I retrieved my dagger and darted over to them. “Here,” I said breathlessly, cutting their bonds. “Listen. Zennia’s alive. She’s here, with the Cage.” I gazed hard at Emment as his ropes fell away. He had two black eyes, grazes on his cheekbones, bruises covering his jaw and neck. “And I’m sorry,” I huffed out, “for—well, for some of it.” I thought of the bets, the money he’d stolen. Just because, in the end, he hadn’t harmed my friend, it didn’t mean Emment Shearwater was a saint. But I couldn’t let him think he’d killed a person.
Before, with Rexim and Crake in the ward, Emment had looked for all the world like a broken man. But now, as my words registered in him, something new and resolute glittered in his eyes.
“Fortuitous timing, little cuckoo,” he said, and brandished the short sword, bearing down on the two guards.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” Catua asked me. She was wrestling with a light crossbow her guard had dropped.
“No idea,” I said breathlessly.
Boom.
Another great rent in the cobbles. Another jagged tear, more dark earth exposed.
Tigo and Iovawn circled each other, each trying to topple the other, to trap him. But the ground couldn’t seem to decide who to listen to. It shivered, grumbled, opened up then closed over.
My chest jolted as new flames streaked from the brazier—three, no four, heading straight for the Crake heir.
Rhianne had realized what I’d realized, too. That the longer Iovawn was standing, the more danger we were in.
Tigo had seen the flames, was momentarily distracted, and that was enough for Iovawn to try something new.
Our Mudmouth had wandered too close to Llir’s tower. Now the structure gave a sudden, violent shudder, cracks streaking up it, the ancient mortar crumbling. All I could do was freeze and stare as great blocks of stone tumbled—right onto Tigo. Dust whipped up. His figure disappeared. Dimly I registered a scream from Rhianne.
Free from his main challenger—at least for the time being—Iovawn Crake hefted the broadsword at his side. Glancing around, looking more irritated than anything, he stalked toward Llir, who’d finished off a third guard.
I watched, helpless, as Iovawn muttered under his breath. The ground under Llir disintegrated to powder, and his legs sank into it. He yelled in frustration.
By now Rhianne’s flames had reached their target and whipped around Iovawn, teasing and caressing him. One caught his cloak, setting it rapidly aflame, but the hulking warrior merely shed it like a snakeskin. Another worried at his face, burning his ear, and he batted at it angrily, snapping to his remaining guards, “Shut that hells-damned Sparkmouth up!”
Like a hungry bear, he barrelled toward Llir, sweeping his sword fluidly, raising it head-high.
“No!” I cried out, and just at that moment, the brazierwhooshed, went up like a firework. Huge streaks of flame shot out, soaring skyward, crackling with heat and belching out smoke. Rhianne. I caught sight of her: pallid, furious. Everyone ducked—even Iovawn flinched—and I watched as flames burst through the keep’s windows. Others chased the remaining guards, sending them shrieking from the ward or rolling on the ground.
The heat was intense, and I coughed on the smoke. The side of my face stung where a flame had shot past me. But Iovawn Crake had collected himself already, and now, teeth gritted, raised his broadsword once more.
Llir still had his own sword, stolen at the gatehouse, but it looked like a needle compared to Crake’s blade. Iovawn swung down; Llir tried to block, but the force of the impact sent his weapon spinning.
“Corith! By your feet!” It was Catua’s hoarse voice. She was aiming the crossbow she’d acquired at Iovawn. I glanced down, saw another one lying near me, and snatched it up, my heart thumping wildly.
As I fumbled with it, trying to make sense of the mechanism, I saw a tall figure running straight toward Iovawn.
Emment.
Face black and blue, shirt streaked with blood, he was limping slightly but hurtling in fast. Llir shouted something—trying to warn his brother off, maybe—but Emment ignored him, his face twisted with hate.
Iovawn flashed his sword around lazily, blocked Emment’s first strike, then swept a slashing arc. Despite his injuries, Emment kept his footing, dancing out of reach of the blade.
He went in again, and I felt a dark foreboding. Catua loosed a bolt, but the shot went wide.
Iovawn thrusted, then heaved his blade upward, and the edge caught Emment, slashing open his cheek.
Llir bellowed at his brother. His sisters were screaming. I raised the crossbow, looked at the levers.
With a small smirk, Iovawn turned back to Llir, brought his sword up, then down in a powerful strike. Somehow it hit the earth, sending gravel flying, but already Iovawn was preparing another blow.
Shouldering the crossbow, I pulled one lever. Nothing happened. I pushed another and heard a strange click. Then I saw something that looked like a trigger, and I squeezed it, aiming for Iovawn’s bulk.
Miraculously the crossbow fired its heavy bolt, bucking in my arms. Iovawn let out a grunt. The bolt had buried itself shallowly in his side, and he staggered, glancing across at me curiously.
