Chapter 2 Buried Beneath the Dead

Darius barely had time to raise his sword before the first lance shattered against his shield. The impact drove him back a step, boots sliding in the blood-soaked mud.

"Form on me!" he shouted, voice hoarse. "Rhen! Vael! To my left!"

Rhen spun around, sword flashing as he cut down a rider who tried to trample him. "They're coming from our own damn flank! Those bastards in gold are with them!"

Darius glanced left and his stomach dropped. Men wearing the Holy Crown's colors, soldiers he had trained, laughed with, bled beside, now charged into his remaining lines from the side. No hesitation. No mercy.

"Traitors," he growled. He lunged forward, driving his blade through a cavalryman's thigh. The man screamed and toppled from his saddle. Darius grabbed the horse's reins and swung himself up, hacking left and right.

Vael roared wordlessly and swung his massive axe in a brutal arc, cleaving a horse's legs out from under it. The animal crashed down, crushing its rider. "More coming!" Vael bellowed, the first full sentence Darius had heard from him all day.

Around them, the last loyal men fought desperately. Screams filled the air as swords met flesh. One young soldier, barely eighteen, looked at Darius with wide, terrified eyes right before an enemy spear punched through his back.

"Push through!" Darius yelled, trying to rally them. "We break their center and…"

An arrow slammed into his shoulder. Pain exploded hot and sharp. He snarled and snapped the shaft off, still swinging. Another rider came at him. Darius parried the lance and drove his sword up under the man's helmet, twisting viciously.

"Where is the king’s command?" he shouted at the nearest traitor soldier. "Who gave the order to turn on us?"

The man only laughed and thrust at him. "You should’ve stayed quiet, Voss!"

Rhen appeared at his side, breathing hard, face cut and bleeding. "They’re not answering, Commander. They’re finishing us. Harlan was right. They sold us out."

Darius’s mind raced even as he fought. Elyra. Harlan had mentioned her name. What had they done to his wife? The thought fueled him. He kicked a man off his horse and took the mount, charging deeper into the fray.

"For every man we lose, take two of theirs!" he called out. His voice carried over the dying. A few surviving soldiers cheered weakly and redoubled their efforts.

But it wasn’t enough.

Enemy numbers swelled. Former allies closed the trap. Darius watched in fury as one of his own captains directed archers to loose directly into his position. Arrows rained down. Men fell screaming around him.

Vael took a spear to the side but kept fighting, silent and unstoppable. Rhen danced through the chaos, his dry humor gone, replaced by cold anger. "This is how they repay you? After everything?"

Darius didn’t answer. He was too busy cutting down another rider. Blood ran down his arm from the arrow wound. His vision blurred at the edges, but he refused to fall.

He spotted a familiar banner in the distance. One of the king’s favored nobles. Lord something. The man sat safely on his horse, watching the slaughter like it was sport.

"Traitor!" Darius roared across the field. "Show yourself! Face me!"

No answer came. Only more steel and death.

One by one, his men dropped. A loyal sergeant cried out as two enemies dragged him down and stabbed him repeatedly. Another tried to crawl away only to have his head stomped by a horse.

Rhen stumbled to Darius’s side again. "We’re done, Commander. Too many. You need to…"

A sword thrust caught Rhen in the gut. He gasped, eyes widening in shock. Darius swung wildly and beheaded the attacker, but it was too late. Rhen clutched his wound, blood pouring between his fingers.

"Rhen!" Darius leaped down and caught him before he collapsed. "Stay with me. That’s an order."

Rhen managed a weak, bloody grin. "Always were... a stubborn bastard. Find out who... who did this." His eyes fluttered. "Don’t let them... win."

He went still.

Darius roared, a sound full of raw grief and fury. He surged up, fighting like a man possessed. His blade became a blur. He hacked through two men, then three. Vael fought beside him until a volley of arrows finally brought the big man down. Vael dropped to one knee, axe still raised, before another spear finished him.

"No!" Darius shouted. Tears of rage stung his eyes. He was alone now. Surrounded.

They came at him from every side. A mace smashed into his back. He staggered. A sword slashed across his thigh. Pain burned through him, but he kept moving, kept killing. He grabbed a fallen spear and threw it, impaling one traitor through the chest.

"You cowards!" he screamed. "You hide behind the Crown while you stab your own in the back! Who ordered this? Tell me!"

A knight in ornate armor finally stepped closer. "The king grows tired of your questions, Voss. And your wife... she asked too many too."

Darius lunged at him with everything he had left. Their blades clashed. For a moment, he had the upper hand, but then pain flared in his side. Another blade had found him. Then another.

He dropped to his knees in the mud, breathing ragged. Blood poured from multiple wounds. His sword slipped from numb fingers.

The enemy closed in. Boots kicked him down. Someone stomped on his wounded shoulder. Darius gasped, vision swimming.

Through the haze, he saw a familiar face approach. Lord Merrick, a noble commander who had once toasted with him at victory feasts. The man stepped over bodies, boots squelching in blood and mud, until he stood directly above Darius’s bleeding form.

"Pathetic," Lord Merrick said coldly, looking down at him. "All that loyalty, and this is how it ends."

Darius tried to push himself up, but a boot on his chest pinned him. "Why?" he rasped, blood bubbling on his lips. "Elyra... what did you do to her?"

Merrick smiled thinly. "You’ll never know. Pile the corpses on him. Make sure he dies slowly. Let the weight crush what’s left of him."

Soldiers moved at once. They began dragging dead bodies, both friend and foe, and heaving them onto Darius. The first corpse landed across his legs, heavy and limp. Then another on his chest. Cold flesh pressed against him. The smell of blood and shit and death filled his nose.

"Wait…" Darius choked out, struggling weakly. More bodies came. An arm across his face. A leg pinning his good arm. The pressure built, crushing, suffocating.

Darkness crept in at the edges of his sight. His lungs burned for air. Pain throbbed everywhere, but worse was the hollow rage, the unanswered questions.

As the last light faded, Lord Merrick’s voice drifted down one final time.

"Make sure he dies slowly."

The weight of the dead pressed down harder. Darius’s world narrowed to pain, betrayal, and the growing silence of the grave.