Page 136 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

She didn’t so much as glance at him. “Cinisja. The Prince sent me here.”

The first soldiers rushed forward in a blur of movement. Madan’s Caersan eyes tracked them with ease, but Cinisja’s widened with shock. She took a blow to the side as she side-stepped and brought her elbow down to the back of the soldier’s head. The vampire stumbled, caught by surprise at her incredible strength, and she buried her blade into his back.

Madan dropped low as the soldier nearest swung, avoiding the blade by a hair's breadth, and kicked the Caersan’s legs out from under him. The vampire sprawled. Madan kicked again, then brought the sword down into the man’s neck.

A sharp, hot pain whisked across his face as the tip of another soldier’s blade ran from hairline to jaw, narrowly missing his eye. Any closer and no amount of vampire healing would’ve saved his sight on that side. As though he needed any more weaknesses. The same soldier shifted his weight and lunged, stretching the sword out toward Madan’s gut. He jumped back with a hiss before smacking the blade away with his own and mimicking the move so fast, the soldier wasn’t so lucky.

“Brutis!” He leapt over the dying vampire and cut his way through two more soldiers before again sprinting toward the back of the manor. A burst of light signaled Brutis’s first use of fire since the start of the fight. “What happened?”

The dragon shoved images into Madan’s mind. A soldier had dug a spear beneath Brutis’s scales from behind, piercing him in the flank. Another had thrown a chain around his neck and hauled his head to the ground where others could hack away at his face.

Then Lhuka had arrived with Jakhov. The former relieved two such soldiers of their heads while the latter freed Brutis from the chain.

“Stay with me,” Lhuka had said in the dhemon language, pulling a dagger from the dragon’s soft nostril flesh. The tattoos across his nose glinted with blood from the kills he’d made on his way to the manor. “We’ll get out of here.”

Madan rounded the corner of the manor and hurdled a low stone wall into the gardens where they stood at the far end. Trees and bushes lit the space, alight with dragonfire that ate its way closer and closer to the manor’s outer walls. Jakhov moved with more speed than the other dhemons, compensating for his smaller size. He tore through the soldiers like they were nothing more than practice dummies.

He slowed long enough to take down another soldier and prevent a second from getting to Lhuka as he sprinted to the manor. “Get ready.”

Brutis rumbled as he snapped his jaws shut around two soldiers. “Your plan is wretched.”

They’d argued again and again about bringing more dragons to the Caldwell Estate. Brutis had wanted them all to join the fray. Madan kept them monitoring the perimeter. Such a fight on the grounds would likely draw the attention of other dhemons—Ehrun’s dhemons. They’d use their distracted state to go after the clutch or even attack right there at the estate. By keeping the other dragons away, they’d continue preventing Ehrun from getting any more for his cavalry and hold the line they needed to escape.

“You can thank me later.” Finally beside his dragon, Madan yanked the spear from Brutis’s flank, then rushed to his wings where he pulled bolts free. “Now get them out of here.”

Lhuka reappeared, carrying Margot like a child in his arms as the flames leapt to the wood panels around the manor’s windows. The ancient vampire had her arms wrapped around his neck, a mixture of annoyance and admiration on her face. She’d liked Lhuka from their first introduction, more so than any of the other dhemons.

Upon their approach, Brutis bent low, allowing Lhuka to slide Margot onto his back before mounting behind her. The dhemon hadn’t brought his own bondheart, and Madan’s grandmother only agreed to ride Brutis. Once in position, the massive beast stood, swept his tail to knock a handful of soldiers to the ground, and then—more gently than Madan had ever seen him—took flight.

Within a few heartbeats, they disappeared over the treeline in the direction of the eastern mountains. Madan watched them go for as far as he could see, then refocused on the fray before him. Jakhov cursed him over his shoulder, holding off the soldiers vying for his death.

It wasn’t long after Margot’s departure on Brutis that every soldier at the Caldwell Estate had fallen, and the flames left by the dragon licked their way into the manor. Crimson uniforms littered the grounds, spotted here and there by a dhemon who’d succumbed to their injuries. But there was only one for whom Madan searched.

He picked his way back in the direction he’d come. His heart clenched at the sight of every dhemon sprawled in the grass, blood soaking into the soil. Heat grew at his back at the same pace that ice leaked into his gut—faster and faster as the seconds ticked by. He’d left Whelan alone. How could he have left him alone? Brutis would’ve been fine. Lhuka and Jakhov would’ve been fine. They hadn’t needed him to get Margot out.

Whelan needed him. And he’d left him.

It wasn’t the first time Madan had felt such shame and guilt. It wasn’t the first time he’d been separated from his partner, whether on purpose or due to their enemies. But this was the first time they’d faced off against so many well-trained soldiers. He’d never seen so many fallen dhemons, some of whom he knew to be more than capable of holding their own against vampires.

“Whelan!” He called, shocking himself with how calm he sounded. The last thing he needed was to worry anyone else that Whelan had been injured…or worse.

Gods, he couldn’t even think of it.

“I’m here,” Whelan called back, his voice quiet.

Madan almost vomited at the weakness in his words. He followed the response, knees buckling at the sight of him lying on his back in the grass, fist pressed against a wound to his gut. Madan’s body shook, that icy cold seeping into his blood as he croaked, “How deep is it?”

The dhemon grimaced. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m so sorry,” Madan said, pressing his lips to Whelan’s forehead. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

Whelan shook his head. “I’ve been worse off, I promise.”

“We can’t stay here.” Madan looked up and around them. “Rusans will be here at dawn, and they’ll sound the alarm. We’ll be killed.”

Before he could say anything else, Whelan pushed to a seated position with a groan. His fist pressed harder as though holding in his innards. “I already called to Oria. Get everyone else out.”

Madan swallowed hard. Oria was likely beside herself with worry after being strictly forbidden from joining the fray. As the one with the highest level of anxiety, Oria didn’t often approve of such risky plans but understood the need for her strength elsewhere.

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