“Look, people,” he said, skulking about the room with his hands behind his back, “I know time is of the essence, but would someone get Benjamin here an R.S. scarf?”
A mouthful of saliva hit the floor as Rowan spat and forced his way toward Catseye. “Those are for Red Sentinels only.”
“Oh, Rowan. Rowan, Rowan, Rowan.” Catseye patted the banneret’s cheek. “There’s an undead army outside. There will be no short supply of skeletons on the battlefield. Much as it pains me to say, it’s near impossible to differentiate one from another.”
“Touch my face again”—Rowan swatted away Catseye’s arm—“and you’ll be short one hand. If I know anything about casters, you need both to gesticulate your spells, so you’ll be even more useless than usual.”
Helspira winced when Catseye’s cheerful laugh shifted into a madman’s grave chuckle. Though Rowan towered over him by at least six inches, Catseye faced him with no hesitation. “Should you make the mistake of bringing any harm to Benjamin in all the mayhem, I guarantee you will beg for the mercy of an explosive to rend your limbs from your torso. Random carnage will befarmore charitable than the very intentional carnage brought by me.”
Locked in what looked like an aggressive staring contest, Rowan grinded his teeth, glanced in the direction Queen Saelihn had departed, and turned away in a huff. “Someone get this damned skeleton a scarf.”
“Here, Ben.” Elbowing her way through the crowd, Helspira unraveled her scarf and wrapped it around his neck. “You can have mine. I’ll find another.”
Ben favored her with a grateful bow. “Thank you. Perhaps you can help me find a longsword as well?”
“You intend to fight?” she asked.
“I must. Red Sentinel in life and death. Besides, I’m Sikras’s human shield.” Ben cupped a hand around his mouth and whispered, “He’s a bit delicate. More of a long-distance-combat kind of guy.”
Smothering an amused smirk, Helspira searched the walls, until she zeroed in on an extra scarf and a longsword no one had yet to claim. She removed both and proffered the sword to Ben as she draped the scarf over her shoulder. “Will this do?”
Skeletal hands seized the handle, appearing rather adept, as he tested the blade’s weight with several practiced poses. “I’ve yet to meet a piece of steel I couldn’t ram through a man’s sternum.”
“As long as we’re discussing steel through sternums, you’d better take this as well.” Helspira burdened his arms with a cuirass, inclining her chin toward the stone and thread between his ribs. “Something tells me you’ll want to keep that safe.”
“I do, indeed,” he agreed with a nod. “Out of all the things I’ve done in my life, dying is the least fun.”
As Ben suited up, Catseye stepped closer. “Well, look at you, Sentinel Champion Benjamin Reese. It’s just like old—”
The unforgiving weight of chainmail hurled onto Catseye’s shoulder halted his sentence, an unexpected ‘gift’ from Banneret Rowan. Catseye cursed, nearly buckling at the knees, whilst the banneret wore a smug grin.
Grunting, Catseye let the armor clatter to the floor in a cacophony of clinking metal. “Blood and bone, Rowan.” He dusted off his shoulders, glaring. “What in the name of all gods was that for?”
“Chainmail,” the banneret muttered. “Queen Saelihn wants you alive.”
“Keeping me alive is Benjamin’s job.”
“Eh—” Uncertainty tainted Ben’s tone as he fastened a buckle. “Maybe you should take the chainmail. I didn’t exactly do a good job at keeping you alive the last time we faced Vessik.”
“You did a fine job. I only died once.” Catseye sighed as he bent to retrieve the chainmail. “But if it pleases you, I’ll endure it.”
An undeniable tension flickered between the three men. Concern tightened Helspira’s lips. So long as these petty games did not extend to the battlefield, she would tolerate them. And even if they did ...
Nothing would stop her from defending Vinepool, the queen, the kingdom, her home, until her dying breath.
The next moments were a blur. Adrenaline and efficiency had the remaining Red Sentinels ready in seconds, no less than fifty men and women marching up the armory steps and out the castle doors. Somewhere in the smoke-filled air outside, more sentinels waged war against their invaders, the clash of metal-on-metal mingling with distant screams of pain and terror.
Banneret Rowan stood at the head, Catseye at his side. “Well”—the banneret gestured outward, cynical as ever—“lead the way, all-mighty necromancer.”
“No, no.” The stench of charred flesh marred the air as Catseye matched Banneret Rowan’s pose.“After you.”
Bearing an arrogant grin, the banneret crossed his arms. “Oh? Is the Glowing Cat’s Eye in Death’s Darkness afraid to lead this charge?”
“Do I look like a front linesman?” Catseye muttered. “I’m a caster, Rowan. A stiff breeze could knock me over.”
“To be honest,” Ben chimed in, “it’s a miracle that he can still walk, with all that chain mail you weighed him down with.”
Helspira rolled her eyes. “Oh, for the love of—” Without word nor permission, she charged ahead, sword drawn. There was no time for their nonsense. If she didn’t act fast, the enemy would infiltrate farther. That wasn’t an option. Not when the almshouse and her parents’ lives stood in the path of their destruction.
