The air leaves my lungs in a single ragged gasp. His lochaber lifts, point angled down the slope, steady as if he’s been waiting for this moment all along.
The shape gathers itself in silence, bigger than anything I dared imagine, and moves toward us.
22
KARA
It comes, not with frenzy, but with purpose. Each movement is deliberate, dragging shadow coming as if the canyon itself is birthing it.
My throat is raw, though I haven’t made a sound. I can’t. The moment I breathe too loud, I’ll break whatever fragile balance keeps it crawling slow instead of surging up.
He doesn’t move. Lochaber lifted, black eyes locked on the shadows below. His tail drags a slow arc in the sand—measured, steady, like he’s feeling the earth breathe through him.
I cling to his arm, unable to tear my hand away. Cool scales press against my palm, solid in a world that feels like it’s unraveling. If he notices the way my grip trembles, he gives no sign. He only leans the smallest fraction closer, enough to make me feel the weight of him bracing me, keeping me upright when my knees want to buckle.
“Climb,” he orders.
I don’t hesitate or question his command. I grab onto the cliff wall and climb.
I glance over my shoulder and see the creature coming closer, not rushing, moving steadily. A horned ridge lifts into the light, jagged as broken rock. Then another. Its bulk shifts against the bones, scales grinding like stone dragged across stone. No hiss this time, no warning cry—only the scrape of inevitability.
It’s coming. Not a question. Not even a threat. Just truth.
Fear swirls, swamping all rational thought. Breath comes fast, and all I can do is climb, arms trembling. I glance at him, and he comes after me. Climbing, but his attention is on the creature. He doesn’t look up or speak, but his silence says it all. Climb. Don’t falter.
The shadow gathers itself, massive coils rubbing against the wall. It’s climbing after us. Panic surges, giving strength to my worn and tired muscles. Breath coming shallow, I work one handhold, one foothold, then the next. Faster than I would have thought I could.
The rock crumbles under my hand and I yelp as I lose my grip. Scrambling for another, his hand grips my thigh, holding me in place. My breath comes in ragged gasps, but I find another handhold. I pull up. And up.
A shelf. I strain, pulling myself over the edge, rolling out of the way to make room for him. Muscles trembling, aching, barely able to move, I climb onto my hands and knees as he comes over too.
I manage to get to my feet. The ledge is wide—maybe ten feet. I move back to the wall, too scared to look over the edge and see if the thing is still coming. The warrior stands, looking to me, then?—
A shadow lunges.
Rock and sand explode and suddenly the world is alive with motion. A horned head rises high, jaws opening wide, fangs long enough to pierce straight through me.
I stumble back, choking on grit and sand, but his arm is there—hard and sure—yanking me against his side as the lochaber arcs. Steel strikes, shrieking against horn. Sparks burst in the air.
The thing rears back, eyes glowing a sickly yellow, slit pupils locking onto us. Its breath rolls out hot and damp, stinking of rot. My stomach twists, but I force my knife up, ready. If I freeze now, I’ll die.
It strikes again, faster this time. He meets it, blade flashing in the storm’s light, but the impact knocks him back a step. The ground beneath us shudders. Sand and rubble cascade down, threatening to pull us over the edge.
I move without thinking.
The lochaber’s weight drives into the beast—deep, but not enough. Its tail whips around, slamming into him with bone-breaking force. He grunts, sliding, balance lost.
“No!” The word tears out of me.
I leap forward, slashing low.
My knife sinks between armored plates on its body. Black blood spills, thick and tar-like. The beast shrieks, turning its rage on me.
Good. Look at me. Not him.
Its jaws snap down. I dive, rolling across the shelf, and come up gasping, arm screaming where the wound burns under the bandage. My knife drips dark blood, trembling in my grip.
He’s moving.
