Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

43: War

Delilah breathed in the crisp air as she cantered at the head of a legion of the undead, comforted by the faint warmth of the Fire Opal in one of her pockets. A heavy, fur-lined cloak covered her armour and provided protection from the wind.

She'd been given her directions, she knew which route to take. Irkalla was roughly in the centre of the Monmouths, and the spymaster's report had revealed that Terra, Pelenu and Anloch were marching on the southernmost peaks. Dante planned to lead them straight into a trap.

Delilah could hear the unsavoury sounds of the undead, the uniform clink of their armour as they marched together, and the occasional barked orders from the captains behind her. They rode at intervals, ready to whip the soldiers into line if they disobeyed.

For a moment darkness clouded the sky, blotting out the sun. Delilah glanced up and grinned at the flock of giant crows - including the ones that had been freed from the Maidens only the day before - and she wondered which one Kaya rode.

Dante and his legion were nowhere to be seen, as he'd already vanished from view, and Delilah knew that Nell had been assigned to a group of the stealthiest Valians.

Part of her ached at the thought of being torn from her friends, but she pushed that aside. If Nell and Kaya died in this war, then so be it. But Delilah hoped she'd be able to see them again, perhaps fight alongside them, in the final battle.

Shadows swallowed her legion up as they entered a canyon, a pass between two mountains. The air here was freezing, and frost glittered on the rocks - it seemed that sunlight rarely touched the stone floor. The horses' hooves echoed harshly.

Delilah still hadn't gotten used to the novelty of barking orders at the Valian men, and the way they scrambled to obey. She sent a scout up ahead to check the way was safe, although she knew that no one from the other three nations would have been able to venture so far into the heart of the mountains so soon.

Delilah itched for battle. She wanted to kill her enemies herself, to see the light leave their eyes.

They eventually left the canyon but continued south on the mountain trails. Delilah called for a halt at sunset and a hasty camp was assembled, although the undead soldiers just stood and stared vacantly around. They didn't need rest, and it was disconcerting.

Delilah ate with the other captains, listened to their reports on the condition of the legion, then ordered everyone to retire early. They would set off before dawn in the morning.

She felt stiff and sore from riding already, and cursed her own body for its shortcomings. She would have to work through the pain when her legion's time came.

Halfway through the next day they reached the summit of a barren hill. Cruel wind sliced into her skin as she brought her horse to a halt to assess the valley beyond -

She stiffened.

There they were, on the slopes of the opposite side of the valley.

Delilah slid smoothly out of the saddle and handed the reins to a captain. Then, ducking low, she crept higher to get a better view. Two captains joined her, and they watched the enemy forces stream down the rock slopes.

Anloch warriors, she realised, marking the fur on their armour, the blue and white fluttering banners like specks of colour in the Monmouths. An army of them. So the three nations had not joined their forces.

"Do we give the order to charge, Lieutenant?" a captain asked eagerly.

Delilah frowned at him. "Of course not. Not yet."

She glanced back, assessing the line of the undead. A few quick slices of her hand had the captains reordering them, spreading them out in a long line spanning the entire brow of the hill. They were only just out of sight.