Page 43 of On Brutal Thrones

Then something snorts to our right.

All four of us turn.

Wild pigs burst across the field. They’re enormous, their bodies streaked with red, their legs somehow carrying them through the muck with far greater ease than ours. They charge past us in a thundering herd, spraying blood in every direction.

Fenric plants the butt of his spear in the muck and catches my arm as we press closer together, trying to stay out of their path. Talon ducks as one races past him, missing its tusk by inches.

We barely recover before the next sound comes. It’s a deep, resonating call, not a growl or a roar. A low, powerful note that vibrates through my chest.

I turn toward the left side of the field. “Oh, no.”

Fenric follows my gaze. “What?”

“That.”

The creature emerging through the red haze looks like something from one of my father’s old travel books, except no animal in those books was ever this large.

It’s bigger than any carriage. Four enormous legs disappear into the blood. A heavy tail swings behind it, and a long protruding nose dips toward the surface, sucking up great mouthfuls of the liquid.

Then it lifts its head. Two enormous black tusks curve from either side of its face. Its eyes are red. And they’re looking directly at us.

“Don’t move,” I whisper.

Thorian grabs me around the waist. “Bad advice.”

The creature charges.

I scream as Thorian hauls me sideways. He runs as quickly as the blood allows, carrying me when my boots can’t keep pace. Behind us, each impact of the creature’s feet sends a pulse through the field.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Thorian releases me near Fenric. “Stay here.”

Talon stands a few steps away, his eyes fixed on the creature. His hands are clenched at his sides, and I can’t tell whether he’s holding himself back from the fight or from the blood surrounding us.

Then Thorian turns and runs directly toward it.

“Thorian!”

He jumps.

For a second, he disappears against the creature’s enormous body. Then I see him clinging to its back, one arm locked around its head as it bucks and twists.

His sword rises.

Falls.

The blade plunges into its eye.

The creature screams.

The sound is so loud it seems to shake the blood beneath our feet. Thorian clings to it as it thrashes, his sword buried nearly to the hilt, until its legs finally buckle.

When it collapses, the impact sends a wave of red liquid rushing outward. It strikes me at the thighs and nearly knocks me down.