Acidic anger crowded my mouth as my gaze lifted past the black cloth, to meet steely gray eyes.
A long, tense moment of silence stretched as the other soldier turned his horse around. The lieutenant held my stare, his eyes slowly widening. I knew then that he saw the glow behind my pupils. His emotions clogged my throat. Distrust gave way to a quick burst of bubbly awe and then the taint of bitter fear. “Good gods,” he uttered, and I knew then that our paltry cover was blown. “The Harbinger—”
I snapped forward, unsheathing my dagger in one quick move. The lieutenant’s reflexes were well-honed, but he was mortal, and I was not. He withdrew his sword, but that was as far as he got. I thrust the dagger through the neck of his gaiter and into his throat. His words ended in a wet gurgle.
“That was for snapping your fingers in my face.” I jerked the blade free. The lieutenant grasped for his throat as he toppled from his saddle, hitting the muddy road on his side.
A sort of controlled chaos exploded as Reaver twisted at the waist, releasing a slender knife. The blade struck the soldier before the man had a chance to react to his lieutenant’s demise. Kieran was off his horse in the blink of an eye and beside the other. He caught the soldier by the arm, tearing him from his mount.
“Can I burn them now?” Reaver asked as the remaining soldiers sprang into action. Several charged forward on their horses as Kieran leapt onto the back of a soldier’s horse. A blade glinted in the sunlight as it swept across the soldier’s throat.
“No.” I swung off Winter, landing in a crouch as I sheathed the wolven dagger. “No burning.”
“No fun, more like it.” Reaver reached down, withdrawing a crossbow I hadn’t even known was by his feet as I reached to my hip, pulling a short sword free.
Reaver rose from the box, crossbow in hand. He fired in rapid succession, taking out several soldiers with envious precision. Soldiers on foot raced behind the fleeing horses. I met the heavy swing from a much bigger, broader soldier. The impact of the blow rattled my arm. The soldier laughed. I grunted as the essence merged with my will. I used it to give the mountain of a man a little push. Nothing that required a large expenditure of energy, but the soldier skidded back several feet, his eyes above his gaiter flaring wide.
I did as Vikter had drilled into me through our hours of training. I shut it down. All of it. My senses. My fear that either Kieran or Reaver may misstep and be taken down. That they would be injured or worse before I could get to them. I closed down my emotions as the man caught himself before falling backward. I did what Vikter had taught. But this time, I fought as if each breath my friends took might be their last. Dipping low, I planted my free hand in the damp soil as I kicked out, sweeping the soldier’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground with a groan.
Kieran was suddenly there, slamming his sword down, just above the breastplate as I rose. He gave the blade a quick twist as he met my gaze. “We need to get out of here.”
“Agreed.” I looked up to see Reaver striking down another soldier with a brutal blow to the head.
“Incoming,” Kieran warned as he withdrew his sword from a soldier’s back.
My head snapped forward. Up ahead, at the bend, a group rode hard, the white mantle of the Royal Guard streaming from their shoulders. Their presence was not remotely good. My mind raced through the possibilities. We had to get out of here fast, which meant abandoning the wagon. That could pose a problem down the road, but we’d have to deal with that later.
Prowling forward, I stepped into the attack, twisting under the swing of a sword. I spun back as an arrow whizzed past my head, slamming into the side of the wagon where the shaft vibrated. I shoved the sword into the man’s chest between his plates of armor. Whirling around, I gripped a soldier’s helmet, yanking his head back as I drew the blade across his throat. I released the man, letting him fall forward as another arrow cut through the air, hitting the ground before me.
I drew to a halt, the air punching out of my lungs as I saw the arrowhead—the shiny, black arrowhead—embedded in the ground.
Shadowstone.
My eyes shot to the Royal Guards as they descended on us. Another arrow streaked through the air, nearly striking Reaver. Fury exploded, mingling with the eather. Kieran whipped toward the Royal Guards, cursing as I summoned the Primal essence. It responded in an immediate rush, hitting my skin, and crowding the edges of my vision in silver as I lowered the sword, walking forward. Passing Kieran, I tossed the swords aside as the eather spilled out from me, flowing over the muddied earth in rippling light—light, and faint, churning shadows. My will merged with the essence of the Primal god as the first row of Royal Guards bore down on us, their swords raised.