Page 195 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

Fiends. Fiends standing tall among the legions, each horrific in his own way. Wroth was there, his muzzle split almost to his ears, blade-like protrusions rising from his shoulders and spine. He tore a warg’s throat out, eating it whole.

A fiend with the head of a jackal, a brilliant red eye blazing in the middle of his forehead, his body long and sinuous as he slid among them, numerous hands tearing and gutting.

The last stood upright, painted with red from chin to toes. Bodies hung limply across his broad rack of antlers, and he raised another, goring it in place through the heart on a razor-sharp tine. His long, pointed face opened like a flower, revealing the spines within.

All of them were torn and shredded, flesh hanging loose, mortal wounds on immortal bodies.

But where was Bane?

I slumped against the wall, staring down into the chaos, and finally looked up.

Up, into the reddened sky, where a creature I only half-recognized fought desperately against a huge, dark warg.

Blood rained down in thick spurts. The tattered wings spread wide, blotting out the sight of the setting sun, his skull a crown of horns that grew over his back in wild profusion.

But he fell, an angel of death brought low, the ragged remnants of his wings failing even as Hakkon went for his throat.

I realized I was smiling despite my utter terror for him. He was here.

And as soon as I thought that, my heart swelling, a wave of wargs clawed out of the soil, spilling over him in a relentless stream, ripping into his wings.

No, I shouted silently.No, no!

I needed to go to him. I needed to unlock the door with these useless stumps of agonized meat, to escape and find him…

A dark figure ducked through the wargs, not fighting, but fleeing.

Fleeing for the tower. It was Thorn, hardly recognizable. He was a skeleton of thorns, his head tilted up to the window, seeing me with his eyeless face. He clambered over the wargs, who backed away as they bit and took mouthfuls of thorns into their throats, until he reached the base of the tower and fought towards the door.

I turned away from the window. With Thorn, I could get out.

It took more effort than I expected to simply get across the room without stumbling, panting shallow breaths. Even breathing was painful, hot spikes of pain spearing through me from wrists to chest.

The door was wood, reinforced with iron. I leaned against it with one shoulder, praying it was unlocked and trying to push, but it didn’t budge an inch. A fresh wave of torment sizzled through me, my arms trembling so badly I had to let them drop.

I would kick, then. Thorn would hear me and find a way to unlock it, or break it down.

I rammed my foot into the door, hardly hearing it rattle over the screams and howls outside.

But something knocked in return.

I pressed my forehead to the wood, and another knock came, vibrating through the wood.

Thorn. I exhaled on a sob of relief, kicking again, trying to tell him that I was in here, I was here, come through the door.

Another knock, loud enough to shake the door in its frame.

I backed away as it began to vibrate harder, dust puffing from the wooden slats as Thorn smashed into it from the other side.

All the way to the far wall, bracing myself for the golem to tear through.

But when the boards tore apart, splintering and falling to the floor in pieces, it wasn’t Thorn who entered.

I stood frozen as a snout, hairless and smooth as skin, poked through, drool hanging in strings from the many teeth. Warped, oversized hands tore more boards away, claws ripping deep furrows in the wood.

The warg that pushed through the shattered door was Miro.

His jade eyes were wide and bulging, white pinpricks glowing in the shadows of the tower. His dark hair now spilled in a mane down his back. His body was patchy with fur, skin slick with blood. Deformed, deranged, warped beyond the bounds of the human body… but recognizably him.

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