Shea gave him a helpless shrug. “We would have had to buy time for them to open the gates anyway.”
His sigh was heavy as he eyed her with extreme dislike. “At least you chose a reasonable place to make your stand.”
Braden’s movements were quick and confident as he drew his sword, looking at their approaching foe with flinty eyes as he cataloged the sixers’ strengths and weaknesses.
Clark and Delia saw why they’d delayed and slowed.
“Go,” Shea shouted. “Help Reece get the gate open.”
They’d need an easy place to retreat to. He hesitated but nodded, his friend drawing him away as Shea turned back to the scene playing out in front of her.
Dane and Peyton barreled toward them. Shea didn’t bother calling out a warning. They knew. Distracting them now would be pointless.
They were halfway down the small hill, the sixers making their way down the cliffs in leaps and bounds, as they covered a frightening amount of distance.
From the mist burst several grindles.
Trenton let out a stinging curse.
“That’s what they were running from,” Braden said in grim realization.
Not the sixers after all.
“Should have brought my long bow,” Trenton said.
“Let’s hope we live long enough to correct that oversight,” Braden returned, not taking his eyes from the approaching beasts.
“And that our blades don’t break off in their hide,” Shea said, offering her own mini prayer.
Trenton snorted. “Please, ours are of Earth clan origin. They won’t break because of some measly beast.”
“Guess we’re about to find out,” Shea said, crouching and settling into a fighting stance, legs spread, knees bent and her sword held with both hands in front of her.
*
There was movement on the battlements, the pathfinders scurrying around like they were members of an anthill that had just been kicked open. Fallon frowned up at them as he strode into the courtyard, his clan leaders by his side, their men flanking them.
“What’s happening?” Fallon shouted seeing Patrick on the wall next to the gate house. The pathfinder had changed out of the clothes soaked in his wife’s blood and had left their group to grab a few things he said he needed for the journey. Things Fallon suspected were weapons.
“It’s Shea,” Patrick shouted back.
Relief gripped Fallon by the throat, followed by worry. If Shea and her group had made it back safely, why did the pathfinders look like they were preparing for battle?
The Keep’s gate swung open, moving slowly as the students who’d left with Shea earlier slipped through the widening gap. They appeared panicked as they raced into the courtyard. It was enough to confirm Fallon’s earlier suspicions.
Something was happening.
“Gawain, get your men up on the wall,” Fallon ordered. “If the pathfinders get in your way, you have my permission to move them by any means necessary.”
Gawain let out a battle cry before leading his men to do Fallon’s bidding. Gawain’s clan contained many superior archers and the ones he had with him were among the best in Fallon’s army.
“Zeph, you and your men are with me.” Fallon jogged toward the gate as Reece finished pushing it open with the help of Clark and another woman.
Seeing Fallon, Shea’s friend looked relieved, pointing back the way they came. “She needs help.”
It was all he had to say as Fallon advanced, his eyes taking in the scene on the other end of the bridge, his telroi, her guard and his general standing fast as beasts barreled down on them.
His fine control over his inner beast snapped. The world washed itself in a thin veil of red as he let out a roar his men echoed.
