30. Leah #2
“That would be you,” says Lord Kaliban, stepping out in front of the half a dozen soldiers he’s brought with him.
He lunges for me, and I twist to the side, slashing out with my knife.
I catch him on the arm, slicing at his pale forearm just above his bracer.
He doesn’t even seem to register it, lunging again and getting a hold of me this time, his strong grip closing around the muscle between my neck and shoulder like a vise.
I’m already bruised from Hathwell, and I scream, dropping to my knees as a sharp, radiating pain takes hold of me. Instinct has me trying to wrench his hand away, but he’s too strong. All I manage to do is get fat droplets of his blood on me as it trickles down his arm from where I cut him.
“We’ll see how quickly Lord Syrus surrenders when we use you two as bargaining chips, shall we?
” he says with a smile. His pale eyes are bright with excitement, like he’s having the time of his life.
He loves this, I realize, the business of war.
Storming the castle and taking hostages is his idea of a good time.
A trio of growls rolls down the corridor behind me, and a flare of hope gleams in Aster’s eyes just as Kaliban’s widen.
I duck fast, a large black shape flying over my head.
Triya—claws outstretched, three jaws snarling—pounces on Kaliban, tackling him to the ground.
I don’t hesitate to seize my chance—I can’t free Aster, there’s no way I can take six demons, so I sprint toward the front doors.
If I can get to the guards by the lake and warn them, then maybe—
A yowl of animal pain makes me yank my head back around. Looking over my shoulder, I see a heap of black fur lying limply on the ground and Kaliban climbing to his feet.
No. My heart breaks, but I’m just feet from the front door. I pump my legs harder—and then something whips my feet out from under me.
“Syrus!” I shout in my mind, instinctively calling out to him, but once again it hits up against a wall, going nowhere.
My hands scrabble against the stone floor, unable to get purchase as a coil of shadow wraps around my legs and tugs me backward, the crawling darkness reaching up my body to engulf me.
Syrus
The air is thick with mist and the cries of injured soldiers.
I swoop over the mountains, darting in between clusters of fighting demons. I unseat a Rancorite on a kelaryn about to run through one of my Malicites, then knock a well-aimed arrow off course before it pierces the wings of another member of my militia.
A lot of my forces are civilians most of the time, reserves that didn’t expect to be called up to defend their domain on a cloudy Tuesday afternoon. But still, they came, ready to take on whatever Rancor tried to throw at them.
We’re at a disadvantage in terms of numbers, and Rancor’s militia trains alongside Infernum’s army, so they’re quicker and more precise in the air.
Yet we have one thing they don’t—we’re defending our home turf.
Many centuries ago, I learned that the fierce loyalty soldiers have for their homelands can often trump superior numbers and training. I only hope that holds true today.
At least Leah is safe, far away from all this in Strata.
I want to reach out across the realms, to find her mind and send her a message, however brief, letting her know what’s going on.
But even that would be too much of a risk with shadows slinging past my head and steel colliding against steel feet away from me.
I can’t afford to have my attention divided—to have even a moment’s hesitation from splitting my consciousness over such a distance.
So I fight on, cutting a swathe through the Rancorites, wondering how many more I’ll have to kill before their lord realizes this is not the strategic move he thinks it is.
I send a flare of flame down my blade, searing through the leather tunic of a soldier as I stab him, then lift my hand and use shadows to choke a demon on my other side.
Does Kaliban really think he’ll conquer Malice like this? At least he wasn’t fool enough to think Infernum’s army would follow him into this attempted invasion. His force consists of only his poor, compelled subjects, who fight for him even when—
Wait. Where is Kaliban?
I scan the crowd of clashing demons, peering through the explosions of shadow and spray of green blood. He was here in the beginning, but if he was still on the battlefield, he’d be easy to locate. He isn’t exactly subtle.
I don’t like this. Kaliban loves to be at the front of a fight. If he’s not here, he’s busy elsewhere, likely plotting something ugly.
“Syrus!” Viz’s kelaryn soars past me, wheeling around to come join me by my side.
“Kaliban,” I say as I cast a wall of shadow, swallowing up the weaker stream of darkness coming from a Rancorite. “Where is he?” My hope is Viz has already spotted the Lord of Rancor’s absence and has answers for me.
But from the disturbed expression on his pale face, whatever answers he has aren’t good ones.
“One of the guards we left at the Morphos has arrived,” Viz shouts over the din of battle. “He said Kaliban went to Malice Castle with some soldiers—and when they left, they weren’t alone.”