Chapter 23 King Krait #2
Behind him were the remains of the hay pile they had fallen asleep in. Nestled in the middle of the hay was a giant smoking boulder. Ridan didn’t know what he was looking at. A giant flaming boulder? In the middle of the barn? How did it end up there? How had they survived?
A massive crack shuddered through the barn as a huge beam burned loose, dropping only a few feet from them. Brune grabbed Ridan, jerking him to his chest as he stumbled back against a stall.
His pain abated under the need to do something.
Shoving away from Brune, he raced to the first stall he could find, whipping the gate open to get to the horse inside.
He didn’t recognize the animal, but he could see the whites of their eyes and the pink of flaring nostrils. Fear rolled off it in waves.
“Find us a way out!” Ridan screamed to Brune, grabbing a rope to sling around the horse’s neck.
By the time he got the horse to settle enough so he could lead it out of the barn, Brune had used his shield to batter through one of the walls damaged by fire but not yet consumed. Flames curled along the edges, but they could make it through.
The horse was skittish, planting its feet when Ridan tried to lead it forward.
Cursing, he slapped his hand over the animal’s eyes, blinding it.
Without its sight, the horse became more docile, following Ridan out with jerky, hesitant steps.
When they were clear of the building, he released it, praying the horse would find the rest of the herd in the paddocks set away from the flames.
Luckily, most of the horses were out in the paddocks or on their way to the Strong Leg with much of the clan. By the time Ridan got the other two horses out, the barn was almost completely engulfed.
“Ridan!” Jonen appeared at the hole Brune made, mouth covered by his elbow and eyes watering. “Are you all right?”
“What the fuck do you think?” he yelled, taking Brune’s hand as he dragged him out into clearer air.
Except the air wasn’t clearer. A haze of smoke lingered around the camp.
It wasn’t just the barn that was on fire—the entire camp was burning.
He caught sight of Osmond running shirtless, shouting instructions to several people with buckets.
They tossed the water onto a burning tent.
The flames only shot higher, crackling with laughter at their pathetic attempts to battle it.
“What—” Ridan was about to ask when he heard whistling. He only had a moment to look up before a cavernous boom shook his feet out from under him. Hitting the ground, he closed his eyes as big chunks of dirt rained down on top of him.
Spluttering, he squinted through the dirt caught in his lashes to see another flaming boulder. It had crushed a tent close to the one they had been trying to put out.
“What the hell is that?” Brune shouted.
“Someone is throwing rocks at us!” Jonen responded, eyes wide as dirt dripped from his curls.
Rocks, Ridan thought hysterically.
Shoving to his feet, he double checked his weapons were still in place—thanks be to his mother for teaching him to sleep in his sword when he was not in his nest—and ran forward.
Clansmen and women in various states of dress were running past him. Some had wounds and others just looked confused. Where were his sentries? Why hadn’t they been warned of an attack?
Another boulder came streaking across the sky.
It was ablaze, fire not impeded by the wind.
He watched as it crashed into another few tents, setting everything in its path on fire as it rolled to a halt.
Ridan lurched to a halt as he heard the crunch of breaking bones and feeble wails calling for help.
That boulder had to be the size of two horses. How could anyone throw that?
Brune was busy helping people from the crushed tents, and as much as he wanted to join him, Ridan had to find out who was attacking and stop them. When the next boulder came arcing through the sky, he could pinpoint where it was coming from.
On a ridge set back beyond the woods, he could see a small force gathered. The details were lost to distance and the dark, but he could see the flickering flames of lit boulders.
“Ridan!”
Corric galloped up astride Strawberry. He had Peppercorn’s reins in his hand. The horses were wild with fear, snorting with their eyes rolling in their skulls. It was only Corric’s skill that had either mare staying put.
Catching the reins, he vaulted onto Peppercorn’s back and set a brutal pace for the ridge. Corric was beside him, hair whipping out of his face as he leaned close to Strawberry’s mane. He didn’t need to ask if Corric was ready to fight. He was Stone Blade.
