Page 108 of Heart of the Desert

“You go left, I’ll go right,” I commanded him. “We know our way through this city, but the riders don’t. We’ll regroup at the palace gates.”

He hesitated just a moment before nodding sharply. “Warrick! You and your men follow me,” he shouted back at the forces who followed us. “This way is easier for foot soldiers.”

“Lords, with me!” I rallied them to my sword and kneed Daiti toward another road branching off the main path weaving up through the city.

Erix’s eyes met mine for the barest of moments before Doka turned away and we headed in opposite directions. The tether between us pulled taut, but it was still bright and strong, the only thing that felt solid in the dark twisting of the magical landscape around us. Even leading our forces in opposite directions, we fought as one.

Chapter thirty-nine

Erix

Ihad only led the soldiers from Doran around a few corners before the close quarters of the side roads forced me to dismount. It would be difficult to maneuver a large horse in these quarters, giving foot soldiers the advantage.

When I patted Doka on the nose in thanks for carrying me this far, he snorted impatiently, as if frustrated that his role in the battle would not continue. Still, I nudged him down an alley that led away from the thickest fighting. Perhaps even if I were not to return from this fight, he could escape to the sands and live out his life as a wild horse. Assuming the desert could still be home to her favored creatures without her Heart. I admired his persistence in the face of overwhelming odds, though—I hoped the men of Doran who followed me shared his bravery.

I pointed up and to the left. “If we weave in that general direction, we should rejoin with the main road closer to the palace at the top of the city.”

“We better move quickly then, before they realize our plan.” Warrick tightened his grip on his double-bladed axe and nodded sharply. This was a form of combat they seemed much more familiar with: Brutal encounters in close quarters.

With a quick hand motion, I gestured for them to follow me. Together, Warrick and I led the men through the streets. We paused before making each turn, glancing around the corner to see what resistance awaited us.

The back of my neck prickled as I pressed my back to a stone wall and peeked into an alleyway where the taller buildings on either side cast deep shadows over the narrow passage. There wouldn’t be much room to maneuver if we came upon enemies.

Warrick seemed to share my thoughts as he stood with a shoulder against the opposite corner and stared down the passage. His lips pressed into a hard line and his fingers flexed on the handle of his axe.

“Is there a different route?” he asked.

I grimaced. “We would have to circle back, and it would take much longer. But at the end of this alley is a set of stairs that takes us to the next tier of the city.”

Warrick chewed his tongue. “The longer we take, the better chance Calix will figure out how to cut us off. Still, this could be a trap.”

“Good thing we are not easy prey.” I hefted my sword, taking comfort in the corded grip against my palm and knowing that Keera held the other half. I could not delay and leave her waiting at the palace gate to fend for herself.

Warrick made an expression somewhere between a baring of teeth and a grin. Perhaps he had a little of the spirit of the desert in him after all.

Together, we jumped around the corner and darted down the alley. His men followed, trying to move as quickly and quietly as possible despite the scraping of their boots on the stone ground.

I was only halfway down the alley when a shadow fell over me. It was just enough warning for me to cover my head before a weight crashed down on top of me. It bore me down to the ground and I tried to roll, kicking out at my attacker in an effort to land on top. He had me around the neck though, and my forehead hit the pavement hard enough to make stars burst behind my eyes.

My ears rang and my head swam, but I could still make out the shouts of soldiers—both from Viltov and Doran—as the enemy jumped down from the roofs in an ambush. I twisted the sword still in my hands and drove it backward behind me, between my ribs and elbow—a maneuver I would not have been able to do with its original length. I was rewarded with a wet gurgle and a blooming warmth across my back as the blade met its mark, but I did not waste any time waiting for my attacker to bleed out on top of me.

Instead, I threw off his weight and flew to my feet, the rage of battle returning to me in a sudden rush. Sparks danced on my skin, and I felt as if smoke might be billowing from my lips as I jumped at the nearest enemies. My blade cut deep in the gap between one’s shoulder and neck, sending him crumpling to the ground in a heap as the connection between his brain and his muscles was separated. Warrick handled the other, his axe crushing into his skull in way that demonstrated just how devastating the weight of the weapon could be.

All through the alley, steel met stone and bloodcurdling screams split the air as we fought the enemies that had fallen on us from above.

I whirled around, facing the onslaught that now rushed in from the far end of the alley, trapping our forces in the tight space. I swung my saber in a wide arc—a maneuver that often proved useful at keeping large numbers of enemies at bay so I could dispatch them one by one. In the narrow space though, my blade struck the solid wall of one of the neighboring buildings, sending sparks into the air and a shockwave up my arm that set my teeth on edge—a problem I did not have to worry about in the open dunes.

It knocked my blow off course just enough for my nearest attacker to spot an opening and leap forward. Time stretched in the way it only does during the breakneck pace of battle, and I threw out my offhand, ready to catch the base of the blade, for it was better to lose some fingers than a head.

But I braced for an impact that never came. The sound of splintering wood cut through the din, and the soldier from Viltov teetered for a moment with a dumbstruck look on his face before toppling to the ground. Behind him stood a skinny man in dirty clothing, holding what looked like the fractured remains of a chair.

He appeared to have jumped from one of the houses and used his furniture as a weapon. His eyes widened as he met mine, brightening in his gaunt and dirt smudged face. “He’s here! Queen Ginevra’s son has returned to save us!”

Even as the battle between the fighters of Viltov and Doran raged on in the street, his words seemed to trigger a chain reaction. Doors slammed open up and down the street, and men and women leapt out holding a strange variety of objects: Stools and wrought candlesticks and even an iron pan wielded as a club. They set on the attackers in the street with the desperation of a beaten people suddenly given a glimmer of hope.

The man who had saved me with his chair moved to speak again, but I reached out and shoved him aside as I spotted a soldier from Viltov coming up behind him with a raised sword. I lunged out just in time for him to impale himself on my own blade, his eyes widening with shock before I wrenched my sword free from his corpse. The unexpected arrival of Kelvadan’s civilians quickly turned the skirmish in our favor, and in a matter of minutes, I stood in a blood-soaked street, strewn with the bodies of our enemies. My heart twisted as I saw the men of Doran strewn among them, but the time to mourn was not yet upon us.

I turned back to the first man who had leapt from his home to join the fight. Dark hazel eyes were deep set in tanned skin dotted with too many freckles to count. “What’s your name?” I asked