“Ky!” Gessa screamed, her voice cutting through the roar of the blaze.
Ky was already moving.
He drove his elbow back into the gut of the guard behind him, snatching the man’s sword from its sheath before the soldier hit the ground. He spun, slashing the legs of the second guard, and vaulted the table, shielding his face from the heat.
Polan was on the floor, thrashing, a living pillar of flame amidst the burning ruin of his maps. The tent flap tore open as shouts erupted outside.
Gessa, coughing in the thick smoke, lunged toward the burning man. With a cry of fury, she reached into the heat and ripped the dagger from his belt.
“Go!” she yelled, scrambling back, the blade clutched in her hand, her face smeared with soot.
Ky was already at the rear wall. The fire was racing up the support poles now, the canvas groaning as it began to melt. He didn’t hesitate. He swung the captured sword in a wide arc, slashing the cords and fabric from top to bottom.
“Move!” he roared, grabbing her arm.
They burst out the back of the tent into the cool night air, the structure behind them collapsing inward with a crash of sparks and timber. Behind them, Polan’s screams were swallowed by the roar of the fire and the chaotic shouting of guards.
Ky didn’t look back. He tightened his grip on the sword, his eyes locking onto the dark shape of the wagon in the distance.
He didn’t waste breath on words. He grabbed Gessa’s arm and ran for the shadows where Night was waiting.
41
ASHES OF THE STRONGHOLD
The night air hit them hard—shocking cold after the furnace of the tent. Behind them, the support beams of the command tent groaned, and with a crash of sparks and timber, the structure collapsed inward. The scream of the fire drowned out the final, agonized shrieks of the man trapped inside.
For Ky, the chaos was a strange kind of calm. The objectives were cold and simple:Night. Gessa. Out.
“Night,” Ky growled, his grip tightening on the sword he’d taken inside. He didn’t look at Gessa, but he felt her at his shoulder—no longer the trembling victim, but a woman holding a bloodied dagger with white-knuckled ferocity.
“The wagon,” she gasped, pointing with her free hand.
They charged. The compound was in an uproar. Men were shouting, some running for water buckets, others staring in disbelief at the bonfire that had been their commander’s quarters. No organized defense had formed yet. It was the only window they would get.
Bandits near the wagon froze, stunned by the fire. Too slow to react. But as Ky and Gessa sprinted into the light of the torches, shock turned to recognition.
A burly man standing near the forge turned to face them, hefting a heavy woodsman’s axe. Ky met his charge head-on. Air whooshed overhead. Ky ducked the clumsy swing. He didn’t try to match the man’s strength; he stepped inside the guard’s reach, his stolen blade finding the soft spot under the man’s arm.
Ky shoved the dying man aside and spun, looking for Gessa.
“Behind you!” he roared.
A bandit had rushed her from the flank, swinging a cudgel. Gessa was fast, her instincts honed by terror. She ducked the blow, lashing out with Polan’s dagger. The blade bit into the man’s forearm, but the range was too short; he roared in pain and backhanded her, sending her stumbling.
Ky was there in a heartbeat. He didn’t bother with finesse. He drove his shoulder into the bandit, knocking him off balance, and finished him with a thrust to the chest. He ripped the sword from the man’s grip as he fell and shoved the hilt toward Gessa.
“The dagger’s too short,” he barked. “Take this.”
Her fingers closed around the leather-wrapped hilt, her expression hardening from shock into grim resolve. She tucked the dagger into her belt and brought the sword up, her stance shifting. She was ready.
“Watch my back,” Ky ordered, his eyes locking on the cage thirty yards away.
They moved as a unit now. They sprinted the last few feet to the wagon, the heat of the burning tent still radiating against their backs. The cage was iron, the lock thick and crude. Night was pacing inside, a shadow of restless, lethal energy, his eyes glowing in the gloom.
Ky slammed his sword against the lock. Shock jarred his arm, but the metal barely dented.
“Hurry! There’s too many!” Gessa cried out.
