Chapter 21
Sage
One of the shadow hounds threw its head back and screeched and the two closest to it screeched as well. Then more screeches sounded, sharp and shrill, echoing all around us, four, six, ten? How many hounds were there?
We couldn’t stay where we were. We had to get to cover and the closest cover was the wagon. I grabbed Iztal’s arm and tried to tug him to his feet, but he was too heavy.
“Get up!” I urged, pulling harder. “Please, you have to move.”
But he just kept screaming as he clutched his leg, his body rocking back and forth, blood pouring between his fingers.
I whirled toward Garridan. “Help me!”
The idiot didn’t move, completely frozen in his shock, his wide-eyed gaze locked on the merchant’s bleeding leg, his face pale and his breaths desperate gasps.
This wasn’t going to work. The man— hell, most men were too big for me to move by myself, and the merchant was larger than normal. I needed help.
“Garridan.”
No reaction.
“Garridan!” I snapped.
The novice didn’t even flinch at the tone in my voice. He just kept staring at the blood.
Shit.
Shit shit shit.
I grabbed the front of Garridan’s jerkin and yanked him forward, and his attention finally jumped to me. “Help. Me.”
He blinked as if he hadn’t understood what I was saying.
For the love of—!
“We need to get the merchant in the wagon,” I said, enunciating my words. “Now.”
I pulled him closer to Iztal and crouched on the man’s other side.
Garridan frowned, but he did grab the arm closest to him — thank the Father! — and together we hauled Iztal to his feet. The merchant howled in agony with the movement, and his weight sagged between us.
Fuck.
I wasn’t going to be able to hold on.
“Come on,” I hissed through clenched teeth. “You just need to get into the wagon.”
Panting and gasping, Garridan and I hoisted Iztal into the back of the wagon then climbed in after him, squeezing into the narrow space between the barrels.
It wasn’t great, but at least we had the semblance of walls on either side of us even if they were just canvas. Any amount of cover had to be better than just standing out in the open on that road.
I glanced down the narrow aisle between the barrels to the front of the wagon.
The canvas opened to the bench, and I could see the donkey.
Its posture was stiff, its ears flicking this way and that, its tail slashing side to side as if it were about to bolt but couldn’t figure which direction to go.
I yanked my attention back to Garridan who stood awkwardly beside Iztal, once again transfixed by the blood.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Except I knew what was wrong with him. He’d led a sheltered life as an orphan in a temple to the Great Father and when he’d been old enough, he’d taken his vows as a priest. Obviously, the man hadn’t seen any kind of violence or serious injury before, and just moving Iztal hadn’t been enough to startle him into action.
Except Iztal’s breathing was getting shallower, and all that blood pooling around him meant he didn’t have much time.
I had to stop the bleeding, and the best way was to use a rope or belt and secure it around his leg above the wound.
Except my belt wouldn’t work. It was the only thing keeping my too-large pants up, and I couldn’t afford to be tripping over my clothes in the middle of a life and death fight.
I grabbed the front of Garridan’s belt.
With a yelp, he jerked back, his hands flying out to stop me. “What are you doing?”
“Saving that man’s life.”
I batted his hands away, unhooked the catch, and yanked his belt free in one quick movement.
“You’re what?” he squeaked.
I dropped to my knees beside the merchant, wrapped the belt around his thigh and yanked it tight.
The man screamed and all the color drained from his face.
I gritted my teeth against the urge to apologize and secured the belt.
Sometimes you had to hurt someone to heal them.
It wasn’t like I was a fae healer and could use magic — and I wasn’t going to bother the fae with the healing magic standing a few feet away because he and Payne were the only reason we were all still alive.
Iztal’s eyes grew glassy, the shock of his injuries starting to overwhelm him, and I grabbed the front of Garridan’s jerkin again and yanked him to his knees—something I could only do because he was already crouching forward with the low canvas top.
“Apply pressure.” I shoved his hands against the merchant’s bleeding leg and prayed that when I let go Garridan would stay put.
Given all the attention Reef had given him, the other novice should have already known basic healing. Even if he didn’t know he could tie off a limb to slow bleeding, he should at least know about applying pressure and be able to do that.
But Garridan was completely stunned, and I wasn’t going to bet on him remembering anything.
Payne grunted and I glanced back out at the fight.
