Tarek Ashen did not look back at the boy.
He stood over the ruined mountain of flesh that was Titus. The giant's blood was pooling rapidly, melting the snow and turning the ash of his own village into a thick, red mud. Tarek's handsome face betrayed absolutely nothing. He simply watched the corpse, as if waiting to see if it would dare to stand up again.
A few yards away, Ryan knelt in the freezing dirt. Two heavily armored soldiers pinned his shoulders down, but they didn't need to. Ryan's eyes were blown wide, staring blankly at his father's body. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't even scream anymore. His throat was raw, stripped of all sound, leaving nothing but a hollow, agonizing silence in his chest.
Tarek finally turned his back on the dead giant.
"Put out the fires," Tarek commanded, his voice carrying easily over the groans of the dying. "Drag the dead out of the square. I want this filth cleaned." He gestured lazily toward the triage lines forming near the shattered gates. "Tend to our wounded. And bring me a report on my guardians immediately."
A captain dropped to one knee, splashing in the bloody mud. "At once, Your Majesty."
Tarek's dark, pig-like eyes shifted. He pointed a gloved finger at another soldier. "You. The scout who brought me the boy. How did you know where to find him?"
The soldier bowed his head deeply. "We caught a rat in the woods, Your Majesty. A hunter from this village. He begged for his life, showed us the hidden path to the rear gates, and told us exactly who the giant was. He told us about the wife, and the boy."
Tarek slowly rubbed his chin, nodding. His gaze drifted back to Ryan—a completely broken thing, hollowed out by grief.
"Find the wife's body in the woods," Tarek ordered. "Bring her here." He gestured sharply at Titus. "And snap those arrows off. Clean this man's face. His name was Titus, wasn't it?"
"Yes, Your Majesty."
"Do it. Then begin setting up my command tent. The snow is starting again."
Within an hour, a military camp rose like a black scar over the burning ruins of Ryan's home.
Heavy leather tents were erected over the ashes of wooden cabins. The fires that had been used to destroy were contained, now cooking meat and warming the hands of the soldiers who had done the slaughtering.
Tarek sat in his command pavilion, the air thick with the smell of heavy bear furs and spiced wine. He was wiping a speck of ash from his pristine breastplate when a shivering soldier stepped through the tent flap.
"Your Majesty. We found the woman."
Tarek didn't say a word. He stood, tossing his cloth onto a table, and strode out into the biting wind.
Four soldiers stood near the center of the camp, carrying a makeshift stretcher. Upon it lay Sera. Her golden hair was matted with dark, frozen blood. Her green eyes—the exact same eyes as the boy kneeling in the dirt—were closed. Three black shafts still protruded from her ribcage.
Tarek stepped close, studying her pale, lifeless face.
"The rumors are true," he murmured, his breath pluming in the cold air. "The women of the wild lands put the painted ladies of the capital to shame." He looked up at the soldiers. "Is the giant prepared?"
A soldier pointed to the side. Titus lay on a cleaned tarp, the arrow shafts broken off, the worst of the blood wiped from his face. In death, he looked peaceful.
"Dig a grave," Tarek ordered. "A deep one. Put them in the earth together."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances. The grizzled captain from earlier stepped forward, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
"With absolute respect, Your Majesty... why?" The captain pointed a scarred finger at Titus. "This animal slaughtered over seventy of our brothers. He crushed Boran and Yelai. Why waste the labor giving him honor? Let the wolves eat them."
Tarek didn't shout. He didn't even draw a weapon. He simply turned his head and looked at the captain. The prince's eyes were so devoid of humanity, so terrifyingly empty, that the veteran warrior took a physical step backward.
"He killed my soldiers because my soldiers were weak," Tarek said softly. "But he died on his feet to protect his blood." Tarek stepped into the captain's personal space. "Dig the grave. Or you will be in it with them."
The captain swallowed hard and bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"As for the rest of the villagers," Tarek added casually, turning away, "burn them. Now, out of my way."
The medical tent stank of copper blood, ozone, and burnt flesh.
It was a massive structure marked with the white hand of the healing god. Inside, a thin man in a blood-soaked apron moved frantically between wooden tables. Doctor Narev's arms were stained crimson to the elbows. A cloth mask covered his mouth, but his eyes were wide with frantic concentration.
Tarek pushed through the tent flaps. "Give me the report."
Narev jumped, bowing instantly before wiping his slippery hands on a towel. "Y-Your Majesty! It is... grim." The doctor gestured with a trembling hand toward two covered lumps in the corner. "Boran's skull was pulverized. Yelai was cleaved in two. They were dead before they hit the mud."
