Page 40 of War Queen
A mercenary stirred to his right and pushed himself to sit. He sputtered a broken cough, spitting blood down his chin, but he didn’t seem fatally wounded.
Mikael stepped toward him. The soldier would be taken with the other survivors, made slaves—a tragic end for such men.
The soldier looked up at him, no fear in his eyes. “Shadow King,” he panted with a hateful breath. “Come closer, that I might fight you with what little strength I have left.”
Mikael snorted. Resilient bastards, he’d give them that. “Are you not afraid to die?”
The man took a raspy inhale. “What is death? I’ll bask in the glory of the gods and be rewarded for my courage against evil.”
“Evil,” Mikael repeated. He stooped down beside the man. “Is that what you think I am?”
“What do you think you are?”
Mikael frowned. No one had ever asked him that. “A man.” A salar. A husband.
The soldier chuckled before coughing and sputtering more blood down his chin. “If you’re a man, have mercy as a man. Send me to my gods.”
“Not all men have mercy.”
“Honorable men do.”
Mikael clasped the side of the soldier’s neck, locking him with his gaze. “I’m not an honorable man.” He pulled the soldier closer. “But you did fight with courage. Go to your gods.” And he plunged his dagger into the soldier’s chest, giving him a quick journey. For this man, he’d give mercy.
He laid the expired soldier back against the ground and wiped the blood from his dagger before sheathing it again at his waist.
“Salar!” Soren’s voice came urgently from behind him.
Mikael turned.
The commander stopped, silent, as if words wouldn’t come. It was the first time Mikael had seen him on the battlefield without his wrap. Anguish covered him. “The Bear,” was all he said.
Mikael cast his eyes toward the castle. “What about the Bear?” Was he coming?
“He’s dead.”
A weight struck him.No. He couldn’t have heard correctly. “What?”
“The Bear’s dead.”
Mikael shook his head. “No. That’s not possible.” He couldn’t be dead. The Bear would be the one to bring his end. Mikael had seen it with his own eyes. This wasn’t possible.
“You need to come. Now.”
Mikael followed Soren through the field of the dead, to the castle, up the stairs, and down the marble halls darkening with the fading sun. Soren led him to the private mortium, where he stopped.
In the center of the room stood a stone slab table, where the body of the lord justice lay.
Salara sat beside him, leaning forward with her forehead against his shoulder as she wept. Mikael stepped into the room, and she looked up. Her eyes were swollen and red, her cheeks wet with tears. Blood stained her hands and arms, the blood of the Bear, no doubt.
The crimson saturating the front of his battle clothes told the story of his death—a weakness in the ornate Northern armor, where the breastplate met the waist piece.
And now the justice was dead.
The Bear wasdead.
But this wasn’t possible.
Mikael drew closer, looking down at him. He wasn’t convinced this was real. This couldn’t be real. He moved even closer to the side of the table. Slowly, he reached out, then stopped. To touch the Bear…
