Page 71 of Fate's Wicked Oath

Faren

It was the same ghastly fucker they’d encountered in Yar. Faren could tell by the missing limbs and the oozing wounds on its torso and thigh. Knowing this was the Morta he’d faced and failed to kill—that it was, indeed, his fault that Orna and Pete and the citizens of Brine had suffered—brought up a great tide of guilt inside him. It swamped his confidence, making him falter.

“Don’t think of the past,” Mariana said. “Focus on what you can donow.” Then she was racing down the hill toward the abomination, her sword ablaze in blue.

Faren wondered how many times she’d told herself the same thing as he broke into a run, igniting his swords with a flash of red flames.

Then they were upon it, shouting and slashing. Faren had forgotten how huge the monster was, how fearsome. Ten feet tall, at least, with sloughing gray skin, black veins, long teeth,and sharp claws. Moonlight and shadow carved out its elongated form, making odd shapes of its antlers and exposed bones.

Faren fought every instinct to flee, crowding the creature as Mariana had advised. Sparring with her had helped him improve his close proximity fighting. With his big frame, he wasn’t as deft or practiced as she was, but he felt more equipped this time. With quick feet and precise cuts, he tangled the Morta in its own limbs—only to leap back, giving Mariana an opening to strike.

They made a formidable pair, each taking turns with the attack to form a constant barrage on their enemy. Where Faren was ungainly with the unfamiliar fighting style, Mariana’s movements were fluid and exact. Caustic blood splattered the grass, melting the frost with a hiss. Faren felt the heat of her sword, heard the whoosh of the flames when they switched places again. He fought with a backhand grip on Mercy, managing slices to the crook of the creature’s elbow and two of the spidery limbs protruding from its torso. It howled, lashing out, made clumsy by rage.

Faren took the opportunity to slash its belly, opening a thin black line in its pallid skin. The monster managed a retaliatory strike on his breastplate, but its claws bounced off the metal, repelled by the Oath magic. Black blood splattered Faren’s hands as it whirled, about to try again.

“Disengage!” Mariana ordered. “I need a distraction!”

This time, Faren did as he was told, ducking out from another wild swipe of the monster’s claws. He flourished his swords in great arcs of red, drawing the Morta’s attention. He took a step back, then another, glancing between the Morta and Mariana lurking at its back. She held Windthorn in one hand and a vial in the other. Dark liquid sloshed inside the glass.

She trusted him, after all. He didn’t have time to relish it.

The Morta was snarling at Faren, bending forward to stalk him on all fours. Years of training allowed him to compartmentalizehis terror, to see clearly through the haze of adrenaline in spite of his body screamingrun.

“When I move,” Mariana called, “go for its face.”

Faren barely had a chance to nod before Mariana uncorked the bottle with her teeth and lunged for the creature’s haunches. He charged the Morta, swords swinging, but before he could get there, something collided with his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Not a claw-tipped arm, like in Yar, but—

—a body. Anotherman.

The two of them went down with a clatter of breastplates and weapons, the hard ground punching the air from Faren’s lungs. The man clambered, hands grabbing, his weight keeping Faren down. Mariana screamed—not in fear this time, but anger. Moonlight winked off the glass as Mariana splashed the potion over a gaping wound in the Morta’s hind leg. The monster wailed and fell sideways, limbs convulsing—

Fingers clawed at Faren’s face, blocking his view, threatening to gouge out his eyes. He bucked his hips, knocking his attacker off his body. The man jumped to his feet, brandishing an axe in blue flame. A Valiant Knight.

Faren kicked his feet, scrambling backward. His swords had fallen out of reach, somewhere in the grass behind him. The man lifted his axe over Faren, and for a moment he couldn’t quite believe the audacity. He was a Mighty Knight. He outranked this man. He’d been fighting the monster—why had that warranted an attack?

The man hefted his weapon, ready to bring it down—but then Mariana appeared, meeting the newcomer’s strike with her sword. She leaned into the block, wrenching the axe clean out of the man’s hand, sending it skidding across the ground. Faren possessed a deep respect for good fighting, but it was embarrassing how many times Mariana had saved his ass.

But he was not entirely helpless.

Faren sprang to his feet, balled his fists, and punched the man in the mouth. The Valiant Knight stumbled backward with a grunt. Mariana pointed her sword at his neck, keeping him back. Faren was about to chastise the man for daring to threaten a Mighty Knight—

—then he heard a clink. Behind Faren, another black-clad knight had arrived, wielding a vicious-looking flail.

“Mariana,” Faren said, putting his back to her so that each of them faced one of the newcomers. “What’s going on?”

“Attack him, and Brom dies,” Mariana stated—sounding not alarmed, but displeased.

The man with the flail frowned. “Close your eyes,” he ordered.

It took Faren a moment to realize that the knight meanthim. He heard a crack of bone and glanced to the side, catching sight of the Morta, slumped in the trampled grass not far from where they stood. Its legs were jerking, breaking.

Transforming.

“Ey,” the man with the flail said. He lifted the handle, causing the chain to clink again, and the spiked ball on the end to swing menacingly. “No peeking.”

“Uh, Castor?” said the other man.

Faren dared a glimpse over his shoulder to see his original attacker—Brom, Mariana had called him—holding his arms up, with the tip of Mariana’s sword tucked under his jaw. Moonlight reflected on his bald head.