Tarek's face remained a mask of stone. "And Karesh?"
Narev moved to a table where the Iron Fang lay groaning. Karesh's skin was mottled with horrifying purple bruises, but he was breathing. "He barely survived the impact, my Prince. He used his spirit energy to turn his skin to diamond right before he struck the shield wall. He shattered his own men, but it saved his life. Both his legs are broken, and three ribs are cracked. He will live, but he needs months."
"Temur," Tarek demanded, walking past Karesh without a second glance.
Narev swallowed hard, leading the prince to the final table.
Temur, the Long Death, lay completely still. The right side of his head was a nightmare. Titus's final punch had caved in his helmet, taking the skull down with it. Bone fragments were visible through the split scalp. He was barely breathing, his chest rising once every ten seconds.
"The blow shattered his cranium," Narev whispered, his hands glowing with a faint, desperate white light as he tried to stabilize the dying man. "My healing energy is not enough. The damage is too severe." He looked up at Tarek, his eyes terrified. "Unless... unless I offer a soul to the gods. An equivalent exchange. A life for a life."
Tarek stared at Temur's ruined head. "Do it."
"I need a sacrifice, Your Majesty. A living, breathing vessel."
Tarek turned to the tent flap. "Guards! Bring the rat."
Two armored soldiers hauled a man into the tent and threw him face-first onto the bloody floorboards. It was Harek. He wore dirty furs and reeked of sweat and cheap wine.
Harek scrambled to his knees, his eyes darting frantically between the prince, the dying soldiers, and the bloody doctor.
"My Lord!" Harek babbled, pressing his forehead to the floorboards. "I did exactly as you asked! I showed you the hidden gate! I told you where the giant lived! I am loyal to the Black Dragon! Please!"
Tarek walked forward. He kicked Harek squarely in the chest, flipping the man onto his back. Tarek placed his heavy steel boot lightly on the traitor's throat.
"You sold your own neighbors for a few copper coins," Tarek sneered, disgusted. "You let children burn so you could save your own miserable skin. Why would I ever want a dog that bites its own master?"
Harek clawed at the prince's boot, gasping for air. "Mercy—please—"
Tarek looked up at the doctor. "Take it."
Narev's eyes darkened. He stepped forward, his hands flaring with a sickly, rotting green light. He grabbed Harek by the face.
The magic did not happen quickly. It was not a gentle transition.
Harek let out a bloodcurdling, gargling shriek. His skin blistered and tore open as rough, jagged gray bark violently erupted from beneath his flesh. The bark shredded his veins, spraying thick, dark blood across the tent.
"Ahhhh! GODS, MAKE IT STOP!" Harek thrashed violently.
CRACK.
His legs snapped backward. The bones splintered and burst through the skin, twisting instantly into thick, gnarled roots that drove themselves forcefully into the wooden floorboards, pinning him in place. Harek vomited blood as branches violently tore their way up his throat, ripping out of his mouth and nose. His eyes bulged, filling with absolute, excruciating agony as his internal organs hardened into solid oak.
With a sickening squelch, Narev plunged his glowing hand directly into Harek's chest. He gripped something invisible and ripped it out.
A glowing, screaming phantom of light was torn from the traitor's body. The moment the soul was extracted, Harek's body went completely stiff—a horrifying, blood-soaked tree shaped like a screaming man, frozen forever in torture.
Sweating profusely, Narev turned to Temur. He slammed the screaming, glowing soul directly into the spearman's caved-in skull.
The reaction was instantaneous. The shattered bone began to crack and pop, forcing itself back into place with the sound of grinding stones. The torn scalp slithered together, knitting shut like a zipper. The swelling vanished.
When the green light faded, Temur took a massive, gasping breath. His eyes snapped open.
His head was perfectly whole, save for a jagged, pale scar running from his temple to his jaw—the mark of the giant's final blow.
"He lives," Narev gasped, collapsing to his knees in exhaustion. "But... his mind. Sucking the life of a coward into his brain... it may alter him. Make him cruel. Or mad."
Temur slowly sat up on the bloody table. He looked at his hands, then at the prince. A slow, twisted smile stretched across his scarred face. It wasn't the arrogant smile of the spearman from before. It was something entirely unhinged.
Tarek studied the revived killer and nodded in satisfaction.
"Good." The Prince turned his back on the carnage and walked toward the tent exit. "Now. It is time I have a conversation with the giant's son."