The Shattered Crowns

"This is horrible," Daenys hissed, her voice shaking. Her hands trembled as she loosed another arrow, sending yet another Astadian soldier crumpling to the blood-soaked ground. He had probably possessed a family—a wife, children, parents who would never see him again. Guilt gnawed at her chest like a vulture picking at a carcass.

"It's war," Reman responded bluntly, his expression grim as ever. The youngest of the Deathless stood tall, his spear loosely gripped, ready for the next wave. Daenys turned to see the Deathless themselves preparing to charge, their dark armor shining under the flickering glow of flames spreading along the walls of the city. Above them, Estil's warriors surged forward, beginning to gain more ground on the battlements.

The chaos only deepened as she heard the faint, muffled sound of singing—war chants from the Astadian defenders, blending with the battle cries of Estil. It was an unholy symphony of death.

"Why are we fighting Astad, Reman? Really, why are we raiding?" Daenys's voice came out more sharply than she intended.

Reman did not glance at her, his cold eyes scanning the battlefield instead. "It's better than sitting through the politics of the Castellan and the Gahkar. Raiding is the essence of Estil. To fight, to die, to win glory—this is our way."

Before Daenys could respond, the Deadites and Drome warriors clashed once more on the walls. Ladders splintered under heavy fire, and men plummeted screaming from the battlements to the earth below. Blood and flame mingled with the clattering of steel. Yet, as brutal as the battle was, Estil began to dominate. The defenders of Astad faltered, their lines bending under the relentless assault.

And then, at last, it happened.

The city gates fell. The crash of the wooden beams breaking apart was deafening, and it was as if the world itself was giving way.

The roar of the Estil warriors surged louder, reverberating across the field like an unstoppable tidal wave. Men on horseback, the cavalry, charged through the breach. The thunder of hooves drowned out the hollering of dying men, and the remaining Astadian soldiers began to scatter, retreating further into the city's labyrinthine streets. Estil's warriors poured into the gap, cutting down Astad's dwindling forces with ruthless efficiency.

Kadikar was at the forefront, his laughter booming as he swung his massive axe, cleaving through Astadians like a scythe through wheat. The crunch of bones under his strikes was sickeningly loud, and Daenys forced herself to focus, to not let her stomach turn. This was war.

She notched another arrow and loosed it. The projectile found its mark, striking a man clean through the throat. He toppled backward, his gurgling cries lost in the storm of battle. Daenys swiveled just in time to dodge a spear aimed at her horse, the weapon grazing her side instead. Pain flared at her hip, sharp and hot. She clutched at the wound instinctively, feeling the warm stickiness of blood seep between her fingers.

The horse reared, spooked by the fire licking along the shattered walls. Daenys lost her grip and fell hard to the ground, the impact knocking the air from her lungs. Her vision blurred, and for a moment, she tasted blood in her mouth.

She lay there, dazed, as warriors rushed past her. Men too preoccupied with the slaughter to notice the fallen girl on the ground. Just as her mind began to cloud, a hand gripped her arm and hauled her to her feet. It was Reman, his spear still in his other hand, his face drawn tight with irritation.

"Blasted woman," he muttered under his breath. "Can't even stay on a horse. Rev made me a damned babysitter."

"Get off," Daenys snapped, shoving him away as best as her shaking limbs would allow. Her body screamed in protest, the pain in her hip worsening with every movement. She clenched her jaw, willing herself to stand straight. "I can still fight."

"You shouldn't be up," Reman said, glancing at her as though she were a stubborn child.

"Tell me that when we're not surrounded," Daenys retorted. Her voice wavered, but her hands moved instinctively to notch another arrow. Every muscle in her body groaned in protest. Her legs burned. Something might be broken—no, definitely broken, judging by the way her hip flared in agony when she twisted. But she couldn't stop now. Not when the enemy was circling like wolves scenting blood.

Their small group—Reman, Daenys, and a handful of scattered Estil warriors—found themselves surrounded by Astadian soldiers. The defenders, grim-faced and desperate, closed in with swords and spears.

