Chapter Eighteen - Thorns & Shadows #3
She did as he said, flicking the rapier around the crimson blades to make contact with their exposed chest. A red bloom appeared as the thorn blade sliced the assassin.
She saw him stagger back, clutching at his chest, but dodged when the second assassin moved in with his blade.
Dorian moved effortlessly behind her, his back never far from her own, and despite his usual chill she took comfort from it.
He was here with her, and that was enough.
Still the men advanced, that brief drop in her guard caused the assassin to take the tip of her sword and she could feel the draining magic try to claim the rest.
“No,” she said through gritted teeth, “not yet.”
She recalled Bastian’s laughter, the bruises along Elswyth’s arms, Lavinia’s shrieks at the burning and surged all of that through the rose sword, strengthening it.
She pushed back. The Assassin’s eyes widened.
Behind her she felt Dorian raise up his injured arm and then heard a long low whistle.
It distracted the man in front of her, and with a yell she brought the rapier down on his wrist. The thorns clung to his skin as he shrieked.
She did not have enough strength to drive the blade the full way through, but it was enough to cause the Assassin to drop his knife.
Seeing him off balance, she pulled on the last recesses of her power to call on the ivy to reach out and engulf him.
Green shoots wrapped themselves around him, his eyes, his mouth, his arms and chest constricted.
There was a yell from behind her followed by a sickening gurgle.
She did not look round. She still felt Dorian’s firm back, so she knew it was not him that had made the sound.
She could barely stay on her feet now, her knees longed to buckle, for her to collapse to the stone.
She did not even have enough strength to raise the sword as the second assassin approached.
Her power was depleted. She willed her arm to raise the sword, but the Assassin easily sliced through it before she could dodge.
She had no weapon. Her power had been exhausted.
She was ready to collapse. She wanted too.
She could feel her legs begin to give out.
Which was when the large jaws clamped down on the assassins shoulder.
A howl went up in the alley.
The man in front of her shrieked in pain and fear as the large wolfhound lifted him off the ground and shook him like he was nothing more than a ragdoll.
Her legs finally gave way, and she collapsed to the ground, staring up in awe at the large white wolfhound.
It barely fit in the alleyway, it’s fur brushing the buildings on either side, it’s head now parallel with the second story.
Two glowing emerald eyes stared down at her.
There were more howls behind her, but she dared not turn her head towards them, her gaze fixed on the wolf.
It dropped the assassin on the ground in front of her, placing a giant paw down on top of them.
Rosamund saw a flash of red, and with what little energy she had left, dived forward to grapple the man’s wrist before he could drive the knife into the wolf’s paw.
The large creature tilted it’s head to the side, and for a moment Rosamund would have said it looked amused as she struggled to grab the knife.
With a ‘pop’, Gnash appeared, wrapping his own little hands around hers to pull at the knife.
Together they were able to free it from the man’s grasp, the two of them backing away quickly from him and the large wolf, which slowly lowered its head to the man.
She turned away then, turning Gnash with her and holding him close to her, blocking out the last shrieks of the man as the creatures teeth began to rend his flesh from the bone.
Instead, she watched as Dorian dispatched the last of his own assailants, the silver rapier slicing through the man’s neck as the black wolfhounds clamped their jaws on the man’s legs and arms. Dorian took a few steps back, catching his breath, and turned to face the large wolf.
“No, leave that one alive,” said Dorian firmly as he pointed to the man confined in Rosamund’s vines, “we can find out which one of my brothers it was this time.”
The huff of hot air that blew past her she realised was the large wolf snorting it’s assent. The other wolfhounds sat patiently on their haunches but kept their distance from the larger one.
“Thank you,” said Dorian to the large wolf, a hand reaching out to one of the black wolfhounds to scratch them behind the ears, “if you could clean this up, take him,” he gestured to the still living assassin, “to the Watch and see what you can find out. I’ll meet you there.”
The large wolf head nodded before rising to its feet. Dorian turned to where Rosamund sat, her back against the wall, clutching the still shivering Gnash to her chest, “I have another problem to deal with.”
Dorian stepped forward and Rosamund scrambled to her feet, her legs screaming, her arms aching as she held the goblin.
“I helped you,” she said quickly, “I’m not with them. I’m not a spy.”
Dorian only frowned at her and turning away said, “come with me.”
He started to walk off down the alley, not checking to see if she followed. She looked at Gnash who only stared back at her and shrugged. The little goblin wriggled until she put him back on the ground and said, “Lady go. Lady be ok.”
“What about you?” she asked giving him a concerned look.
“Gnash ok, Gnash with big boy now,” said the goblin as he pointed to the large white wolf with the bloody maw, “help clean up.”
Rosamund looked at the little goblin like he was insane, but Gnash was already skipping towards the wolf singing “clean, clean, clean! Spick and Span!” and the wolf let out another huff that sounded almost like a laugh.
She looked down the alleyway where Dorian had stalked, and thought that she would have preferred to take her chance with the wolf.