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“You should be kissing his ass, you know.” I gave Morlash my back and walked around to the side of the wagon, loosening the ropes holding the tarp in place. “As much as I’d like to take credit, this is his creation.”
Morlash forgot about our insult war and followed, snorting. “If it can kill a dragon, I don’t give a gargoyle’s ass who made it.”
“One ballista can kill a dragon,” I said, unthreading the last bit of rope. “If you know how to aim it. It’s a good thing we brought twelve.” With a flourish, I pulled back the tarp, revealing the ballista.
Unlike Xeltec’s prototype, which was still sitting in his shed, the finished product was more elegant. The wood had been sanded smooth, stained, and painted to reflect the Nightmares that had crafted it. Eyes peered out on either side of the aiming sight, ruby red on this one. Some were black and others were simple slits. Painted fangs and a tongue gleamed. The loaded spear would fit perfectly in the center, serving as a nose.
Morlash’s initial reaction was wide-eyed. Even he couldn’t hide how impressed he was, or how badly he wanted to try it out.
I leaned against the wagon, giving him my best expectant smile.
“Okay,” he snarled at length. “Guess it’ll do.”
Odanliftedashortsword from the weapons rack, running a finger over the flat of the blade. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
I rolled my shoulder and popped my neck. “I’ve been sitting on my ass long enough. I could use the workout.” Plus, I owed Odan an apology for not listening to his advice. Had I listened, we might not have lost the pass.
Now, our only choice was to split the army in two and hope to hold the bulk of their forces further downriver at Lach Ban-Lenon. In a few days, Morlash would lead most of our army away to establish a forward position there while I held our current location. Before that, however, Nevahn would have arrived with his ballistas. I hoped they would be enough to turn the tide of the battle at Lach Ban-Lenon, because that was a far less favorable battlefield than Slayne’s Pass.
But first, I had to make things right between me and Odan.
I selected a long sword from another rack and double checked that all my armor was in place. Rather than put on all the uncomfortable heavy plate I’d normally wear to battle, I’d donned some lighter leather pieces that would make movement easier.
Odan added a dagger in his left hand before he did the same and walked to the center of the sparring circle, wings flexing. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, joining him.
He grunted in answer and shifted into his favorite stance, sword up, the flat of his blade resting against his shoulder, and the dagger out in front.
I’d been sparring against Odan for nearly three hundred years. Between us, I was the more skilled swordsman, but he had that gargoyle tenacity and a thick head. He didn’t know when to quit. The only defeat Odan would ever accept would be death or incapacitation. That was the gargoyle way, and it had been drilled into him since before he could talk. Gargoyle warriors were fierce and dedicated to the art of war. He’d sooner drag his own guts through the dirt after me than lay down his sword.
We circled each other, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. I took a false half step in, and he moved back, maintaining the distance between us. I was the bigger male, and I had the bigger sword, giving me the advantage of reach, but Odan had no reason to hide his wings. That would give him his own advantage.
The corner of his mouth twitched up, and I readied myself for the quick testing strike I knew was coming. Knowing Odan, he’d bring the short sword down, so I shifted to block high.
Odan spun in, going low. The wooden sword cracked against my ribs, forcing the air out of my lungs. Odan didn’t give me a chance to recover before he brought the dagger to my neck.
“You’re slow. Are you distracted thinking about who’ll be rolling into camp any minute?” He winked.
I swung at him, but he avoided the strike, flying into the air and landing a few feet out of reach. With a grunt, I stepped back and winced at the sudden ache in my side. That was going to bruise.
“He’s not coming for a personal visit,” I replied, resetting. “He’s bringing weapons and reinforcements, Odan. He probably doesn’t even want to see me.”
Odan snorted and spat in the dirt. “I’m sure that’s exactly why he came all this way, Cian; tonotsee you.”
I wanted Odan to be right, for Nevahn’s visit to mean something more than the delivery of a few weapons and troops, but it was hard to tell from the letter he sent. Devonay’s updates hadn’t even mentioned Nevahn. The anticipation alone was driving me mad. What if Nevahn arrived and he wanted nothing to do with me? Perhaps things were truly over between us.
I’d dreamt of Nevahn the night before, of Midsummer and the way he had begged me to let him go home. I had grieved him as if he were dead, knowing I would never see him again, and the dream had opened that wound anew.
The sound of dirt shifting under Odan’s feet brought me back to the now just in time to parry a headshot. I countered, but Odan flew up and out of the way.
“Cheater,” I snarled.
Odan grinned and flexed his wings as he landed. “You’ve got wings, too, you know.”
“I meant the clever distraction.” I shifted to the right, forcing Odan left. “Throwing me off guard by having me think about Nevahn.”
“Is that all it takes these days? You’re getting soft, Cian!” Odan swept in for another high blow that I blocked. He stepped in and landed a punch to my ribs, right where he’d struck earlier with the sword.