At the base of the ridge, Ridan could finally see who was attacking them. A small force of Kaldonean soldiers was clustered around what looked like some kind of construction. Stripped wood nailed together to create a structure taller than three men with a large cup supported by a series of ropes.
He watched as the soldiers loaded up another boulder, rolling it into the lowered cup before another set pulled back on the ropes to raise it up.
Ridan watched in fascination as a man dressed in finer armor than the soldiers stepped forward.
He lifted his hands to the boulder and seemed to struggle for a moment.
After a long moment, flames flickered between his fingers, slowly beginning to lick along the rocky surface.
He stepped back shakily, hands falling to his side limply as the other soldier scrambled around to launch the flaming boulder towards the Stone Blade.
The magicians are setting the boulders aflame, Ridan deduced just as Peppercorn caught sight of the flying projectile. Shying, she slammed her feet into the ground and skidded to a halt, nearly unseating Ridan. Foaming at the mouth, she desperately tried to bolt in the other direction.
“We need to take those things out,” he called over to Corric.
His fellow omega nodded. “Any ideas?”
Watching them load up another boulder sent a pang of anxiety through Ridan. He couldn’t let them loose another one. Even if they could get through the soldiers and the magician, he had no idea how he would destroy the thing.
The soldiers loaded up another boulder, ropes creaking ominously as they stretched under the weight of the missile. Ridan’s eyes widened.
“The ropes!” he shouted, not waiting for Corric to acknowledge him.
Heels to Peppercorn’s sides he forced her forward.
It was testament to her trust in Ridan that she lunged forward despite her obvious fear.
Her quick strides ate up the ground, and before the soldiers could call a warning, Ridan was among them.
His sword sang, slicing through a soldier’s neck and then another’s shoulder before anyone knew he was there. Ridan was hardly aware of what he was doing—only focused on the goal. On getting to that machine and stopping it before it could hurt another one of his people.
Three soldiers rushed him. Peppercorn sprang up onto her back legs, rearing straight up to give Ridan the room to bring his sword around. It was messy, and his mother would have surely chastised him for such inelegance, but he felt meat and bone give way under the edge of his blade.
Blood and gore painted his arm, but he was still too far from his goal.
The machine was ready to throw another boulder, and Ridan was too far to stop it.
Screaming, he clamped his legs to Peppercorn’s sides and held fast as she jumped forward, bowling through the soldiers surrounding her.
He would have to rush it. Run straight at the machine and hope speed—
Ridan was knocked back, pain screaming through his arm as he flipped backward from Peppercorn. His stomach lurched and his vision spun, body weightless. Until he wasn’t. He hit the ground so hard he rolled. Spots danced in his vision, consciousness fading as his vision tunneled.
His heart hammered into his sore chest. The ground shook under him as he dug his fingers into the dirt, trying to regain his senses.
Through his spinning vision, he saw the machine recoil and the boulder fly. Ridan tried to push himself up, only to fall back to the ground when his left arm gave out.
Fletching of an arrow embedded in his arm tickled his cheeks. He’d never been shot with an arrow before. Getting his knees up under himself, he held his left arm awkwardly as he looked for his sword.
Ahead, he caught sight of Corric. He was still astride Strawberry, one handing a sword as he desperately tried to get to Ridan. There was blood on his leg, but Ridan couldn’t tell if it was his or not.
His sword was lying a few feet ahead. Lurching, he crawled to it.
As he reached out, another arrow slammed into the ground only inches from his hand.
Jerking back, Ridan looked up in time to see several archers sighting him down the shaft of their arrows.
With so many, he was unlikely to just take an arrow to the arm.
Ridan lurched for his sword, landing on his hip to avoid knocking the arrow in his arm. It hurt, pain lancing up his arm with every movement. The shaft swung, embedding the metal point farther into the muscle.
Getting to his feet, he held his sword in his right hand with his left clamped to his chest. He’d be damned if he was taken out by a fucking archer. He’d have to be quick. Move just before they released.
