Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121924 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I swerved as he stabbed out. The sword blazed across my side, wrenching a hiss from me. I went to strike back, but my foot got snagged on something. The string of my bow. I kicked out, sending it whipping off my leg … but fell to my butt in the process.
The ork brought his sword up high but then stumbled to a quick halt, the life draining from its eyes. It slumped to its knees just as Ajax pulled back his spiked, blood-spattered mace and turned away.
I silently thanked him, shoving the corpse aside.
Right then, a wyvern landed on the battlement ledge right in front of me, perching itself there like a gargoyle. Its vivid green gaze bore into mine as a grating growl crawled up its throat.
I struck out with the scythe, but it jerked back fast.
Opening its jaws wide, it roared and—
A lash of gold cracked the air as it rammed into the wyvern. The feral light in its eyes dimmed just before it burst into ashes.
I jumped to my feet, intending to give Talon a nod of thanks, but my attention zipped straight to the ork bearing down on me. He swiped out his sword wickedly fast. I leaned back, but the sword sliced into my chin.
Gritting my teeth, I lifted my scythe … just as Khalida materialized. She snatched him by the collar, threw him off the battlement, and then winked at me before flying off.
Relief fluttered through me at the knowledge that she was okay.
Looking around, I saw that the number of orks on the battlement had fizzled down. Those who were left standing were quickly being overpowered. Only four wyverns remained in the sky. Three were deep in battle with Phoenixians.
The fourth was hurtling my way.
Not at me. No, it meant to fly over me—possibly to try and reach the Sovereigns’ fortress.
I raised my scythe high, the blade angled just right … and the tip sliced right into the wyvern’s underside as the creature flew past.
I flinched as blood and all manner of gory crap rained down on me. The ear-piercing screech it let out preceded the loud thump of its body crashing into the bailey.
I surveyed my surroundings yet again. No more orks stood on the battlement, and the sky was blissfully empty of wyverns. A breath shuddered out of me. Licking my dry lips, I peered down at the scene below as I wiped at the mess on my face with the sleeve of my tunic.
“They’re fleeing,” I noted breathlessly, watching as orks and hounds dashed back into the forest. Why the hell would they flee?
“Or they were called back,” said Keyes, panting.
There were some orks and dogs left near the walls, but they were either dead, dying, or severely wounded. Deimos’ creatures were chomping on or hauling some away. Meanwhile, flying Phoenixians were plucking the bodies of officiates and candidates from the ground before they, too, could be eaten or taken. The Phoenixians flew them straight to the garrison.
“A bunch of us will go out there and finish off what’s left,” Keyes announced. “But let’s wait to make sure there are no more surprise attacks coming.”
I held my scythe steady as we waited. I tried not to think about Layna; tried not to remember that moment when her eyes popped wide in fear just before she fell to her death.
My stomach twisted because, yeah, I failed. Failed miserably. I pressed my trembling lips together as the image of her fall once more played out in my mind.
I closed my eyes, a lump building in my throat. It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t. Her death had been as senseless as that of any officiate. The Dark Land half-bloods didn’t need Deimos. Didn’t need to launch attacks. Didn’t need a fucking throne. But they repeatedly threw their forces—usually individually, but now seemingly as a unit—at the Black Tapestry regardless.
Opening my eyes, I swallowed hard, the movement making an audible click. I hadn’t known Layna well, but I’d liked her. Liked her a lot. Her loss would leave a hole in our group, just as it should.
Gods, Jelani was going to be a mess.
Eventually, feeling satisfied that the battle was over, Keyes dismissed all but a few. I scooped up the bow and quiver, wincing when I saw they needed repairing.
Skirting the fallen wyvern, I silently tromped back into the garrison. The air there was a mix of grim and all business.
Injured people were gathered near the apothecary, some in a terrible state—more particularly Justus.
Among the wounded, Quillen and Soule stood in only breeches and boots, putting salve on their chest injuries. Like myself, they sported stab wounds and claw marks and mean gashes. Each of mine burned and throbbed like a mother, more so the one of my side.
But I was standing. I was alive. Unlike …