Page 31 of The Seeker

The sound of swords crescendoed as I drew closer to the courtyard, and I stopped before turning the corner, wanting to investigate before joining the fray.

I breathed in deeply, peeking around the corner, only to grimace at the chaos.

There were men in the dark blue Ralheim uniforms, all fighting against those in the dark green uniforms. But even as my gaze searched the masses, I didn’t spot the dark-haired general, nor the blond-haired Leif.

The battle was disorganized, and even though there was light pouring into the courtyard from the early morning sun, a fair amount of confusion hung in the cool air. Some of the men in green uniforms tripped over their own feet, their pants not properly fastened.

This was Friar’s plan . . . it had to be.

She’d never explained to me how I fit into this. But just as I started to go over my options, one of the men in a blue uniform spotted me. “That’s her!”

My heart fluttered with the knowledge that Otho had sent someone for me, before it sank at the reality that this was a battle, and battles never went as planned.

The man who’d shouted walked toward me, but the two men in green closest to me took him as a threat, beheading him with a swipe of their weapon before he even realized what had happened.

I turned, ducking around the corner, and retched.

Though I wasn’t new to war, there was no way I would ever grow desensitized to this level of violence.

The battle renewed, now that there were revived goals on both sides, becoming even bloodier. Several of the skirmishes within a few footfalls of where I stood open-mouthed ended suddenly, with one of the men winning. My grip on the handle of the sword tightened, my arm aching from the season without training.

I stepped out from behind the wall, preparing to join, when I realized I had no idea which side to join, or what was even occurring. I sucked my lip into my mouth.

On the one hand, I was angry at Otho, but I wanted to be with him.

But I didn’t want Leif’s men, especially the ones I knew, like Derek, to be hurt trying to protect me, as so many already had been.

So, I did the only thing I could think to do.

I spun, nearly sliding on the stones that were slick with blood, and ran.

CHAPTER 12

The entire Malheim palace was overrun, but none of the men I passed were friendly faces. They were all consumed with the battle in front of them, with many fighting in groups of two or three. There was no sign of Otho, Leif, or Derek. I also didn’t see Friar or Collum, something that sat heavy in my stomach. I didn’t want to leave them behind, but they hadn’t given me much of a choice.

I wasn’t even sure they were my friends anymore anyway.

Still, I needed to remove myself from the equation if there was any hope of this battle ending peacefully, even though I was reasonably certain it was already too late.

I tried anyway, weaving through the various skirmishes happening within the Keep until I drew near to the wooden doors embedded in the exterior stone walls—the ones that kept Leif’s palace separate from the streets of Malheim—only to find they were already hanging wide open. One hung at an angle, explaining how this battle had begun.

I tried not to let the shame that laced through me settle as I stepped out into the streets. Because while I would never love Leif again, I still hoped he was okay.

I never wanted to wish ill on anyone.

Unfortunately, the streets of Malheim weren’t any better than the palace, with soldiers engaged in combat directly in front of the gates in the square the market usually occupied. I tried to maneuver around them when possible, but some of the streets were too small, so I had to double back to try and find another route, or chance getting pricked by a wayward sword as I fought to navigate the twisting streets as the gutters ran red with blood.

Stepping over dead body after dead body was horrifying, and I battled the urge to bend down to check if any remained alive.

I couldn’t save them all.

I could only save myself.

It was even harder to tell friend from foe in the shadow of the keep wall, and I ended up drawing several glances as I tried to move about. Some men even moved to engage, until their eyes flashed to my unbound hair and they realized I was female. Then, like a typical male, they would turn and engage the man nearest to them. I wished I liked violence enough to teach them a lesson for underestimating me, but even the sight of a light-haired soldier holding his bloody bicep and limping into a nearby home pulled at my heart enough to make me nauseous.

It was on one of the side routes, outside of the market square, while avoiding a larger skirmish, that a hand reached out and grabbed my arm, pulling me into an alley.

I prepared to scream as I reached for my knife and took in the empty bins and garbage leaning up against the mud-packed walls. But before I could, the person spoke. “It’s me.”