Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Ophelia
We left our horses a mile out from the Engrossian camp at dusk.
Barrett and Dax had given us every detail they knew about the warriors there—how many, the weapons we should expect, the tactics—and we’d scouted them earlier.
The prince and his consort would be staying behind, though, guarded by two of Danya’s warriors and Vale, who said she’d watch the stars.
Before I turned away from Sapphire, Cyph placed a hand on my horse. Reluctance tightened his jaw as he chewed over his words. “I think I trust them,” he finally whispered.
Looking over my shoulder, I found Malakai. Alone, buckling on his metal vambraces.
“I’m starting to,” I muttered, unsaid fears scraping against my throat. Guilt sliced me as sharply as the sword hanging at my hip, but it was the truth. Silent agreement passed between Cyph and I as we led our small troop into the pass, but that burgeoning trust was the only reason we were able to.
I moved quietly despite the armor I wore.
Truthfully, I found it stifling compared to the freedom of my leathers, but when I remembered the deadly slice of the Engrossian axes, the armor welded within Damenal seemed a wise precaution.
The blacksmiths and leatherworkers were creating more every day, readying for whatever war awaited us.
The air in the mountains was cool. Crickets chirped and wolves howled and, faintly, I wondered if the lupine daimons were awake tonight, but tried not to consider the other beasts roaming the mountain range.
A breeze trickled down from the peaks that should have been calming, with the moon shining its luck down on us, but each step forward was like wading into muddied waters, unsure of what lay in the depths ahead.
Finally, my ears perked up.
Chatter drifted from a valley, so low it barely broke through the pounding of my heart in my ears; I wouldn’t have picked it up before the Undertaking.
We came to the top of the sloping hill, peering into the shallow canyon below.
Dull light was visible, as if smothered by a fog.
They’d set up camp at the bottom of a valley? Unwise.
I stopped, looking up at Cyph beside me. He nodded, lips tight.
The rest of the group fanned out along the ridge. Jezebel fell in on my left, Tolek on her other side. Malakai and Danya took spots beside Cypherion, and the others around them. Twelve of us in all. Less than half of who waited below.
We’d solidified our plan before leaving. We didn’t need to discuss it again. Didn’t want to risk our voices being heard.
But when a wolf howled at our backs, our precautions didn’t matter.
The Engrossian voices silenced. The light through the fog vanished.
“Stay true,” I muttered. Pulling Angelborn from my back. “Now!”
We flew down the hill, forgoing any attempt at silence.
With cries and cheers, our combined force of Mystiques, a Soulguider, and a Bodymelder landed on the Engrossians.
Pale skin and purple scars shone beneath white starlight. With flashes of deep green armor, the scouting party tore from their shadowed cove of a camp. Clashes of blades—axes—struck our menagerie of weapons, but—
There were only twelve.
Twelve Engrossians, instead of the thirty we’d expected.
An ax swung toward me as I tried again to count the collision of limbs and weapons and armor. I blocked it with Angelborn’s hilt, swiveling beneath the Engrossian’s arm. Quickly, I flipped my weapon, drove it toward his heart—
He ducked it. Floated like a breath of wind at the last second, in a maneuver so smooth I almost missed it.
I nearly froze.
That move never failed me. And how had he moved so silently?
But I couldn’t stop to consider it, only grip Angelborn tighter and meet another strike. I danced around the valley with this opponent, meeting attacks fiercely.
My chest pounded as an ax lowered toward my neck, and I lifted my spear to stop it at the last second. Sparks shot up between us.
I staggered, my ankle nearly rolling over a rock. Breath tore through my lungs, scraping up my throat as I braced myself against the Engrossian’s weight.
My arms burned as I pushed. And pushed. And pushed.
His face loomed over me, my back bending. His eyes locked on mine—took in their magenta shade—
“Not so unbeatable now, Alabath.”
Getting my stance beneath me again, I summoned the strength the Undertaking had given me and shoved the Engrossian back, using his weight against him.
Despite his uncanny swiftness, I ducked out of reach of his swinging ax and rammed Angelborn beneath his rib cage, between the buckles of his armor. He screamed with the impact.
“Challenge accepted,” I growled, tugging the spear from his body and shoving him to the ground. He landed with a thud that echoed through my ears.
I spun to see Danya’s and Cypherion’s opponents fall, too. My chest rose and fell, throat raw already, anticipation heavy between my ribs.
Where were the others?
