Arrows fly. Men shout. The chase is on.
8
AURORA
We burst from the narrow, winding street into the open courtyard before the North Gate. The sudden space is terrifying. There is no cover. Just a hundred yards of churned, muddy ground, slick with filth, standing between us and the black iron arch of the gate.
My lungs are on fire. My own breathing is a raw, raggedgaspin my throat, lost under the heavythud-thud-thudof Othic’s boots. He’s not just running; he's dragging me, his massive hand locked on my arm, his strides pulling me off my feet.
The screams of the Lowtown are behind us now, replaced by the sharp, militaryshoutsof Krell’s men as they pour into the courtyard after us.
We're exposed. Oh gods, we're exposed.
My legs feel like water. I'm going to fall. I'm going to slow him down. He’s a massive, unmissable target, and I'm the anchor tied to his leg.He's going to die because I can't keep up.
"Tusk! Traitor!"
The voice is a sharp, elven snarl, echoing fromabove. My head snaps up.
On the stone wallabovethe North Gate, Krell is standing. He's silhouetted against the dark Eelry sky, his black lacquered armor gleaming in the torchlight. He's not with the men chasing us. He waswaitingfor us. He knew.
He has a heavy crossbow in his hands. It’s leveled.
He's trapped us.
Othic sees him. He roars, a sound of pure, defiant fury, and pulls me harder, zigzagging across the mud. But the space is too open. There's nowhere to hide.
I see Krell adjust his aim. He's not looking at Othic. His eyes, two cold, pale chips of ice, are locked onme. He’s smart. He knows he can’t bring the beast down with one bolt. But he can bringmedown. He knows how to stop Othic.
A sharp, vicioushisscuts the air.
It’s not aimed at Othic. It’s aimed at my chest.
Time stops.
Othicroarsmy name—a sound so raw and guttural it tears from his throat: "Aurora!"
He doesn't just push me. Hethrowsme. His wounded left arm smashes into my side like a battering ram, his strength absolute, sending me flying off my feet. I hit the ground hard, my shoulder and hip slamming into the muddy cobblestones, the impact driving the air from my lungs in a painfulwhoosh.
THUNK.
The sound is heavy, wet, sickening. I scramble, gasping, and look back.
Othic is still standing. But he's rigid, his back slammed against the stone wall of a tannery. A black-fletched crossbow bolt is sticking out of his left shoulder, high up, buried deep in the thick, gray-green muscle near his neck.
He took it for me. He saw it. He turned his body, took the bolt that was meant for my heart, and it pinned him to the wall.
"Othic!" I scream, the word tearing from my throat, raw with a terror that is all for him.
He doesn't answer. He just groans, a low, furious sound, like a mountain shifting. His head is bowed, his body trembling with a force I can't understand.
"I have him!" Krell screams from the wall, reloading. "Pin him! Pin the traitor!"
Othic lifts his head. His amber eyes are not filled with pain. They are blazing with a pure, murderous light, and they are locked on Krell.
He reaches up with his massive right hand. He doesn't wince. He doesn't hesitate. He grips the shaft of the bolt. Heroarsandripsthe entire, blood-soaked piece of wood and steel from his own body.
Dark, almost black blood gushes from the wound. He throws the bolt to the ground.
