That’s when a volley of bolts fly at me from behind.
The air rushes at my back, and thewhooshof metal makes the hairs on my arms stand on end. My medallion suddenly burns against my skin and it’s as if the air is charged.
I don’t have time to study the bolts up close, but I’m aware of thethudas each hits the ground directly behind me. They’re all inches short of hurting me, despite the fact that my back was exposed. Of course, if they’d aimed higher, they might have struck their own comrades, so that could explain why they missed me.
Still, the hairs on my arms and the back of my neck continue to prickle.
There are now seven bolts jutting from the ground near the front of the monolith.
Seven.Each man has fired once and each shot has flown wild.
But…Where is the eighth man?
I’ve kept moving and I’m now five paces away from the nearest man ahead of me. In that time, he has nocked his crossbow and points the bolt directly at my chest.
His finger twitches. He’ll fire directly into me, but a command flies through my mind to my medallion.
Spear.
The weapon forms in a flash, its length shooting outward from my palm. As I dive to the left, I ram its tip against the crossbow, disarming the metalworker.
The bolt flies wide, the crimson dust on its tip gleaming like a streak of lightning.
Now, my instincts are screaming at me. A danger I can’t identify. Something more than the threat posed by these men. I can’t pinpoint exactly what it is, but it’s a warning I can’t ignore.
Gripping the spear, I give a single command and it returns to the shape of a medallion, wrapping itself once again around my left hand as if it belongs there and nowhere else.
The man I disarmed has thrown himself backward, a defensive move, as he leaps for his weapon.
My leg muscles are bunched, ready to follow him and, at the same time, leap clear of the next volley of bolts from the attackers behind me, when a flash of light draws my attention to the top of the monolith’s head.
A carpenter crouches there, balancing precariously on the smooth surface. He’s holding a burning brand, the flames licking around the bundle of tinder.
The eighth man.
“Go, go, go!” he shouts.
The other men scatter, including the man with the dagger in his shoulder. The metalworker with the dagger in his thigh is hobbling as fast as he can before one of his comrades grabs him and propels him to go faster. Despite his obvious pain, he manages to cast a grin back at me.
A bolt sits beside my hand where I crouch in the mud.
The dust covering half of the bolt’s length glitters at me.
Up close, I can now see that a thin, resin tube has been attached to the side of the bolt and it’s filled with the same red dust that covered the tip.
My eyes widen.
It can’t be.
Not crimson coal…
Crimson coal is the substance Blacksmiths used for their forge-fires. It was mined in the eastern mountains and hauled down to the city—originally by human workers who were well paid for their labors, then by humans who were forced to work for Malak. Braddock was one of the men forced to work in the mines when Malak ruled this city.
We had recently learned that Nero was hoarding crimson coal in contravention of the Vandawolf’s laws.
Somehow, the humans must have found a way to crush it.
Once lit, crimson coal burns extremely hot. So hot, it can blaze for days.