Thirty. We’d prepared for thirty.
“Ophelia!” Tolek yelled.
I whirled toward him, barely having time to look an Engrossian in his dark, soulless eyes before he tackled me.
We rolled across the dirt, elbows and knees and metal jarring. Gravel burying itself in my skin, slicing.
Angelborn fell from my hand. The warrior pinned me to the ground.
Dammit, how were they that quiet? I should have heard him before Tol shouted.
Hands empty of weapons, I threw an elbow into his face. The mask he wore buckled, snapping back into his nose. Blood seeped beneath its edges, sprinkling around me.
He pinned me. Knees framing my legs, an elbow in my sternum. I wrestled his bruising grip, but he was larger.
The Engrossian swore, grabbing me by the shoulders and slamming me into the ground. The air sped from my lungs, vision spinning as he pulled a fist back, landing a punch to my cheekbone. A crunch echoed in my head.
“Fucking Angels,” I hissed over the spinning pain.
I couldn’t reach Starfire, not with his weight on my hips and my arms pinned.
Wedging one of my legs between us, I kneed him in the groin. The warrior doubled over. Swifter than he could sense, I tore my dagger from my thigh and drew it across his throat.
Blood spilled over me, hot and sticky and reeking, and he fell.
His weight crushed me for a moment while I regained breath. Then, he was thrown aside.
Tol stared down at me, eyes burning. “Are you all right?” He lifted me to my feet, looking over every inch of my body, wiping drops of blood from my cheeks. I winced when his thumb grazed the blooming bruise—potentially cracked bone—and Tol’s eyes turned murderous.
“I’m fine,” I assured him.
Swiveling away from me, Tol brought his sword down on the neck of the Engrossian I had killed, severing his head from his body completely.
“That’s better.”
“How chivalrous of you.” I flashed him a brief smile, still panting, as Tol brushed the back of his fingers gently over my bruise.
Then, a roar crested the mountains, severing that moment of peace. At least another dozen Engrossians ran down the hill toward us.
They’d split their ranks at our initial attack, their position in the canyon intentional to stall our chance of escape.
Swiping Angelborn up and sheathing my dagger, I charged.
With the pain still radiating through my skull, I channeled all the strength and every bit of training I’d honed in my life. Used it to predict their movements. To meet blades before the strikes landed true.
Ripping Starfire from my belt, I sliced the back of the knees of one Engrossian.
He roared, tumbling to the ground.
I echoed it, spinning to ram my short sword up through the jaw of another.
For the first time, I dug into the tattoo on the back of my neck. It reached out to the ascended Mystiques in our party as if the mountains were a tree, and us the tangled roots.
It was different than a soul bond in a Bind. This was matted and dizzying, but I found the three connections that were a little shorter than the others—newer—and spun toward them.
Jezebel battled a woman two times her size. Tolek and Cypherion took on three Engrossians between them.
And thirty yards away from them, no Bond connecting us, Malakai—
Two of the moss-armored warriors circled him. Blood dripped down his chin, sword held weakly in his hand.
“You have some fight left,” one taunted. His broad chest nearly obscured Malakai from view as they backed him toward a wall.
“Always did.” Malakai spat, crimson painting the gravel at their boots.
They snickered. “Are you so certain?”
“He’s as much of a coward as his father,” the other muttered as she prowled. She spun her ax around her hand lazily.
“That incapable fool,” the first responded, reaching out with a toying strike at Malakai that he met easily. “He couldn’t even dispose of his greatest mistake.”
“We should have killed you both years ago, Warrior Prince.”
At the title, Malakai froze, eyes wild and panicked.
His knuckles turned white around his sword, joints locking. And I saw his memory tunneling back to those years he spent under their care. It was barely a moment before he snapped back to himself, but it was all the Engrossians needed.
They launched at him, the female knocking aside his sword, the man pinning his shoulders to the ground. The buckles of his armor snapped beneath their fingers.
Blades rose over his skin.
I ran, but my path was blocked by a wraithlike opponent, long, thin arms each swinging an ax.
He struck out, and I ducked, looking below his arm to see Malakai get kicked in the side. The woman dropped her ax, a small blade appearing in her hand.
I swiveled around my own opponent, barely fighting back, just trying to get past him. I couldn’t focus enough to land my own blow—not with their taunts still reaching me.
Every carving on Malakai’s skin flashed through my mind. Every scar that I’d mapped these weeks, every shadow, and every wince he fought off in our own training.