I keep hold of my daggers as his downward momentum wrenches the blades out of him.
He screams and thrashes, trying to dislodge Skirra while his sword transforms into a dagger.
A bolt of fear shoots through me as he rams the blade at Skirra’s face.
At the same time, Deron is now ploughing toward me.
I dart forward, ready to drop onto Abdiel’s chest, to evade Deron and slash open Abdiel’s throat before he can hurt my wolf.
That’s when a volley of arrows flies through the air.
One strikes Abdiel’s throat, driving all the way through his neck and knocking his head back into the snow. The second shoots through his wrist and pins his dagger hand to his own chest. And the third strikes through his eye.
Two killing shots and one to save Skirra.
Metal glints at the corner of my eye and Deron’s roar meets my ears as he lurches toward me, a spear in his hands.
But another volley of arrows is already raining down on him.
I can only imagine how fast Thoren’s firing them, as skillful as an archer can be.
Three arrows fly toward Deron’s neck and face. As fast as he’s moving, they’re perfect shots.
A heartbeat before they would hit him, Deron skids to a halt, and his sword transforms into a copper shield.
The metal spreads outward in all directions.
Each arrow crashes against the shield, cracking and splintering.
I roll clear of Abdiel’s body while Skirra leaps backward.
The life may have gone from Abdiel’s eyes, but his death screams didn’t go unnoticed, particularly not by Kalith. Across the way, he appears to freeze for a moment, a delay that costs him a cut to his arm when my father lunges at him.
But worse, Deron has spun away from me and is now focused on the roof, where the turret is concealed.
To make the shots, Thoren had to lean forward and his face was visible for a few seconds.
Instead of coming at me, Deron runs toward the cabin with a furious shout. “You’re fucking dead, Boy!”
I give chase, knowing that Deron will soon be out of Thoren’s range. I can’t let him get inside the cabin.
I shout to Skirra, whose snout is covered in blood, but the wolf’s body is already a blur as he streaks ahead of me, leaping at Deron’s back just as the Blacksmith reaches the corner of the building.
The wolf’s reflection across the back of Deron’s shield gives him away.
Deron moves in a flash. He whirls back to Skirra, flips his shield into his left hand, smacks his now-free right hand onto his bicep to collect his final band, and drops into a crouch.
A shot of confusion streaks through me when he doesn’t appear to transform that band into a weapon, simply keeping it in his hand.
In that same heartbeat, Skirra continues to fly forward, his trajectory now taking him toward Deron’s head.
The Blacksmith’s fist snaps out, his right hand wraps around Skirra’s throat, and he shoves the wolf backward.
For the split second that Deron’s right hand remains in contact with Skirra’s throat—too short a time for Skirra to bite—metal bars spring out from Deron’s hand.
A copper cage forms around Skirra as he sails back through the air, the force of Deron’s punch sending the cage tumbling and sliding through the snow. The cage is just big enough for Skirra to stand up in with only inches on either side for him to move.
A thin metal thread stretches out from the cage, maintaining the contact between it and Deron’s hand until the thread snaps, its loose end floating in the breeze.
