Lightbringer

Chapter 1

On the night I was born, the witch delivering me had a vision.

With my mother’s pale hands clasped in hers, the witch’s eyes were blinded by prophecy as she decreed that I would be, “the greatest warrior to ever live, or to ever live again.”

“The light of a thousand souls will shine within her gaze,” the witch had murmured, “and the burden of a thousand souls will rest upon her shoulders. Every creation of the gods will tremble in her wake. Though a warrior whose eyes peer both into heaven and hell might bring about her destruction; without them, she will be doomed to walk alone forever.”

They were dangerous words that could have ended my infant life within its first week, if they had gotten out.

It had been seventeen years since the prophecy was spoken. And though I was far from the greatest warrior in existence, my name, Nadezhda Brightblade, was enough to strike fear into the hearts of all those who would harm my people.

Thankfully, my parents had sworn the witch to secrecy. I could count the people who knew of the prophecy on a single, frigid hand. I was immeasurably grateful of this, since the last thing I needed was warriors from other lands traipsing here to test their might against my own.

I suppressed a shudder, feeling infinitely removed from that grandiose, prophesized version of myself as I reached up to scrape frost from my eyebrows. I was crouched high in the branches of an ancient oak in the heart of the Seven Hawks Mountains, a giant range that stood sentinel along the entire northern border of my homeland. At this time of year, the landscape was buried deep in winter snow, the silence and bitter cold seeming eternal.

Glancing down at Ilya, my second-in-command, I wasn’t surprised to find him already looking at me. He was gathered with the other four scouts who made up our small patrol unit at the base of the tree, their black cloaks making their forms wraith-like against the contrasting snow. The wolf head pins they all wore, marking them as members of my elite scouting unit, shone in the darkness.

“Anything?” Ilya whispered, teeth clattering from the cold.

I nodded, gesturing forward. From my vantage point, I could see a faint line of smoke rising through the trees, marking the location of the enemy unit we had been tracking for days. Ilya’s hazel eyes seemed to gleam as he glanced in the direction of our prey.

“Shall we, then?” he asked in an overly sweet tone, the only clue that he was growing impatient.

I accepted the hand he extended up to me, helping to ensure that my descent from the tree was as silent as possible. When I straightened up beside him, adjusting the mask that covered the lower half of my face, he flashed me a deviously crooked grin. I could practically feel the adrenaline that was now rushing through his veins – and the veins of the silent scouts who watched my every move.

My eyes crinkled around a smile, and I turned without a word, setting off in a crouching run. The men followed close behind me, their extensive training making their footfalls silent as we crept through the snow. As we wove through the trees, the distant glow of a fire came into view. The aura around my men shifted as their eyes fixed on that light – and the enemies that surely surrounded it.

Our pace slowed as I held out a hand, gesturing for my men to break off into two groups. The other four immediately went right to circle around to the back of the enemy camp, while Ilya stayed close behind me.

We ducked behind the low-hanging limbs of a large pine tree, the needles laden with mounds of snow. I peered around the branches, glad of the darkness outside the ring of firelight that allowed me to observe our quarry unseen. There were a dozen of them, huddled around the fire in search of warmth that their army-issued cloaks did not offer.

Even in this darkness, there was no mistaking that uniform.

These soldiers fought for the Pryzdovian Empire. The empire had been attempting to systematically wipe my people from the face of the earth for decades, as part of their campaign to take over the entire continent. And now that our army was defeated, and the royal family destroyed along with it, the warriors my father commanded were the only thing standing between my people and total annihilation. We were called Kozak – rebels – a title given to us by the late king. It was a name we now wore proudly, for we would rebel against tyranny and invasion until the end of days.

But the kingdom we once knew, the free realm of Carpathia, was long dead. And even if we managed to beat our enemies back for good, I knew that without the royal family, the realm would never be truly restored.

“Pryzdovians,” Ilya hissed between clenched teeth, as he pulled an arrow from his quiver and nocked it with an ease and fluidity born from years of practice.

He chose his target and pulled back until the bow was taught, where he remained still, awaiting my order to attack.

I observed the quietly talking soldiers for a moment, calculating. While their unit was double the size of my own, my men were undoubtedly the superior fighters. And the element of surprise gave us notable advantage.

I glanced at Ilya as I reached behind my back, drawing the two short swords sheathed beneath my cloak. I winked at him when our gazes met, and that was the only signal he needed.