His massive swords swept through the air, decapitating another hound, and he was rushing toward a third or fourth…
or who-knew-how-many without pausing. Beside him, Reef struck down a smaller one, his blade moving fast, proving he was a skilled guardsman and not just a healer.
But more kept coming, bounding forward as if birthed from the rocky terrain and mist around us.
All around us, shadow hounds screeched, sending frozen fear lancing through my heart and stealing my breath. How many more were there?
Quill had said in the first evening class for the novices that shadow hound packs usually consisted of eight to twelve hounds, but I could already count six dead hounds on the ground, five more live ones around Payne and Reef, and a few more creeping closer.
There were too many. Certainly too many for Payne and Reef to handle by themselves.
I wrenched my attention back to the front of the wagon.
I’d never driven a horse-drawn — or in this case donkey-drawn — wagon before, but if Payne decided we needed to make a run for it, someone needed to be on the bench, ready to get that donkey moving. And the only someone available right now, was me.
I stepped into the narrow passage between the barrels and headed toward the bench and the donkey’s reins.
But before I’d even gotten halfway, a massive, black shadow hound leaped onto the donkey and wrenched it down
The wagon jerked, jostling me, and the donkey brayed, the sound sharp, desperate, and suddenly cut off.
My pulse lurched, my thoughts spinning unable to comprehend what I’d just seen. It had happened so fast. The donkey hadn’t stood a chance, hadn’t even had the opportunity to kick or bite the hound.
The shadow monster’s head bobbed up, blood and black saliva dripping from his partially open maw, and its black, soulless eyes locked on me.
Frozen fear crackled across my chest and arms, and I tightened my grip on my sword, the metal tip tapping against the wooden barrels crowded around me as I trembled.
Except the weapon was going to be useless in the tight confines of the wagon. There wasn’t enough room to properly swing it, and my arms weren’t long enough to stab the monster without being within reach of its claws.
I needed space. I couldn’t get trapped in the wagon.
I lunged toward the front of the wagon, but the hound moved faster, jumping onto the bench and shoving its head inside the covered area.
Oh, crap.
I wrenched back, wildly swinging my sword in a desperate attempt to keep it from coming any closer.
The monster jerked back with a surprised snarl, but I doubted the thin piece of metal in my hand was going to hold it off for long. One swipe of its massive paw and there wasn’t anywhere for me to dodge.
What I needed was something to block its strikes.
My gaze landed on the barrel beside me and the brass handle in the lid.
This was a stupid idea.
But it was the only idea I had.
I grabbed the handle and twisted. The lid popped free just as the shadow hound swiped at me with its wickedly sharp claws.
I wrenched up my makeshift shield, blocking the strike. The impact reverberated up my arm and woodchips flew into the air.
My pulse roared, and instinct drove my sword arm forward, stabbing at the monster.
My blade nicked one of the spikes, sending a gust of whirling black smoke rushing around the hound, but the creature’s black blood didn’t drip or splatter onto the barrels.
The shadow hound swiped again, harder and faster, and my fingers started to slip on the brass handle.
Crap. This wasn’t working.
I already knew my arms were too short to properly stab the thing, there wasn’t enough room to swing, and there was nowhere to dodge.
The whole area eliminated any advantage I, as a small, nimble fighter, had in a fight, and there was no way I was going to kill it.
Someone else was going to have to do it.
The only thing I could do was hold out until that happened.
I dropped my sword and used both hands to hold up the shield.
The shadow monster bashed away at it. My muscles screamed with the agony of holding my ground, but I kept standing. I had to protect the merchant and Garridan. I just had to hold on until someone could help me.
A yell sounded ahead of me, but I couldn’t see past the shadow hound filling the front of the wagon.
The hound screeched and jerked to face whoever was behind it.
A sword stabbed into its side and sliced it open with a rush of viscous black blood.
A second sword cut into the hound’s neck, drawing more blood, and the hound collapsed, falling off the wagon.
Grefin and one of the fae guardsman from the gatehouse looked inside the wagon. I stood there panting while they stared at me, their expressions a mix of anger, worry, and surprise.
Oh, thank the Father!
“Nice shield,” Grefin said.
“Thanks.” I dropped the barrel lid and collapsed to my knees.
“What the fuck is going on here?” Rider roared, from the other side of the canvas top, and I flinched.
I was just following orders, but with my luck I had a sinking feeling that somehow this mess was going to be my fault.