I'd thought little of death. Only now, staring into my demise, did I realize how much I feared it.
The vines around me loosened, dropping me to the ground. I grabbed my throbbing neck, watching in confusion as the beast lumbered away. Its vines returned to rest against its body as it climbed through the window.
"Liam," I gasped, crawling toward my brother.
The wound was nasty. He must have lifted an arm to shield himself and caught the blow on his forearm. A gash ripped from wrist to elbow, cut nearly to the bone. Tearing a length of my skirt off, I fell to his side and tied a tourniquet around his arm.
"Why did it leave?" Liam asked, shocked.
"Help me stop the bleeding," I snapped. Ripping another chunk of my skirt, I pressed it onto the wound. "Hold this down."
Liam's hand trembled, but he did as I said.
My legs quivered as I crept forward and peered out the broken window.
Something flew overhead—a mere phantom against the night sky. The road before the tavern was empty, filled only with corpses and blood.
Breathing heavily, I began to back away, but a bright light drew my attention toward the sky. Violet lightning surged from the heavens to strike the ground near the walls.
Paragon Killian. He was still alive.
Would it be safest with him?
Or should we run?
I hurried back to Liam. Blood soaked through the fabric onto his fingers, but the tourniquet had slowed the bleeding. Heart thrumming with worry, I tore off another section of my skirt to bind around the wound.
"We have to deliver that message," I gasped, fingers stiff and clumsy.
Wincing, Liam nodded. "No wonder you didn't want this job."
"Don't joke," I ordered, checking his makeshift bandages with trembling fingers. "Save your energy for bleeding."
Liam snorted—a short sound choked with fear.
Helping my brother to his feet, I pushed open the back door and beheld a bloodbath.
Monsters infested every street; the giant black bird soared overhead, talons strung with gore. The dragon roared, though I could not see it anymore.
Such an attack had never happened before. Never. The occasional wyvern or pack of shardwolves had tread too close to the walls, but never anything like this.
Holding fast to Liam's uninjured wrist, I raced toward the northern gates. Dismembered bodies littered the streets, but screams echoed from all directions—most of the city was still alive.
The heavy thud of paws on stone sounded nearby. Skidding to a halt, I grabbed Liam and threw us behind a well. We crouched low to the ground, backs pressed to cold stone.
A pack of shardwolves burst from the west. I'd seen these monsters before, in the paintings of a book.
At a glance, they were mere dogs, but they stood tall like a horse. Coarse veins of pulsing ice snaked through their thick, black fur, rising to the jagged horns on their heads.
The pack descended on a soldier. One leaped on his chest, throwing him to the ground while the rest surrounded him.
Gods, it took so long for his screams to stop. They mingled with the sound of gnashing teeth and tearing flesh. Pressing my hands to my ears, I held my breath, expecting one to leap at us from the other direction.
The shardwolves left their desiccated victim behind and continued down the eastern road. A bloody corpse, hands torn from his arms, was all that remained.
"Let's go," Liam urged, pushing me forward.
Another violet flash lit the sky, sundering the heavens. Closer, this time. Killian was moving toward us.