"You should fall back," Reman muttered, his eyes scanning their attackers.

"And leave you alone? Hardly," Daenys replied, her voice strained.

A woman emerged from the melee to join them. Her armor was mismatched, her movements graceful and efficient. A jagged cut ran across her face, narrowly missing her eye. With a single motion, she drove her sickle into an Astadian's neck, the man collapsing in a heap. She crouched low beside them, panting slightly but grinning nonetheless.

"Guess we're in this together," she said with a quick glance at Daenys and Reman. "Three against twenty. Seems fair."

Reman scowled. "I had it under control."

"Right," the woman quipped, "because clearly, dead Astadians piled at your feet is the hallmark of 'control.'" She smiled, her voice light even in the chaos.

Reman did not reply, his spear already lashing out at an approaching soldier. The weapon moved like a serpent, precise and deadly, as he skewered one man before spinning to cut another across the throat. Daenys loosed another arrow, her fingers raw from the repeated draw of the bowstring. It sank into an enemy's chest, and she nocked another immediately. She couldn't stop. Not now.

The three of them fought together, an unlikely trio bound by the chaos of the battlefield. The woman—clearly a Reaver by her insignia—moved like a wraith, her sickle flashing in quick, precise arcs. Daenys covered her with arrows, and Reman's spear cut down anyone who got too close.

But it wasn't enough.

An Astadian, his face twisted in a snarl, used his last breath to ram a spear deep into Daenys's side. Pain exploded through her body, and she staggered, her breath hitching as blood poured from the wound. The man fell dead a moment later, his head severed by Reman's spear, but the damage was done.

"Coward," Reman muttered under his breath, yanking the spear free from Daenys's side and tossing it aside. Daenys collapsed to her knees, clutching the wound, her vision darkening at the edges.

"Breathe," the Reaver said, her voice calm but firm as she crouched beside Daenys. She placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. "In and out. Don't move too much, or you'll bleed faster. The pain will pass. It always does."

Daenys tried to follow her instructions, but her thoughts spiraled. All she could see were the corpses littering the streets, the blood pooling in the cracks between stones. She was going to die. She would bleed out here, surrounded by death. The realization gripped her chest like a vice.

"Any idea where to go, Deathless?" the Reaver asked, glancing at Reman. "The girl's not going to last long without a surgeon."

Reman nodded, his expression calm but hard. "There's a field hospital set up behind the first wave. The healers should be there. I'll make sure no one attacks us on the way."

"Good plan." The Reaver slung Daenys's arm over her shoulder and helped her to her feet. "Let's move."

The trio stumbled through the winding streets of the city, Reman leading the way. The sounds of battle still raged around them, but the chaos seemed distant now, muffled by Daenys's own ragged breathing. Every step was agony, but the Reaver held her steady, her one good eye sharp and focused.

Daenys hands trembled as the violence unfolded around her. "All this killing… It's senseless."

"Death is death," Reman said bluntly. He didn't even turn to look at her, his gaze locked on the battle unfolding ahead. The younger warrior held his spear loosely in one hand, poised to strike at a moment's notice. "This is how it's always been. Estil raids. Astad defends. Get used to it."

Daenys glared at him, heat rising in her chest. "Get used to it?" she snapped. "Is that all you have to say? There are people dying out there, Reman. Soldiers—fathers, sons, brothers—and for what? Some city we won't even hold?"

Reman finally turned his head, his green eyes meeting hers. There was no anger in his gaze, only the cold practicality she had come to expect from him. "For glory. For spoils. For Estil," he said. "Why else?"

Daenys clenched her jaw, her knuckles white as she gripped her bow. She wanted to argue, to shout that this wasn't worth it. But deep down, she knew the truth. Estil needed this. They had no choice but to raid if they wanted to survive. Still, the knowledge did little to soothe the knot of unease twisting in her stomach.

"Why Astad, then?" she asked instead, her voice quieter now. "Why are we fighting them? There must be an easier target. Some other kingdom with fewer defenses."

