50
Aire
They rode past the arcade gateway of trees. The gang of knights stampeded into the enclave, hurdling through a glaring beam of sun.
Half-dressed, Aspen and I skidded to a halt. Frozen beside one of the towering trunks, we beheld the invasion.
The razor edges of their weapons glinted. Bronze cloaks flared behind them like banners, yet they did not trespass on behalf of Autumn. Blistered from the camp explosion, the traitors split like a river and spilled into The Lost Treehouse.
Fear roiled in Aspen’s eyes. When they fixed on me, wrath replaced the horror. She had diverted Rhys’s attention after the camp explosion, so for a king who played a long game, something new must have triggered him to take this initiative.
Lacking armor, a shield, or a cloak, my open shirt hung untucked over the leather hose. Aspen was better covered, albeit without a hood.
It did not matter. They knew by now.
“Find them!” Dame Muriel hollered. “Leave none alive!”
Them. Us.
Nicu.
Seething, Aspen ripped the axe from her thigh harness. I reached behind, tore the broadswords from their scabbards, and flipped them in my hands. Together, we charged at my former brothers and sisters-in-arms.
A gale piloted through the wilderness. Creepers flattened under our boots.
Limbs pumping, Aspen and I vaulted into the quagmire. Reading one another by some elemental force, we flew in opposite directions, scattering east and west.
Nicu could be anywhere. But while these soldiers had numbers on us, we held knowledge of the complex’s layout. And the enclave’s blessing.
Predicting their next move, Aspen shot up a flight of winding stairs. Seconds later, my former brethren leaped off their horses. Separating like ant trails in her wake, they sprinted up the ramps and steps.
Alarm chilled my blood. She would be safe. She would protect Nicu. Any other outcome would destroy me.
Spinning my broadswords, I smashed through the trees and intercepted the west unit. A troop of stallions screeched and reared backward. Countless eyes widened on my features, shock claiming their expressions. Rhys might have briefed them, but facing their commander was another matter.
Also, they had expected a retreat. Not an advance.
Righting their mounts, they surged into a delayed gallop. Taking them off guard, I cut between two equines and bounded into the air. Criss-crossing the broadswords, I lashed two pairs of throats mid-flight.
Blood sprayed the leaves. The instant my boots struck the ground, I thrust one crimson blade and sliced it behind me, impaling someone’s vital organs. With my other weapon, I blocked an incoming thrust.
Catching the man’s flail, I yanked the other sword from my victim’s gut and speared through my next opponent’s larynx. Globs of red splattered my chest. Grunts of agony resounded, both bodies hitting the earth.
I spun, facing my actions. Four corpses in less than one minute, each recognizable countenance gawking at the sky through lifeless eyes. Torment seized my chest.
At the clamor of Aspen’s yell, panic overrode this sensation. I cut through several more assailants, intermittently checking the platforms.
A feminine silhouette darted in my periphery. Aspen barreled across gangplanks, her axe chopping a path through clusters of attackers. The blade extended and retracted, figures toppling around her.
Reaching a bridge, she hastened down the extension, blood soaking her skirt. Halfway across, she paused. Her gaze plowed through the ground-level, treading a fine line between worry and hope.
She was searching for me too. And Nicu.
Another outline materialized at the bridge’s landing. Dame Muriel rushed forward, a curved plate of steel glittering in her hand.
“Aspen!” I roared.
She wheeled and collided with my third commander, their weapons clashing overhead. As they lunged into combat, a slender form raced toward them with the speed of a launched dart.
While running on short limbs, Nicu evaded several figures on instinct, hopping and swiveling out of their reach. Then he yanked a custom knife from his jacket. As my liege bolted to help Aspen, a knight barreled in his direction.
Terror speared through me. In the midst of ducking, Aspen spotted the same dreadful scene.
“Nicu, stop!” we shouted.
He did not stop. Hurling his body in the path of that knight, Nicu careened backward at the last moment, his stomach dodging the point of a sword by a centimeter.
“Stay your weapon!” I bellowed, as if they would heed my command.
Growling, I snapped another warrior’s neck and hastened for the stairs. Meanwhile, the knight stalled long enough to identify the Royal Son. Treason had already been committed, but slaying a member of the ruling family amounted to a longer, more agonizing form of execution.
The male wavered, a glower creasing his face.
He gripped his mace and raised the handle—then yelped in pain.
Nicu’s fist rammed into the man’s jaw. Once, twice, three times in succession.
