Page 93 of Commanding Scythe and Sky

But I was already sliding to a halt beside her.

I hooked one arm beneath her shoulder and hauled her toward her feet.

A sob tore from me as scorpions latched onto her cloak and gauntlets. I heaved with all my strength, trying to pull her upright even as the creatures climbed onto my hands.

Screeching, I jerked away and shook them loose.

Portia screamed—the sound carrying more frustration than terror.

My boots slid through the silt as I scrambled backward, flinging my hands and swatting the creatures from my arms.

A sharp burn pierced my neck and stole my breath.

My hand flew up, grabbed the scaled body, and hurled it from my shoulder.

The searing pain told me I hadn’t moved quickly enough.

The yellow creature struck the sand with a dull thud.

My gaze locked on the green liquid dripping from its stinger.

Demon venom.

“Run!” Portia demanded again, a hysterical sound bubbling through her chest.

I stumbled forward, kicking scorpions from my boots and pant legs.

More burning.

My arm.

My shoulder.

Clothes.

They were inside my godsdamned clothes.

“Run!”

Run where?

The demon spawn were everywhere. My heart raced. My skin burned. My head spun.

I blinked against the blur clouding my vision and begged my limbs to obey.

Spasms rippled through my spine as we ran, frantically trying to rid ourselves of the demonic arachnids.

By the time we reached the curving arm of the barchan, my hands, neck, and lips were tingling.

Not good.

My magic had never allowed anaphylaxis to take hold, but we were exhausted.

And these weren’t ordinary godsdamned scorpions.

“Keep… moving…” Portia panted.

We stumbled onward, each of us falling at least three times as we descended toward the next mass grave. Skeletons protruded from the cracked lakebed, their empty eyes and gaping mouths following us as we tripped over our own feet.