Reman let out a quiet sigh. "Because Astad is our greatest rival. They're the only ones who have ever threatened to crush Estil entirely. If we don't strike at them now, they'll do the same to us. Better to raid them before they have the chance."

"But it's not just about survival, is it?" she pressed. "Rev's plan is about more than just this one battle. There's something bigger at play here."

Reman didn't respond immediately. Instead, he adjusted his grip on his spear and scanned the battlefield. After a long pause, he said, "Rev thinks long-term. He's planning for the future of Estil, not just this raid. If we can take the Pickette, it will give us a foothold to launch bigger raids. But it's risky. This battle could decide the fate of Estil for years to come."

"And if we lose?" Daenys asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Reman's expression darkened. "Then we won't live to worry about it."

Before Daenys could respond, the woman's voice cut through the chaos. "Pessimistic as ever, aren't you, Deathless?"

"Tasha," Reman said with a nod of acknowledgment. "I'd prefer if you didn't speak."

"Haha afraid that I'll steal all your glory Deathless?" Tasha responded.

Reman snorted. "Glory. Is that what you're after?"

Tasha shrugged, wiping her sickle clean on the tunic of a fallen Astadian. "What else is there? We're all going to die one day. Might as well make it memorable."

Daenys frowned. "Memorable? Is that what this is to you? A game?"

Tasha's grin faded, and she fixed Daenys with her one good eye. "This isn't a game, girl. It's survival. You think the Astadians would show us mercy if the roles were reversed? They'd burn Estil to the ground and enslave every last one of us. I fight because I have to. Because if I don't, someone else will die in my place."

Daenys looked away, unable to meet the woman's gaze.

The Reaver turned her attention back to Reman, while they stumbled through the city. "So, Deathless, what do you make of the Astadians? Think they'll send reinforcements from the Pickette?"

"They will," Reman said grimly. "Astad always sends reinforcements. The question is whether they'll arrive in time to save the city."

Tasha nodded thoughtfully. "I'll be the hunter across the battlefield when they come."

Daenys couldn't help but smile faintly at the Reaver's audacity. Despite the grim reality of the battle, Tasha's humor was oddly comforting.

Astadians surged forwards from the rubble of their buildings.

"Stay behind me," Reman ordered, his voice firm. He raised his spear, ready to defend her from the Astadian soldiers closing in.

Tasha stepped up beside him, her sickle gleaming in the sunlight. "Looks like you'll need my help after all, Deathless," she said with a grin.

Reman snorted. "Just don't get in my way."

It was a butchering, as the Astadians came and died, all while they pushed through the city towards the medical tents.

Above them, the Pickette loomed like a silent judge. Massive boulders were hurled from its heights, crashing into the landbridge with devastating force. The vibrations rippled through the city, and the tower itself seemed to hum with power.

"They're trying to collapse the bridge," the Reaver muttered, her voice grim. "If they manage it, the Estil forces will be trapped."

"We didn't kill enough of them in this assault," Reman said flatly, his tone giving away none of the tension in his words. "It'll be a bloodbath if they counterattack."

"They'll drop boulders on us all, and then it won't matter," the Reaver replied, her voice laced with bitterness.

Daenys staggered, nearly falling over a corpse, and the Reaver caught her just in time. "Easy," the Reaver said softly. "Just a little farther."

"Leave me," Daenys whispered, her voice weak. "I can't make it. I'll only slow you down."

The Reaver's emerald eye locked onto her. "Don't talk like that. You're Estil. We don't give up, and I don't leave warriors behind. Keep moving. We're almost there."

Finally, they reached the medical tents. Daenys was lowered onto a cot as healers swarmed her, their hands quick and precise as they worked to stabilize her. The pain dulled as something sharp pricked her arm, and Daenys felt herself slipping into unconsciousness.

The Reaver, Tasha, sat by the edge of the tent, idly twirling her sickle. Her one good eye lingered on Daenys for a moment, and she hummed a low tune under her breath. "She's barely older than my daughter," Tasha murmured to herself. "What a tragedy... a life of fighting and bloodshed ahead of her."

For now, the storm passed, but the war raged on.