“C’mon!” he screamed, his voice sharp across the smoky battlefield. It startled one of the archers, the arrow flying wide.
Several soldiers were paused in his peripheral, waiting, unwilling to be struck by their own archers. They’d pick off whatever was left from the arrows. Ridan raised his sword.
He heard the pull of the bow, wood creaking as it stretched. Then the twang of the pull being released.
It wasn’t a thousand pinpricks of pain, but one big thud. Ridan hit the ground, pinned under a heavy weight. The fire was in his eyes, but when they adjusted, he could see red.
Back lit by flames, Brune rose above him, one arm pinning Ridan to his chest while the other lifted the Maladon’s Aegis above his head. Arrows thunked off the scales harmlessly, Brune’s arm barely quivering under the onslaught.
“You’re outnumbered. What were you thinking?!” he shouted, eyes bright with worry.
Ridan was sure it must be the fall that made it so hard to breathe.
“I knew you’d have my back,” he said with a misplaced grin, wrapping his fingers around the shaft of the arrow in his arm and snapping it off. He bit down on his cheek to keep from crying out.
Brune stared at him for a moment before swearing, shaking his head as he stood to meet a soldier running at them, knocking his flimsy Kaldonean sword aside with his shield, only to follow up with a swing of his hammer. The soldier took one hit before he crumpled to the ground.
All around him, the Kaldonea soldiers were clashing with Stone Blade warriors. It seemed Brune had not come alone. Corric was back-to-back with Jonen, and Henroen’s axe was dripping blood. The pain in Ridan’s arm faded as he focused back on his goal.
With Brune to his left, he rejoined the fight. Arrows occasionally whizzed by him, but they were fewer in number the closer he got to the machine.
The soldiers retreated to the machine. They fought harder there, desperate to protect themselves and the weapon.
Ridan’s sword arm was numb from the clashes, fingers only clutching the hilt by reflex.
He grunted as a soldier came at him from his bad side, forcing him to parry the hit awkwardly.
Ducking under their joined swords, he kicked the soldier in the stomach, sending him right into Jonen’s path.
His broad sword cut the soldier down with ease.
Sharp pain flared up Ridan’s side. Hissing, he stumbled back in alarm, only to see the Kaldonean magician standing in front of him.
The man had his arms spread in front of him, fingers wide as he conjured up what looked like little needles made of compressed air.
Sweat poured down the man’s sallow face and his chest heaved under his pricy armor.
Wincing, Ridan brought both hands to his sword. Up on the balls of his feet, he was ready to jump the moment the magician made his move.
The magician never got his chance. White flames erupted along his feet, catching on the man’s shirt and hair before he realized he was being immolated. His scream was short, a piercing cry before he was silenced with a rasping gurgle, dropping to the ground as a smoking husk.
Schok breezed past Ridan, shoulders back and face set in concentration. The thin linen shirt he was wearing was burnt, hanging off his thin frame. He looked right amongst the carnage, fire curling around his arms like a beloved pet. His burns danced along his face with the flickering shadows.
His steps never slowed, flames growing so strong, none of the attacking soldiers could get close. Arrows melted before they struck him. Schok was untouchable as he strode up to the war machine.
Unlike the dead Kaldoneaean magician, Schok’s flames were effortless.
They consumed the machine in moments, snapping and crackling so loudly it drowned out the retreat of the remaining soldiers.
Jonen and several of the other warriors gave the burning tower a wide berth as they chased them down.
No one wearing Kaldonea armor would survive the night.
Schok stood at the base of the tower, watching with an impassive face as the wood blackened and crumbled. He looked much like he did when he attacked them at the festival, except this time his back was to Ridan and his flames were eating away at a mutual enemy.
“Schok?” Corric’s voice was quiet as he approached. He was limping, pants soaked with blood and face so smeared with gore he was almost unrecognizable.
The magic user didn’t look at him. He just stared at the flames.
“Fuck you, Krait,” he muttered before turning to leave.