Bone-shattering crunches rent the air, the blows delivered with enough adrenaline to stagger the man, despite my liege’s compact size.
As I sprinted up the incline, Nicu unbalanced the man enough for Nicu’s knife to finish the job. The blade’s point stabbed through his shoulder. Crimson popped from the opposite side, momentary horror gripping Nicu’s face before he ripped his weapon from the wound.
He’d been rushing to Aspen’s aid. Yet he never shed blood until this day.
Aspen panted while combatting Muriel. “Aire!” she cried.
Not for herself. But for our friend.
I hit the landing as the knight recovered in time to exercise his weapon once more. Nicu gasped and braced his knife, then red dots sprinkled his face like freckles. A rondel dagger lodged itself in the soldier’s jugular, Lyrik’s fingers choking the weapon behind him.
The rogue’s pupils blazed like pyres, his face contorting with an unchecked rage I’d never beheld from him. Gnashing his teeth, Lyrik jerked out the dagger. Between him and Nicu, the body dropped in a heap.
Their heads whipped up, and they stared at one another, encapsulated in time, lost in each other’s presence. Relief washed through my limbs, then segued into a rage as Aspen wrestled with Muriel.
Nicu and Lyrik turned, following my trajectory as I powered toward Aspen. Except another figure intercepted my path. As I slammed into the female knight and thrust my swords against her, the spectacle played out in the background.
During the feud, Aspen deduced something about Muriel’s weapon. Realization dawned across my lady’s profile. The Third Commander wielded a sickle instead of her own sword.
With a quick jab, Aspen struck a corner of Muriel’s weapon that unhinged the handle. The woman gasped, baffled as Aspen rotated in a circle, her blade hewing a line through the woman’s navel.
Dame Muriel stumbled in place. Her head swung my way, disappointment sagging her countenance as the force of Aspen’s blow ejected her backward. The female knight flopped over the railing and plunged to the understory.
Dicing through my last foe, I crashed into Aspen with a thud. Alive. Alive. Alive. She shook in my arms as I yanked her into a quick embrace, my muscles radiating with anxiety. The fibers of her hair brushed my cheek, and her body temperature seeped into me.
Alert, we pulled apart and viewed the sickle, which lay on the bridge. Aspen may have blown up the armory tent, but she also rendered a portion of the stolen village weapons faulty, in case some survived.
In silence, we drew a conclusion. The explosion hadn’t merely destroyed their makeshift disguises.
The sparks and flames must have traveled, vanquishing the troops’ personal weapons as well.
Whatever components Lyrik’s mixture contained, it had been potent enough to achieve this.
Thus, the knights were forced to use whatever had withstood the onslaught.
More bodies flooded the enclave. Instead of the full troop, about half laid siege, perhaps because too many of them were still injured.
Even then, they exceeded our numbers. This should render the battle folly. Except they hadn’t been granted passage here.
Lining up across the bridge, we gaped as The Lost Treehouse unleashed its vengeance.
The leaves curled like fingers and crowded the sky, blotting out the sun, dousing this realm in shadows.
Fog hissed across the ground and snared human ankles, dragging screaming warriors across the undergrowth.
Roots grabbed, fractured bones, and bent weapons like clay.
Bridges forced soldiers into aimless roundabouts, and platforms led them astray, transporting them to levels they hadn’t been heading.
Amid the murk, this place disoriented members of the troop and minced them to pieces.
The remaining attackers stormed to our level.
“This way!” Nicu ordered, jetting along the bridge and up another stairway. Our group trailed, camouflaging ourselves into the boughs. Using Lyrik’s colorful lanterns as signposts, my liege guided us amid the network, skillfully avoiding the knights as they scrambled about.
But then Nicu skated to a halt. Lyrik slammed into his back. Aspen and I slammed into Lyrik.
“What the fuck?” the rogue grated.
Then he saw what the rest of us apprehended. A squadron of hawks soared like arrows, furious caws tolling over the cathedral of trees. The creatures speared into the quagmire, their beaks puncturing bodies with the sharpness of bayonets, their talons stripping flesh like ribbons.
My pulse doubled. The castle night watch.
Another band of hooves plowed through the woodland, four steeds breaking through the mesh of leaves, their approach whisking detritus from the ground. The riders yanked their mounts to a standstill, their arrival lacking pageantry.
Two couples sprang from their horses and threw back their hoods.