The Shattered Crowns

Daenys awoke to a numbing ache coursing through her body. Her hand instinctively traced the jagged edge of her stomach, where scarred flesh met her fingertips. The scrape of steel against stone pulled her attention as Reman's voice broke the silence. "Daenys, it seems you've finally woken."

"I have," she croaked, her lips dry and cracked.

With effort, Daenys pushed herself upright, wincing faintly as the scar throbbed.

"Well, that's original, Reman," Tasha quipped from across the tent. "Next, you'll be asking if she can still string a bow."

Daenys waved her off, swinging her legs over the cot. She stood with only the briefest of winces. "I'm fine, Tasha."

As she stepped outside, they flanked her on either side. "How long was I asleep?" she asked.

"A day, maybe a little longer," Tasha replied.

Daenys murmured, "Did we take the Pickette?" The question felt foolish, even to her. If they had succeeded, the camp wouldn't be overrun with the wounded.

"More injured came in yesterday," Reman answered. "The Gahkar are entrenched at the landbridge, locked in a standoff. The Black Baron and his men hold the Pickette with ruthless determination."

Daenys grunted, frustration rising. "Then we're at a stalemate, and the raid is a failure."

Tasha stretched in the early sunlight. "At least Astad's army will bleed for this. They'll need years to even think about attacking Estil again."

Reman nodded solemnly. "We'll die in Drema's glory."

Daenys clicked her tongue. "Anything else worth telling me, Reman?"

"The Impalers still guard the coast, keeping Astad's Sunreacher ships at bay. But there's been movement—an army marching west. Likely Astad reinforcements."

Daenys gave a curt nod, her mind racing with potential plans as her gaze swept over the injured clustered around the medical tents. Limbs were missing, bandages stained with blood. The suffering was a bitter reminder of their failure.

"Is this part of Rev's plan?" she asked, her voice tight.

Reman's jaw tightened. "He knew the cost."

Daenys's tone sharpened. "And now men and women suffer while we've gained nothing."

"You dare question the man who saved you?" Reman hissed.

"I question his strategy," she countered. "Reinforcements are already on their way, and we've suffered heavier losses because of this rushed assault."

Tasha interjected, trying to dispel the tension. "The Gahkar will send forces to intercept the reinforcements. Estil can regroup while Astad bleeds."

"No," Daenys said flatly.

Reman shook his head. "The Gahkar don't have the numbers for that. This was an all-or-nothing gamble to take the Pickette."

Daenys nodded grimly. "We chose death, then."

Tasha tried again, desperation in her voice. "But if Astad's reinforcements strike Estil from behind, our Gahkar will be wiped out. We can't lose them."

"It's a risk they accepted the moment we attacked the Pickette," Reman said.

Daenys knew the truth of it. Rev had explained it to her clearly: the Gahkar would fight to the last. None would escape when Astad's reinforcements arrived. Still, the sight of these broken warriors weighed heavily on her. They deserved to die in battle, not rotting away from their injuries.

"How long until the reinforcements reach us?" Daenys asked.

"If they push hard, a few days. A week at most," Reman answered. "It's a smaller force—they'll ride fast to support the Black Baron. He's…" Reman hesitated, "…important to Astad."

"Shit," Daenys muttered. She quickened her pace. "Where are the Gahkar war camps?"

"You're not fit to fight," Reman said, raising a skeptical brow. "The wound—"

"Why not?" she snapped.

"The surgeon said the spear tore a large section of your liver. If you push yourself, it could become inflamed. You'll die," he explained.

"Then I'll die from the reinforcements instead," she shot back.

Reman's silence lingered before he spoke. "I've been ordered to protect you. No Astad soldier will harm you while I stand."

"And when you fall? I'll be helpless," Daenys replied bitterly.

Tasha tried to lift their spirits. "This isn't hopeless. We're Estil. Blood runs strong in us. Just because we're injured doesn't mean we'll stop fighting."

Her words stirred something in Daenys—a fleeting thought, vague but persistent. Perhaps…

Tasha offered, "We could hold the walls and fight them as they did against us."

Daenys shook her head. "Impossible. There are too many gates to defend, and too few of us. The warbands fight with their own methods—too chaotic to command."

She gazed across the camp. The Estil warriors were mending what wounds they could, their faces grim, resigned. They were warriors with nothing left to give but their deaths. Yet something in her rebelled against waiting passively for the end.

Her thoughts turned to happier times—Morgoi, her home. Children's laughter, the voices of Akash and Mirak echoing in her memory. Akash's words urging her forward, Mirak's teary smile as he spoke of discovering beauty in new things. But they were wrong. She couldn't endure this any longer.

Her father's voice surfaced, deep and warm. "My little bird, you hold so much for Lorian. Only you can do this."

"Why does it have to be me?" she whispered.

"Because you carry your mother's mind and my heart," the memory answered. "You need to stand a little longer. Nalla still needs her big sister."

Daenys clenched her fists, banishing the wistful memories. Her sister still needed her, and if Morgoi was to be saved, she had to act. A single truth burned in her mind: she was a hunter. Always had been.

Hunters didn't charge blindly like bloodied warriors. They waited, watching for their prey's weakest moment. Then, they struck.

She glanced at the maze of white-stoned buildings rising around them. The arches and buttresses of the city offered countless places to hide. If used wisely, the streets could become a trap.

"Reman," Daenys said. "What would Rev do to defeat the reinforcements?"

Her companions halted, exchanging glances. Finally, Reman removed his helmet, revealing ash-gray skin and a broad, solemn face. His pale eyes fixed on hers. "What are you planning, Daenys?"

"I plan to win," she said simply. "Now answer me."

"Rev would likely seize choke points, using smaller warbands to ambush the reinforcements. But we don't have enough able-bodied warriors for that."

Daenys nodded. Rev's tactics were sound—expected, even. But conventional methods wouldn't save them here. The Old Wolf's reputation wouldn't be enough.

"Nor do I intend to," Daenys replied.

Tasha snorted, but her laughter quickly faded under Daenys's sharp gaze. "You're serious," Tasha said.

Daenys clicked her tongue, a habit she'd recently picked up.

Tasha dropped to one knee, grinning wryly. "Well, if I'm going to die anyway, I might as well follow you. My sickle is yours. Tell me who to hunt."

"Find me citizens willing to trade information. Bring them to me," Daenys ordered.

Tasha smirked as she strode off, her voice carrying over her shoulder. "It'll be done, my Gahkar." The last words were muttered, too low for Daenys to catch.

"To send a Reaver after informants is risky," Reman remarked dryly. "She might return with them in pieces."

"She won't," Daenys said with certainty.

Reman regarded her for a moment before speaking. "How will you rally the rest? You have my oath, and the Reaver's loyalty, but the others? They follow no leader now."

It was harsh but true. These warriors had no Gahkar to guide them. Still, she would have to step into that role—whether she wanted to or not.

They reached the center of the courtyard.

"And you, Reman?" Daenys asked, turning to meet his gaze. "Will you follow me?"

Reman straightened, his expression steady. "I've given my word."