I veered from the dwelling. Minutes later, I reached the warhorse who awaited me, the perceptive animal trotting back and forth in the stable. Despite the courser’s sleep-deprived snort, he vaulted into motion the second I threw myself onto his back.
We flew through the enclave and into the forest. Smashing past hedges, I urged the creature faster, terror seizing my lungs.
Aspen.
Catastrophic sounds overpowered my senses, and familiar landmarks materialized. The blue artery of a stream. An abandoned wagon wheel entombed in weeds. Then the sprawl of an oak tree.
My molars ground. Fucking hell, if she lived, I would strangle the woman!
Crashing through a thorn hedge, I hauled the stallion in place. Vaulting to the ground, I ripped out the broadswords and barreled toward the campsite. Infernos of flame devoured the tents, remnant blasts erupted, and dirt mushroomed into the air.
Silhouettes raced back and forth. Burning figures threw themselves to the understory and rolled to snuff out the flames eating their uniforms. Lines of soldiers passed water buckets from a creek and flung the contents at the largest blazing pit.
The reek of ash, grease, and scorching flesh permeated the environment. The oak extended its branches, its mammoth body impervious to the flames. Though, it had been threatened by these same fires earlier, held captive by Summer tinder.
So how the fuck…?
My respirations hitched. Lyrik.
He had not caused this. Yet he hadn’t stood by either. Somehow, the rogue enabled Aspen, conspiring with her to a violent end.
Despite our lack of extensive intelligence, the perceptive, headstrong woman must have had an epiphany. By some estimation, she’d somehow deduced time was running out, that vanquishing the camp needed to happen sooner rather than later.
Whatever explosive Lyrik gave Aspen, it must have activated a barrier. The ingredients somehow diluted the fire’s effect on the oak and protected the tree, as well as the forest itself. Only the tents and their contents roasted.
Grief chilled my blood. I’d fought beside these warriors, trained with them, bonded with them. However, the instinct to help crumbled beneath the weight of fear.
My head whipped about, searching for a hooded figure and the flash of an axe.
A cantankerous bark echoed from someone’s mouth. His voice registered briefly, only for the screaming knights to obscure the noise.
I fought to catch that blistering voice again when my eyes landed upon a crumpled form. Curves swelled beneath a dark cape. Crimped locks of hair spilled from the mantle. Against the combustion of light, a blade flickered, honed by a whetstone. She lay a vast distance from the camp, as if the detonation had launched her into the air.
My pulse stalled. Then it singed with rage as two knights located Aspen’s prone body and charged her way, thoughts of that earlier unnerving voice bleeding from memory.
With a roar, I catapulted across the grass. Windmilling my swords, I leaped in front of Aspen and blocked the first stab of a blade. Spinning and lashing out the opposite arm, my second sword cut off the other knight’s attack.
The pair froze, shock widening their eyes. Recognition slackened their jaws, yet any residual guilt I might have felt withered.
They would see Nicu in chains. They would see Poet, Briar, and Avalea fall rather than thrive.
They would see Aspen dead.
Seething, I lunged into the fray. Outraged, they responded, blades swinging.
Wielding both swords, I flew around them. With every dice and jab, blood spurted my chest. Among the conflagration, I sheared through my former kin, feral noises shredding from my cauterized lungs.
May Autumn forgive me, but it ended swiftly. The knights wobbled, the gashes in their torsos dribbling crimson, then slumped to the earth. With those wounds, it would be easy to suspect a premeditated skirmish rather than a natural disaster.
The ground shuttered, chunks of dirt breaking as a single bulbous root punched from the earth. Snaring the bodies like prey, the appendage sank back into the soil, burying the evidence.
My head swerved to the cremated tents. Amid the chaos, the oak’s exposed roots shuddered in tandem with the one that had snatched the fallen knights. With gratitude, I nodded quickly to the oak, then dropped my weapons and crashed to my knees beside the remaining limp body.
“Aspen,” I hissed, panic clogging my throat.
I cradled her to my chest, about to surge to my feet and carry her from this anarchy. Then a pained moan coiled from her lips, perhaps even a bit annoyed by her landing.
A garbled sound tore from my mouth. I checked for injuries and watched as the groggy female pried her eyelids open. Mud streaked her face, welts reddened her flesh, and the tips of her hair had been singed.
