As he ran toward the square, the crowed thinned. Nobody wanted to be close to this place, nobody but fools with swords who fancied themselves warriors. The buildings around the square were on fire, the light of the flames suffusing the clouds above with an eerie, bloodstained red. Ashes and dying sparks drifted all around, as gentle as snow, gathering in powdery gray heaps in the gutters.
Rolan slowed to a walk, shifting his sword to his left hand so as to wipe his sweaty palm on his trousers. Then he unclasped his cloak, letting it flutter to the ground. If he needed to swing that sword, it would only get in the way.
Every bone in his body screamed at him to run, to get as far from the city as he could. With every step he took, the dread grippedhim tighter, like rising water. He fought against its current, forcing his feet to keep moving.
Pretend,Anaya’s voice whispered in his memory.Pretend you are brave until youare.
He pretended. He pretended harder than he ever had in his life. He pretended his courage was stronger than his fear. He pretended and he prayed to the goddess of truth that somehow he and Luc and Anaya and Evaine would all survive this day.
He pretended he was brave until hewas.
And then the wall to his left exploded, throwing Rolan off his feet.
With a cry, he hurtled through the air in a billowing cloud of dust and debris, landing hard on a cart of cabbages. Spitting out green leaves—ugh, he hated cabbage—he rolled to his feet and whirled to face the Cryptic that had just sent him flying.
Anaya had not exaggerated. The thing wasbig.
The monster was as tall as a tree, armored in thick scale plates with a sharp ridge of spikes running down its back. A thick, muscled neck swung about, supporting a hoglike head with tusks as big as logs jutting from its lower jaw. Its legs were long and wiry, each leg with five joints that Rolan could see, and there were eight of them. Most charming of all was the snakelike tail with an actual mouth and fangs at its end. It was like two Cryptics fused together. He didn’t think he could imagine something more horrible if he tried. Beside it, Rolan felt no larger than a gnat.
Rolan squinted and found the monster’s center, a dark spiraling aleth on the creature’s scaled belly. It was so tall that the belly scraped over the roofs of the houses as it circled them. How in truth were they supposed to even reach it, much less pierce the armor?
Down the street, soul crushingly small against the monstrous colossus, stood Luc, his mighty sword clenched in both hands. He backed up warily, his eyes locked with the Cryptic’s. Blue mist streamed from the corners of his eyes and from between his clenched teeth, and the tattoos on his neck glowed bright with activated Arcana.
Rolan’s hopes of this fight redeeming Luc in the eyes of the people faded at the sight of the Arcanist. The man barely looked human.
Luc spared only one swift glance as Rolan jogged over, before snapping his gaze back to the monster looming over them. “Took you long enough to show up.”
“Sorry,” said Rolan. “We stopped and had lunch. Leek and potato pie. It was delicious.” His voice pitched upward, cracking at a high, panicked octave. “Where are the guards? Shouldn’t there be guards around, helping?”
And where was the duke? What was the use of employing a small army if you didn’t show up when the actual battle was happening?
SurelyRolanwasn’t the only backup.
“Find shelter and stay there,” Luc commanded. “I’ll deal with this.”
“Got it,” Rolan said. “You take out the head, I take out the tail.”
The beast’s tail was nearly as thick as its neck, doing enormous damage to everything around it.
“What?” Luc hissed. “That’s not what I said!”
“Oh, old man.” Rolan shook his head pityingly. “Don’t you remember? I’m aterriblelistener.”
Luc cursed as Rolan sprinted away, following the long, wickedline of the Cryptic’s body, his sword held out wide as he leaped over rubble.
He knew he wouldn’t be much help against the monster. At most he’d be an annoyance to it. But maybe, just maybe, he could be annoying enough to distract it for a moment, giving Luc an opportunity to finish it off.
If there was one thing Rolan was naturally gifted at, it was irritating the snot out of things bigger than him.
He ran down a side street, searching for the serpentine tail while Luc drew its attention to himself. There was rubble piled everywhere and fires licking in the shattered windows.
It all felt unreal, a nightmare world that he would surely wake from. Crisanth was his home, and that home was smashed into pieces. Shops he’d passed every day of his life were gutted ruins. Goods were spilled across the road. He passed a few people picking through the destruction or stumbling around in a daze.
“Get out of here!” he shouted at them. “Make for the gates—you’ll be safer there!”
Rolan strode on, burning for action, terrified he’d find it. He fell back into pretending, imagining himself braver than he was, trying to trick himself into motion.
“Where is it, you overgrown lizard?” he muttered. “Where’s that ugly tail of yours?”