Bursting from behind the tree with a fierce battle cry, I didn’t even blink as Ilya’s arrow flew past my ear and embedded itself in the base of one of the soldier’s skulls. Before his corpse even hit the snow, I was bounding around him, naked blades flashing in the night as I attacked. The first man I reached, still staring in shock at the arrow in his fallen comrades skull, barely had time to react before my swords were in his chest.

The remaining soldiers rushed at me, just as my scouts burst from the darkness behind them. And caught between two enemies, the Pryzdovian soldiers were forced to decide where the biggest threat stood.

They were utterly, horrifically mistaken.

I was a blur of speed as I dashed towards the first soldier who’d foolishly shown his back to me. I spun with deadly precision; not pausing as the soldier’s head flew from his body, landing in the fire with a gush of smoke and sparks. The next man turned to face me, raising his sword in time to block my first attack. But before he could recover, I knocked the weapon from his hand, a quick flash of my wrists splitting him from neck to navel.

Two of Ilya’s arrows whistled past me, pelting our enemies where their leather armor was thin. The soldiers clashed with my own warriors valiantly, but I could sense their rising panic. They had realized, too late, that the biggest threat stood at their backs.

They’d realized exactly who had hunted them.

My eyes flashed as one of my men was cut down. The Pryzdovian who felled him, eyes wide with terror, pointed at me with his bloodied sword. “Vilka!” he cried out. “Strach Vilka!”

Dread Wolf.

I heard Ilya curse behind me as the nickname caused a feral snarl, that wasn’t entirely human, to rattle past my clenched teeth. Dormant energy – primal rage or something wilder – flared to life in my veins. And then I was moving, advancing on the man even as he screamed and dropped his weapon, tripping over the body of my fallen warrior as he attempted to flee. I was vaguely aware of Ilya guarding my back as I stalked towards the soldier, who stared up at me from the bloody snow, babbling in horror.

“Please,” he begged, accent heavy as he spoke. “Please don’t kill me! I’ll do anything!”

I plunged my sword down, through his eyes socket, until the blade was lodged in the snow beneath him.

And behind me, the clearing became blissfully still.

I yanked my sword free remorselessly, turning to examine my men. Only one of them was seriously injured, his face gleaming with sweat as he gripped a deep wound in his abdomen. The other two bore only minor injuries, and they hastened to support their comrade. My throat tightened as I glanced at my fallen scout, but I was grateful to have only lost one.

Yet it wasn’t until I raked my gaze over Ilya, and found him to be completely unscathed, that I allowed myself to relax. He had been my closest companion, and dearest friend, since we were children. I smiled when his eyes ran over me in a similar fashion, but none of the tension left his body as he approached me.

He had to lean down to whisper in my ear.

“Are you alright?”

My only response was to step away from him with a sigh, flicking the blood from my swords before sheathing them. Turning my attention to the heavily injured Kozak, I kept my voice soft as I asked, “Can you walk?”

He quickly nodded. “Yes – yes, lieutenant.”

“Good,” I nodded to the less injured men. “Support your brother. Go on ahead – I must search the bodies and burn them.”

They nodded in unison.

I watched as they hoisted up their comrade, slinging his arms over their shoulders before setting off. Only Ilya remained, hovering beside me with concern in his eyes. I turned to look at him, raising my eyebrows in question.

“I wish to remain with you.” Ilya said.

“No.” I immediately replied, though his concern made my cheeks slightly warm. “You are the only one without injury. I need you to escort the others back to the fortress.”

“Can we not wait for you, and return to Urmyn together?” Ilya persisted. The light from the spluttering fire danced across his face, bringing out the streaks of green in his hazel eyes.

My heart pinched, but I shook my head. “I need to finish scouting the perimeter, and I cannot do that with injured men in tow. Go home, Ilya. I will see you there.”

For a moment, it seemed like Ilya would protest. But then he turned on his heel, trudging silently through the bloody snow before vanishing into the trees. I heaved a sigh, turning to examine our fallen enemies more closely. There was one thing about this group that bothered me, and closer inspection only heightened my concern.

There was no leader among them.

A second lieutenant, at the very least, should have accompanied a unit this size. One more sweep of my eyes around the clearing had my heart sinking. A single set of footprints led away from their small camp. Cursing, I yanked the mask I wore, which shielded me both from prying eyes and the spray of gore, off my face. Taking an unhindered breath of the icy air, I paused, mind racing as I decided my next course of action.

Should I stay and burn the dead, or pursue that single set of footprints?

Before I could decide, the mountain breeze whipped past my cloak, causing it to whirl around me wildly.

I pulled my hood lower over my brow impatiently, muttering, “I should have noticed those footprints sooner.”

“Yes,” a low, rich voice behind me agreed. “You should have.”