcheon are unorganized, believing the siege over and won. Chaos unfolds, my Imugi crunching necks and skulls. I laugh as Sonagi sprays venom, rain and poison sluicing down my face. I lick some off my lips.
Human and Dokkaebi alike are yelling coarse orders. I hear Haneul’s strong voice amongst them, and suddenly, with a stretch of shadow and a tugging of the red thread, he is before me atop his chollima. His Supreme Commander, Chan, appears next to him. As does Empress Moon. Haneul drops to the ground, and his winged horse soars off.
“Prophecy,” says Haneul, holding a hand up as his two companions begin to move forward. They stop, but only barely. Chan actually growls as he is forced to cease movement.
I smile. Sonagi extends herself, and I savor looking down upon them. Haneul is panting, blue sparking in his glare. Chan, as always, looks quite unhinged. His eyes, usually emerald green, have dilated to a pure black of hatred. Empress Moon, to her credit—which I am really loathe to give—looks somewhat calm, even as her forces begin dying around her. She holds two empty hilts in each hand. I warily observe them. These new swords, they do not look like much. Chan and Haneul also hold similar, empty hilts.
“I’ll give you one warning,” says Moon. “Turn back.”
“Fine.” I sigh. “I am convinced.”
Moon blinks.
A cruel laugh escapes my lips. Then, quicker than her mortal vision can track, I nock and shoot one of the poison-tipped arrows at her heart. But Chan, faster, blocks it. In a split second, he has flicked his wrist, revealing a blade of dark blue. Lurching in front of Moon, he diverts the arrow with his sword. It flings to the side, and I hiss in frustration.
Moon pants and draws her blade as well. Sonagi dodges her next attack—the aiming for her underbelly. Although it is covered in scales, the empress seems to believe in the capabilities of her blade as she slashes it violently though the air.
Sonagi is discomforted by Moon’s surety in her blade. I feel it through her consciousness brushing against mine. Gritting my teeth, I urge her to hold. Chan and the empress are spinning around Sonagi, weapons flashing as they flip and roll, seeking a weak point in my Imugi’s flesh. Sonagi whirls, twining her body in sharp, random movements to avoid the blade’s touch. Haneul’s gaze is fixed on mine, bright blue with—
Dokkaebi fire.
The swords are forged from Dokkaebi fire.
Haneul’s eyes are unfathomably sad as he draws his own cerulean sword.
