Wyn shivered slightly. I could still tell she was more than exhausted.
The air offered no sound of their coming, but the ridge above suddenly exploded with light.
Torches bloomed across the ridgeline above us; dozens of them. Their glow spilled down the hills in broken flickers, weaving through the dark like serpents made of flame. My hand was already on my sword before the shouts began.
“Up!” I barked, loud enough to split the dark. “Get up! Now!”
Bran growled, teeth flashing, as Gideon rolled to his feet with a startled oath. Alaric was already up, sword drawn. Jasira grabbed Wyn’s arm and yanked her behind a stone post as arrows struck sparks against the ruins.
“Mercenaries!” I shouted. “They’re coming from the ridge!”
I caught one torchbearer rushing down the slope, a bulky shape in a rust-red cloak, and I hurled a dagger straight into his chest without hesitation. He dropped without a sound.
The next arrow whizzed within inches of my face, drawing a thin crimson line across Jasira’s shoulder before punching into the tower wall with a decisive thock.
Gideon rushed to Jasira’s side, blade in one hand, shield in the other. “Stay behind me,” he growled, none of the usual humor in his voice. “Touch her, and I’ll gut you,” he shouted at the mercenaries.
The first wave hit us like a landslide.
Over the crumbling wall they surged, three figures framed by firelight, their drawn blades reflecting the dancing flames. Underneath the grimy swaths of cloth that masked them, their faces hinted at a fierce, unseen intent.
Alaric was there in a blink. His sword cleaved downward in a brutal arc that split the first man’s collarbone with a crack like splitting wood. Blood fountained, splattering Bran’s fur as the war hound lunged at the second attacker. The man shrieked as teeth sank into his forearm, crunching down to the bone. Alaric pivoted too slowly. The third mercenary’s blade swept low, carving a deep line across his thigh. He stumbled, blood flowing down his boot, but he didn’t fall. His blade sliced the attacker’s neck, ripping throughmuscle and windpipe in a sickening, gurgling spray.
A fourth mercenary—fast, lean, wielding twin curved blades, rushed toward me. His first strike skimmed my ribs; I felt the heat of it, the hiss of torn fabric. I ducked the second, drove upward with my knee, catching his gut. As he doubled over, I slammed my elbow into the bridge of his nose with a wet crunch, then shoved my sword into his chest. He gagged on the steel, blood bubbling from his mouth before he dropped.
Another came screaming from my left, dagger raised. I caught his wrist mid-swing, twisted until it snapped, and shoved my knife straight into his throat. His blood hit my face, hot andbitter. He spasmed, twitching like a puppet with cut strings, and crumpled at my feet.
Gideon was roaring nearby, drenched in sweat and blood, swinging his axe with feral precision. One mercenary charged him low, ramming a short blade into Gideon’s side. He howled, twisted, and brought the axe down so hard it split the man’s shoulder and ribcage in half. Flesh parted like overripe fruit, the spray hitting the stone.
Through the chaos, I saw her.
Wyn.
She was running to Jasira, herbs clutched tight in one hand like she didn’t know whether to heal or run. Her eyes were wide, stark, revealing the whites all around the iris, while a faint quiver worked its way through her jaw.
And then, heat. Sharp and sudden. The pendant in my pocket seared against my leg, hot enough to make me flinch. For a split second, it felt as though the fire came from inside my chest rather than from the metal. I didn’t have time to think about what it meant. Only that it meant her.
Another attackerspuntoward her, a blur of motion with lethal intent
I was too far.
He raised a rusty hatchet, grinning.
Wyn grabbed the nearest thing—a blackened iron cooking pan. She swung wildly and struck him in the temple with a hollow crack. His knees buckled, and he dropped without a sound.
She gasped. “I’m sorry!”
Gods.
She had apologized to the man she had knocked unconscious.
“Wyn!” Jasira called, her voice sharp with pain.
A deep gash split her shoulder, spilling crimson in thick rivulets down her arm. Wyn dropped beside her, pressing a cloth hard to the wound, her fingers trembling, breath ragged.
Beyond the ridge wall, more torches flared in the dark. Six. Seven. Maybe more.
One charged me before the thought could fully register. His axe came down in a killing arc. I stepped inside the swing, driving my sword up beneath his ribs. The steel punched through, hot blood spilling over my gauntlet as he choked and collapsed.
