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She released his hand, slowing to a stop. “I’ll try to be fast and careful.”
“Alora, wait!” Kaevin halted, dread growing in his gut. He sensed the night would not end well, though it couldn’t affect his decision to send her alone. Reaching her in two long strides, he looped his arm around her waist, crushing her against him and kissing her hard.
When he released her, she was breathing fast, holding her hand on her throat. “What was that for?”
He shrugged. “A man on your TV did that right before a battle. I thought it was your custom in Montana.”
She smiled, her eyes half-lidded. “Great custom to adopt.”
**************
Alleraen transported to Glaenshire in the second group, but not because he wasn’t among the first ready to go. In fact, he always slept fully clothed with a blade beneath his pillow, a custom he’d adopted since escaping from his brother’s cavern dungeon.
“I’m sorry, Alleraen.” Alora linked arms with him and one other warrior. “You’re just so big, you know? I didn’t want to risk it. But now I know where the weapons cache is, so we’re going straight to it.”
He wanted to ask questions. How many Water Clan warriors are there? Is the battleground open or confined? And most important, have you seen my brother?
But within a breath, he was in Glaenshire, his blood coursing through his veins in response to the nearby battle sounds, and Alora was gone again.
Thalaena barked orders. “Quickly, quickly! Grab your blades. We’re not too late to save the village, though many have already perished, including some of our own. Surprise is our ally, so make your approach without conversation. The villagers have made a stand in the square. Their safety is our primary concern. Do not—I repeat—do not leave the square, unless by my command.”
Her eyes locked with Alleraen’s as she made this last statement. Indeed, he was already battling an intense urge to seek out his brother.
How does she know?
He pressed his lips together to forestall a protest, but he knew Thalaena was right. He had to put visions of revenge out of his mind and concentrate on protecting the innocent citizens of Glaenshire and the Craedenza.
On the other hand, if my brother shows his face in the
square, his life belongs to me.
Alleraen’s feet crunched on the gravel as he raced around the building, but he didn’t have to worry about alerting the enemy with the noise. For at that moment, the scream of a wendt sent all eyes to the sky. The villagers dispersed in terror, running haphazardly in every direction. Protected from the wendts by their bloodbonds, the Water Clan fighters used the mayhem to their advantage, slaying some who were seeking shelter in nearby buildings.
Ignoring the wendt, Alleraen lunged forward. His sword sliced the neck of a Water Clan warrior just in time to avert his attack on an elderly fleeing villager. The old man tottered away, still clutching his weapon, a short blade better suited to slicing meat on a table than for use in a battle.
The wendt screeched again, closer this time. Alleraen saw a moonlit shadow growing larger as the vile creature plunged toward him. Moving swiftly, he grabbed the lifeless body of the Water Clan warrior at his feet and tossed it into the air.
Sharp talons closed on the body, teeth tearing into flesh. Heavy wings flapped, lifting the dark sinewy form. A shrill squawk, and the wendt rose higher. Higher. Arrows flew, bouncing off the thick, scaly hide. More arrows. Then an arrow imbedded in the creature’s neck, appearing almost as if by magick. The wendt screamed in pain, but continued to fly with its cargo of human remains. Another arrow sunk into the animal’s chest. Still, it flew. Another arrow struck his chest, and the dead body slipped from its claws. With the fourth arrow, the monster plummeted downward, landing with a resounding thunk and a sickening crack of bones.
Alleraen spied the source of the wendt-killing arrows. It was no surprise to find the Montana man, Brian, and his son, Wesley, perched on a flat roof, holding their special bows. But Arista also brandished one of the odd bows and joined in their strange celebration, slapping one another’s hands in the air.
Her animation brought a fleeting smile to Alleraen’s face, but with the death of their wendt, the Water Clan warriors renewed their attack. Alleraen enjoyed the confusion on their faces as more and more Stone Clan fighters entered the fray.
The enemy warriors fought with clumsy movements, stumbling and tripping, their aim often awry.
No wonder the ungifted villagers could stand so long against the Water Clan attack. Vindrake must have brought his worst, most expendable warriors on this trip, perhaps because he expected Glaenshire wouldn’t present a challenge.
As Alleraen dispensed one life after another, he found no joy in so doing. Their lack of proficiency caused him to wonder how many were fighting only by bloodbond coercion, hoping to end a miserable existence. The scarcity of challenge made him bored... distracted.
Until a blade sunk into his side.
His fingers pressed the wound, feeling the warm liquid oozing between them, and the sharp rusty smell of his own blood assaulted his nose. Gasping in surprise and pain, he looked up at his opponent, a woman as tall as Thalaena, sporting at least three prior injuries. Her eyes widened as she twirled her sword in her fingers, dancing in place. She smiled, letting out a hoot of pleasure, and lunged forward. Barely, he dodged her deadly blade.
All about the square, Water Clan warriors shouted in a strange, coordinated celebration.
Something had changed.
~15~
