Page 92 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

You—they⁠—

Crossed wards never meant to be breached, much as you’re attempting now.

Bile coated my tongue.

I was only distantly aware of Portia pulling on my arm, trying to drag me upright.

As though trapped in a world beyond hers, I fought for control long enough to turn toward her and meet her wide brown eyes.

“Move, Magnolia! Move!” The command was barked with such force that my body shakily obeyed, my gaze still fixed on the poor souls doomed to decay beneath our feet.

Only… It wasn’t merely bone and desert. Something moved across the gaping eye sockets of witches long lost, concealed beneath the gloomy blue blanket of dawn.

A gasp tore from me as I stumbled forward on numb feet, dragged along by the Paladin Wing while the dark ink staining her arms transformed into silver gauntlets.

My eyes widened as her familiar’s magic braced for impact.

“What was that?”

“Don’t wanna find out. Keep moving!” Portia planted her palm between my shoulder blades and shoved me up the next drift. Our boots slid through the merciless sand until we crested the summit… And froze.

A vast crescent dune swept across our path—a looming barchan we would either have to traverse or climb twice.

But it wasn’t the towering ridge that lodged another sob in my throat.

It was what scuttled toward us.

The desert floor wriggled as countless creatures emerged, their tan-and-yellow bodies barely distinguishable from the sand.

A panicked glance over my shoulder revealed the same threat climbing behind us.

“Run,” Portia breathed.

A heartbeat later, we were both sprinting along the ridge, fighting gravity’s unforgiving pull as the sand dragged at our boots.

My eyes kept shifting toward the creatures swarming up the slope.

Scorpions.

I’d spent enough years in the California desert to recognize their telltale gait.

But their color lifted every hair along my neck.

Yellowish green, punctuated by thick, dark tails—not the black scorpions from home.

A ragged cry tore from me as I stumbled. Either the shadows or Death held me upright as I fought to remain in Portia’s wake.

Then her footing failed.

My hope went with it. She tumbled head over boots down the sharp incline.

“Portia!”

Her name scraped through my throat like metal against a grater as I leapt after her.

With practiced precision, the warrior twisted and plunged her hands into the dune, grappling with the shifting earth.

“Run!” she shouted. “Don’t stop!”