Page 42 of On Brutal Thrones

Something pinches my side.

I gasp, thinking one of the bats got through. Then the pressure comes again, lower this time, against my hip.

I look down. A fat black body writhes through the blood beside me. It’s a leech. Except it’s nearly as long as my forearm.

“Oh, Gods!”

I stumble sideways, breaking formation. My boot catches in the muck and refuses to come free, and for one horrible second, I start to fall.

Panic explodes through me.

Not again.

“Steady!”

Thorian catches my arm and yanks me upright. My heart slams against my ribs as memories of the crevice crash through me. The missing ground. Falling. Darkness.

“I’ve got you,” Thorian says sharply.

His eyes catch mine, and those three words pull me back.

I nod. “I’m okay.”

Another leech lunges from the blood toward Thorian’s thigh. He catches it around the middle.

“Thorian, wait!”

He squeezes, and the creature bursts. Thick, clotted brown blood explodes over all four of us.

For a heartbeat, there’s silence, and then Fenric retches. I stare at Thorian in disbelief. Nearby, Talon closes his eyes.

“Why,” Fenric asks hoarsely, “would you do that?”

Thorian looks down at the remains in his hand. “I miscalculated.”

Even now, a laugh tries to escape me.

Then three more leeches rise from the muck.

“Apparently its family wants revenge,” Talon says.

There he is. Or almost. The relief I feel at hearing even a trace of his normal humor is stronger than it should be.

Fenric drives the point of his spear through the nearest leech, pinning it beneath the surface. He has to brace both hands against the shaft to wrench it free again, and when it comes loose, dark clumps of blood cling to the sharpened wood.

We fight onward.

The farther we go, the worse the field becomes. Huge moths appear next, their pale, feathery bodies fluttering around our heads in clouds. They’re nearly impossible to hit, but the bats go wild for them. The creatures dive through the swarm, tearing moths apart in midair and dropping pieces of papery wings and furry bodies onto us.

One lands in my hair.

I shriek and slap at my head. “Get it off!”

Fenric flips his grip on the spear and swats it away with the shaft.

“Thank you.”

“Anytime.”