Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Sauven sat in his chair, impassive, looking slightly bored. How was he bored? Was he so out of it, he didn’t realize what was happening? Did he not understand that his nephew had come back from the dead?
The Defender Knights spread out across the top two platforms, moving with military precision into a perfect line. A knight with a golden pauldron on his shoulder made a chopping motion with his hand. The Defenders pulled their bows off their backs, nocked arrows, and fired as one. The arrows pierced the golden wall and bit into the nearest dursan, turning it into a hedgehog.
In the courtyard, Everard was cutting and slicing, the Fatefire shooting from him in every direction, impossibly fast. He cleaved one dursan in half. A second leaped at him from the side. Everard threw himself to the left. The dursan chased him, trying to pin him down. Everard stabbed his sword into the giant beast’s paw, impaling it. The Fatefire-coated blade cut through flesh like it was warm butter. The creature screamed, and three Everard knights skewered it with spears, taking it to the ground.
Don’t die, Ramond. Please, please, don’t die.
People poured from the lower platforms, some running up, others charging down into the fight. I caught a glimpse of Solentine, his face lit up by joy, as he dove into the slaughter next to an older man who had to be his father.
A body flew out of the melee, one of the Conquerors, mangled and torn like a stuffed toy caught by the blades of a lawn mower. He skidded across the stones and lay still, a ruin of flesh and metal. The Rageglow shimmering over his body died.
A big pale dursan roared, its mouth bloody. Lady Bors lunged into the opening, swinging her crimson-coated sword. Bors dropped to one knee. She stepped on his back and leaped. Her blade caught the dursan just behind the neck, and she slid down, carving a path through its flesh.
To the left, a dursan bit a woman in half. She screamed as it flung the top half of her aside. Blood wet the stone. The dursans snarled, clawed, and roared, their tails lashing. The humans charged them and died.
It was hell. A violent terrible hell of magic, blood, and beasts, and Silveren was still above it all, hanging in the air and watching it.
A voice rose from the castle, a beautiful voice that floated in the air, fueled by magic. On the top of the stairs, Sauven had risen from his chair. He was a horrible human, paranoid, vicious, petty, but he sang like an angel.
The magic of his voice rolled through the battlefield and splashed against me. I felt stronger, faster, steadier somehow. The fear was still there but it didn’t seem important. I wasn’t alone. I belonged with the others. I was a part of an unstoppable whole, valiant and powerful, and we would win this fight. The victory was ours. We just had to reach out and take it.
My mind cleared. I saw Everard rampage across the battlefield, I saw Bors, and Solentine. Where was the Sun Margrave?
I scanned the courtyard, desperately trying to find him. Not in the middle of the melee, not by the galleries, where the hell . . . There! A short figure in Redeemer colors shielding the Sun Margrave in black as they ran along the wall toward the gates. They had no choice. The only safe place was by Arvel, and there was no way they could make it there with the battle raging. But going to the King’s Way wasn’t better. It was deserted, and Silveren was still hanging in the sky on his giant beast. Once they made it out of the gates, they would be out in the open, between the walls bordering the street. He would see them.
There was only one break in those walls before the bottom of the hill—the arched entrance to the bridge that connected our tower to the main hill. They had to be going for this bridge. I had to hide them in the tower. It was their only hope.
“We have to hide the Sun Margrave.” My voice came out clipped. “Get the door!”
The Magnars turned and dashed down the stairs. I followed, skipping over two steps at a time.
The stone stairs flew by. I reached the bottom. Lute unbarred the gate, and the three of us burst onto the bridge.
The air stank of charred flesh. Out of sight behind the wall, one of the dursans roared again and I almost clamped my hands over my ears. Sauven sang louder, the magic of the Savarics’ battle hymn holding back the terror.
I ran forward. The arch that led through was ahead of me and still empty.
Come on, come on . . .
Two figures appeared in the opening. Matheo, pulling the Sun Margrave by the arm. Blood wet the margrave’s face. He stumbled.