Weaponless, Cole’s chest tightened as the raider lifted his rusty sword high.
And suddenly, Cole was back at the Battle of Armonguard, facing the Eben giant with nothing but the Armonguard flag.
“Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!” the Eben sang.
Cole’s stomach slid into his boots. Without a sword, he did the only thing he could think of. He turned the flagstaff and pointed the sharp end at the giant.
The Eben tossed his spear in the air and caught it with his grip reversed. Ready to throw.
Cole was going to die.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real.
“Cole!”
Back in the outpost, Kurtz lunged in front of Cole, intercepting the raider’s attack with his longsword.
The blades clanged, and the raider stumbled back. Kurtz closed in, but the end of the raider’s sword caught his shoulder. Kurtz didn’t slow, though his hiss made it clear he’d been hit.
A chill flared in Cole’s chest. He scanned the chaos—barrels, broken shelves, spilled food, scattered tools. Where was his sword?
He crouched, fingers searching debris, and found something heavy and rough—a fallen sack of flour. He ripped open the bag, and when he stood, he hurled it over Kurtz’s shoulder.
White powder struck the raider’s face, staggering him. Kurtz seized the moment and slammed his pommel against the wiry man’s temple. The raider dropped to his knees, his rusted sword skittering away.
At the back of the outpost, Wroxton felled the last raider. Silence followed, broken only by labored breathing.
Thakkar, hand axes wet with blood, glanced at Cole. “Nice throw,” he said dryly.
Was he being serious? Or sarcastic? Cole didn’t know, but his face burned as he picked up his sword from beneath a pile of apples and threaded it into the ring on his belt.
Kurtz clapped him on the back, wincing slightly as he favored his injured shoulder. “Good thinking with the flour, eh?” he said. “You saved my neck there.”
Cole’s gaze fell on the battered raider, who glared at him through a mask of white dust. Just behind him, Cole’s shield lay on the floor. He retrieved it, brushed off the flour, and threaded it over his arm.
Wroxton and Kurtz set about binding the prisoners’ hands with strips of rope pulled from the wreckage.
“Now…” Thakkar crouched before the scarred raider. “Let’s talk about who you work for.”
“We work for ourselves,” the man said. “No inbreeding lordling will tell us how to live our lives.”
“Do you even know of whom you speak?” Thakkar asked.
“Donediff Hadar is no child,” Wroxton added. “He ruled over Er’Rets Point these past five years. His mother is Lady Ginger of Allowntown, and he’s married to Yulessa of Xulon.”
“He wed a giant?” another of the raiders asked.
“To make sure his heirs don’t end up as lowborn as you lot, eh?” Kurtz said.
“Let’s get them into the wagon,” Thakkar said. “We’ll drop them off at the Mahanaim constabulary on our way back.”
Cole eyed the growing brown stain on Kurtz’s shoulder. “You’re hurt.”
“Bah!” Kurtz said. “Don’t worry about it, eh?”
But that would be impossible. Traveling with Lord Livna and the Fighting Five Hundred was supposed to keep them safe on the journey to Tsaftown, but Cole was starting to wonder if surviving the journey would be harder than whatever waited for them in the frozen North.
The next morning, the Tsaftown army was on the move again. As they headed north over the snow-dusted Allown plains, Cole rode behind Kurtz, concerned by how the brawny man favored his good arm.
