Chapter 46 Ambush #2
“Is something wrong?” Hazel drew in a breath, readying herself for whatever unseen thing troubled him.
“Other than this gigantic open field with nowhere to hide? No,” Slaide responded.
Point taken.
“I don’t want to get picked off crossing here, so you’d better hang on,” he warned before spurring Phillip into motion.
It happened halfway across the field.
A rumble sounded somewhere behind them, reminiscent of an approaching storm. But one look at the sky indicated it wasn’t a storm at all. Her locket warned her of what she already feared.
As Hazel turned to glance past Slaide, only to find riders approaching, churning dust in their wake. It was to her horror, then, she ascertained they were no ordinary bandits or bounty hunters.
Six Raven Blade Knights were hot on their trail.
And they’d come for her.
She could see the whites of the horses’ eyes, the sheer frenzy they’d been worked into in their pursuit. The riders would be upon them in seconds.
And because the Fates were cruel beings, Phillip’s foot found a divot mid-stride, tossing Hazel to the ground as he struggled to maintain his footing. Hazel tumbled and rolled while Slaide kept his seat and careened on by.
She scrambled to her feet, palming her dagger. The orange cat draped over her shoulder, an unwilling participant in the ensuing battle, but she wasn’t leaving him behind to be slaughtered.
She didn’t see the first assailant.
Someone grabbed Hazel by the hair and yanked her backwards. She landed on her back; the wind knocked out of her body. She rolled over, gasping for air. Hoofbeats thundered all around her.
She heard the approaching footfalls, the clink of metal armor as they approached.
The Raven Blade Knight stood over her, and in that moment, she knew his imposing figure marked the last thing she would see. This was it. Her time was finally up, and really, it was a gods-damned miracle she’d even made it this far. She was, after all, just a simple woman from a backwater town.
The commander hefted his broadsword high, the onyx eyes of the detailed raven-head hilt gleaming in the sunlight.
And then the sword began its descent, falling in slow motion to end her.
She closed her eyes and awaited the blow, hoping the sword was razor sharp and that the commander would strike true.
A mercy that she wouldn’t feel a thing. The world would just cease to exist.
The telltale whine of metal rang out, followed by a meaty squelch. Hazel was showered with hot blood, her eyes flying open to find the commander still standing above her, mouth agape as though he was frozen in time.
And then his head toppled off his shoulders, falling to the ground and rolling to a rest beside her.
His lifeless eyes were wide in terror. Then the rest of him crumpled to the ground in a bloody heap, blood spurting from the remaining stump of his neck.
She scrambled backwards, only to slam into another set of legs.
But when she looked up, it wasn’t another knight waiting to dismember her.
A gloved hand reached for her, and when she took it, Slaide hefted her onto her feet. He broke into a run, hauling her behind him.
Horse hooves thundered behind them, and Hazel stupidly chanced a glance over her shoulder, losing her footing and toppling to the ground once more.
Despite his firm grip, the force of her fall tore Hazel’s hand from Slaide’s. He spun to retrieve her, but the mounted knight was already upon her, blade poised to strike.
Hazel outstretched her hands before her, and her palms began to glow. But something was wrong. She grimaced, working far too hard to pull her magic forth.
The well of power was there, but the harder she pulled, the more it resisted. Instead of feeling empowered, the magic was sucking the life out of her. Perhaps she was too tired or too beat up… or just flat out too inexperienced.
Slaide raced to her, wiping out anyone and anything in his path.
He looked fierce, and she thought if Slaide in battle was the last thing she laid eyes on, she might be alright with that.
Before Slaide reached her, Hazel’s hands went limp, and she slumped over, conscious, but unable to move.
“No. Hazel, no!” Slaide shouted. Why did he sound so far away?
Her mind raced. She couldn’t have burned out that quickly. Could she?
Seemingly out of nowhere, her cat leaped through the air and latched onto the war horse’s face. The beast reared, screaming in pain as the over-sized feline sank its claws and teeth into the soft flesh of the horse’s face.
The beast returned to its most basic instincts, bucking and rearing in an attempt to remove the furry assailant. But the cat was formidably latched on, and the only thing the horse succeeded in was unseating his rider.
The knight tucked and rolled as he hit the ground, righting himself with unnatural ease. He strode toward Hazel with the swagger of a man who knew he had the upper hand and was about to kill his enemy. However, he hadn’t expected the cat would turn on him as well.
Just as he raised his sword to parry Slaide’s blow, the feisty orange beast wrapped itself around his helmet, grappling for purchase against the hammered iron. The knight fought to peel the cat from his head but found that a nearly impossible task while wearing bulky iron gauntlets.
Hazel tried to call out, to do anything to save that damned cat. But she couldn’t make a sound.
Slaide, on the other hand, was able to take advantage of the chaos the cat was causing. He leveled his blade and prepared to strike.
But Hazel’s awe turned to horror as she watched him bring his sword down for a killing blow—only for the knight to deflect it by sheer dumb luck.
In one seamless move, he spun, grabbing her cat by the scruff and throwing him to the ground, where he lay disoriented.
He then angled his iron-plated sabaton and kicked the cat across the clearing.
He didn’t get up.
No! She wanted to scream. To lash out. To do anything but lie there.
Slaide bellowed, drawing her attention again even as a warm tear ran down her cheek. He brought his sword down once more, dragging white-hot lightning from the sky as his shadows entwined with the metal of the blade.
He cleaved the man’s chest from right shoulder to left hip, his lightning singeing the flesh as it cut, and the knight was dead before he hit the ground.
She couldn’t see what went on around them, but it didn’t feel like they were winning.
Especially not after Slaide scooped her up in haste, whistled sharply, and tossed her onto Phillip’s back before the horse had even come to a full stop.
Slaide ran alongside Phillip for a few beats before vaulting behind her into the saddle.
But they couldn’t leave yet. From her vantage point, she could see the cat, still lying on the blood-soaked earth, unmoving.
Perhaps he was dead. But he’d been a faithful acquaintance to the very end if that was the case.
Did he deserve to be forgotten on a bloody battlefield, picked apart by carrion birds? No.
Hazel managed a groan, but it went unnoticed. She tried again, and while it at least earned his attention, he still hadn’t seen the cat.
“I know,” he murmured between thunderous hoofbeats, “close your eyes. I can’t help you, but I know someone who can. Just… stay with me.”
“Noooo!” Hazel managed, feeling overcome by dizziness. “Caaaattt!”
She didn’t know how, but Slaide evidently understood if the flash of realization on his face was any indication. He looked over his shoulder, eyes darting about. He locked in on something, and then they were moving again.
Phillip’s gallop was jarring, and Hazel’s consciousness slipped away with each bounce in the saddle. Slaide was going to save the cat. He’d saved her… perhaps she could rest.
Just for a little bit.
A sense of urgency emanated from both Phillip and Slaide. Despite losing consciousness, despite barely hanging on and the edges of her vision blurring, she could hear Slaide’s voice urging Phillip to go faster. She was safe now. She closed her eyes and drifted away.