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The clashing of swords and screaming men get a little too close to Ruth and me after a few minutes. It sends the hairs on my neck standing straight up. I scoot backward, closer to the bald cypress tree, hiding us away until the war is won, and this nightmare has ended.
Warrose and Marilynn are overrun, fighting too many at once, and that makes the snowy eyes of a nearby Vexamen Breed General that much more terrifying.
“Ruth,” I say in a warning tone.
The general slips past the defenses around us, charging toward us with his face covered in white scars and bruising blemishes. He’s wider than a Red Oak tree trunk, bald, with a mouth that is pinched and shaped like an asshole.
“Oh God,” Ruth gasps, seeing the man target us, too. “Warrose!” she screams, though it’s drowned out by the hectic noises of war around us. “Warrose!”
I attempt to continue scooting back, but it’s a failing effort as the goliath general trudges through the swamp water toward us. Reaching around his back, he plucks out two war hammers with flat heads the size of my face. His eyes the color of an ice storm bounce between Ruth and I, twirling those hammers between his fingers as if they weigh a pound a piece.
I act quickly. Or, at least, I set Ruth down and unsheathe the dagger Dessin gave me somewhat in a hurry. I focus on my lessons with Dessin and Warrose, how to defend myself against an attack. I must make them proud, and even though my shoulder is pierced with that stick of wood from the arrow I was hit with, my body becomes a numb, trembling vessel.
“I won’t let him hurt you, Ruthie!”
It’s all about confidence, Dessin once told me.
I do a little twirl of my dagger, flipping in my hand, then pointing it at the general with a calm and collected smile. I am a master of this dagger. No one is faster than my hand with this sharp blade of swift death.
Think to yourself, I am Niles Offborth, and I am not afraid.
It’s true. I’m not frightened of this big, stupid bald man. I am Niles Offborth, and I have been trained by the greatest warriors the world has ever seen. With a plunge forward, I jab at the general, forcing him to take a single step back. Pride swells in my chest at the small win. I jab once more, causing him to pivot to the left, avoiding my attack.
I can do this.
I am not afraid.
Blood pumps like a wild fireman’s hose in my arteries, causing my internal organs to vibrate through my core.
“Niles?!” Marilynn screams from several paces away from us. And I make the terrible mistake of glancing at her, trying to fight her way through the crowd of bloody, burned bodies.
The general attacks without hesitation, slamming the head of his war hammer against my shoulder, pinpointing the wound of the arrow stem. I grunt and fall to my knees, pulling the throaty sound from the pit of my stomach. My arm zings down to my fingertips with an injection of torment.
Before he can swing on me again, I use my position in the slimy swamp water to slice across his ankles, then as he doubles forward, I stab at a major artery above his hip. The general pierces my ears with his snarl that sounds more enraged than hurt.
The war hammer in his left hand blasts into my dagger, knocking it out of my hand and into the murky water and mud. Fuck. Shit. No.
“Run, Niles!” Ruth cries.
Run? I’d never leave her.
The general swings his heavy weight into my shoulder again. This time, it’s so hard and direct, the stem of the arrow comes jutting halfway out of my shoulder blade. Blood spills down my chest as I cry out. Broken. Something is broken or shattered or hanging on by a string.
Through the fat tears welling over my shuddering eyes, that fucking hammer rears back again, whooshing through the humid air in a straight line to my face. And I know, by the power behind that handle, by the muscles in this barbarian’s arm…this swing will crush my face. This swing will kill me.
I pray I’ll see my father again. I pray that my friends won’t mourn me. I pray—
The tip of a long, golden sword clanks against the hammer’s blow, halting a single centimeter away from my face. Sparks beam from the collision, and I cock my head back to look up through the sheer mist of rain at the lean, inky-haired leader of Demechnef stretched in front of my beaten body to block the killing blow.
“Ah, shit,” I hiss in sudden gratitude. “Fuck me!”
“I’m a little busy saving your ass,” Aurick Demechnef answers with a strained smirk. He kicks his boot into the general’s chest. His sword moves so quickly it makes sounds similar to a wind chime or a flute as it slices into a wrist, across the belly, above the knee. He’s a master swordsman, defending my helpless ass like it’s a child’s game.
After skewering the general through the right side of his chest, Aurick turns to me, slicking a hand through his professional, midnight hair. His smile hardly touches his icy blue eyes as he raises his perfect eyebrows, offering me a hand.
“Your first war, huh?” he mocks.
I grab his hand unenthusiastically. “Oh, fuck you. It’s your first, too.”
