But then the rider tumbled from his horse, an arrow sticking out of his chest.
I glanced around wildly. Sigrid slowly lowered her empty bow, her expression cold.
Everyone else exhaled in relief.
But then the rider staggered to his feet and screamed, “ENEMIES TO THE NORTH!”
“Shit,” Ruru muttered, grasping his sword like I was.
Aiden leaped on top of Wicked. “Charge them,” he said in a hard voice.
My stomach bottomed out, but I rode after him as he led us to the gap.
The rider must’ve been a scout, or the rest of his patrol would’ve followed him.
When we galloped up to the gap, the other soldiers were scrambling for their horses and weapons.
I tried to remember Nikella’s training, everything a blur as we came close enough to see their faces.
One soldier rode toward Aiden, swinging a sword. Aiden clashed with him and knocked him off his horse. But another rode out, his teeth bared in a snarl. He roared toward me.
My body instinctively curved away from his sword strike, and I stabbed at his torso. He wheeled his horse away. Jek crashed into him, and the two tumbled.
More horsemen stampeded the gap. Yarina, Sigrid, and Nikella surged forward to meet them.
Ozlow pranced and tossed his head, likely feeling the fear coursing through my body. I twisted in my saddle, looking for Ruru. I didn’t see him in the chaos.
An arrow whirred past the tip of my nose.
An archer stood farther back, on the Rellmiran side of the gap, shooting at us. Clearly not caring if he hit his own men.
I kicked Ozlow’s sides and raced for him. I held my sword steady as Nikella taught me.
The archer loaded another arrow, his helmet shining like a beacon. He paled as I galloped toward him. Fervent desperation twisted his face in a way that wrenched my heart.
But he was trying to murder my people.
He settled the arrow and swung it toward me. Time seemed to slow. Ozlow’s hoofbeats matched my heart.
Breath. Sweat. Wind. Tears.
How would death feel?
He let go of the bow string.
No pain. Ozlow didn’t falter.
I swung wildly and missed. I whipped Ozlow around, keeping my seat. I felt a burst of pride a moment before the archer grasped my ankle and yanked me from my saddle.
I collapsed on the ground with a strangled cry. My sword flew out of my hand.
“Stupid bitch!” the archer snarled, seizing my braid and jerking me upright. He reached for a knife in his belt.
I grabbed two of mine. Jabbed one in his arm, the other in his neck.
Warm blood sprayed over my hand and face. He released me with a gargle, his eyes wide, and fell back.
I stood over him, gasping, heaving.
