Page 139 of To Kill a King
The horn bearer’s throat bobbed. “No, Princess. It’s…”
“This fight is not yet lost,” Tsara said. “Not with Zadé Brightleaf on our side.”
Zadé sighed as the weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders like an unwelcome visitor. Cursed royalty. Tsara was as stubborn as Aliya. Maybe that was automatically inherited with the title?
She wouldn’t win this argument, and there were things to be done if she was going to keep Tsara alive. Zadé spurred her pony, lunging for the mages. There had to be a way to stop that thing.
The hoofbeats of Tsara’s stag thudded behind her.
Zadé ground her teeth. Obstinate princesses would be the death of her.
She leaped from her mount and came face-to-face with Vaeri Adnorin, commander of the magic users, and one of Cressida’s best friends. Former best friends. Vaeri bowed. “Princess.” Her eyes widened as she stared at Zadé. “And General!”
Zadé frowned. What had she just said about not being called General anymore? When this was over, she was going to have a stern talk with the lot of them. But that was for later. Tsara’s footsteps sounded behind her as the princess dismounted.
Zadé turned her attention back to the mages. “We need ta finish th’ dragon.”
Vaeri swallowed. “We’re trying, General. The lightning does nothing but irritate it.”
“If we can’t kill th’ monster, can we neutralize it another way?”
Vaeri chewed the inside of her lip. “What about a magical pit trap?”
Zadé nodded. Anything to get the dragon off the field. “Do it. I’ll try t’ lure it back here.” She grabbed Tsara’s stag’s reins and vaulted onto its back.
Vaeri stepped forward. “Wait, General! Send someone else.”
Zadé scanned her decimated ranks. There was no one else. She looked Vaeri in the eyes. “Don’t let me down.”
The woman bobbed once in a shallow bow before turning to her mages, shouting orders.
Zadé kicked the stag and charged toward the shadow dragon.
The dwarves stormed through the deserted streets of Lions Grove as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The human civilians wisely stayed out of sight. Elessan set a rapid pace, lunging from rooftop to rooftop. He pushed himself against a chimney and craned his neck upward.
“Valek.” How was he supposed to get over that?
The palace ramparts were tall. He could scale them, given enough time and the lack of attention by the guards, but he had neither. The officers scurried around the parapets above, like an ant pile someone had trampled.
It looked like he’d need to go back to the ground and wait for the dwarves to break through the gate.
Yes. That would be wisest.
The first wave of the dwarven charge slammed against the palace’s walls below. Arrows peppered them from above as men’s shouts rang out from inside.
Guards appeared on the top of the wall, pointing Dragon Sticks at the dwarves below.
No. He couldn’t allow the men to shoot. While the dwarves had been able to reinforce the armor and shields for the battering ram bearers, there hadn’t been enough time to re-outfit the entire army. They’d be slaughtered.
He needed to take out those Dragon Sticks. Grabbing his bow, he loosed an arrow. The bolt found its mark as his second left his longbow with a twang.
He threw himself prone as one of those silver balls whizzed by overhead.
Valek.
Stretching his neck one way then the other, he popped the tendons. Drawing another arrow—he was almost out—he ducked around the smokestack and fired.
Iron screeched, sending shivers up his spine. A cheer went up from the dwarves. The gate was breached.
