Page 42 of Ties of Death

Three down, fifteen to go.

We spill into a larger hall at the same time that a group of nine Elyri turn the corner at the far end. The monks let loose a volley of darts; most find their marks, and four Elyri drop; a few trip over their comrades before recovering. A few darts miss, clattering uselessly to the floor.

The monks who have shot their two rounds slide to the side and slip back past me and Daenn even as the rest of the monks shoot again, felling two more men.

Nine down—and we are out of darts. The rest of the monks hurry out of the way as the still-standing mercenaries close the gap.

I reach for my magic, and Daenn moves—graceful, deadly, sword rising and coming in for a swing at the first unfortunate Elyri.

Ten.

I concentrate on the Elyri farthest from Daenn—he’s already closing in on a second man, no point wasting my magic there—and funnel my magic to cocoon around him. He staggers drunkenly, and I feed a little more at him.

He drops.

Daenn pulls his sword from the last man’s chest a second later.

Twelve.

Six left.

Yiorgos collects one of the fallen Elyri’s swords and starts on ahead of us. The other monks collect the miss-shot darts. Storm rustles irritably. He wants to fight, I can tell, but the quarters are tight as it is, even without a gryphon thrashing around. I’m not sure if he’ll heed Daenn’s command to stay out of it forever, though. He’s a predator, and he’s fiercely loyal. I can imagine he’s even less pleased to watch Daenn fight than I am at the moment.

We make it through another narrow hallway, where Yiorgos leads us around the corner, right into an antechamber—full of Elyri warriors.

Far more than six. I freeze. My stomach wrings as my gaze skips over them, trying to count, but there are too many.

I guess their reinforcements arrived sometime in the last few days. We should have had Yiorgos scan with his magic again—that was a foolish oversight.

And even worse, there’s a giant hulking monster lurking near the treasury door.

It gleams in the dim lighting, with a hard carapace and a curved horn that rises well above the men around it—and two smaller horns framing it. I can see a glimpse of its mandibles through the crowd, and they look large enough to cut a man in half.

It’s a beetle. A monstrously huge beetle.

Ireallyhate this jungle.

Daenn doesn’t hesitate like I do. He tears into them, a roar ripping from him. He spins and stabs and whirls with the ferocity of a crazed gryphon.

The sight fills me with even more terror—he’s tapped into some hidden well of adrenaline, but how long will it last him?

“Storm—” I say, eyes pinned on Daenn, but the gryphon is already moving. He shrieks, and the sound is ear-shattering in such a small enclosed space. The first man who has the misfortune of being in his path screams—but not for long. The gryphon plows through the crowd, aiming for that beetle monster like it personally insulted him.

I pull magic and throw it toward an Elyri who’s slipped past Daenn and Storm. It hits him as he’s swinging at Yiorgos, and he slumps. Yiorgos shoots me a grateful look, but I’m already searching for my next target: I find it in a man sneaking into Daenn’s blind spot.

We push farther into the room as we fight, slowly carving a path through our enemies to the great door centered on the far wall. It’s inscribed with dozens of runes, some of which glow dully.

The rest of the monks have found melee weapons, but they fight poorly with them. I focus my efforts on their attackers, putting as many to sleep as I can before they can hurt themonks. With each man I drop, fatigue digs its claws deeper into me. I’ve never used this much magic in one go. But I grit my teeth and press on, scraping out more magic, because I can’t stop, not when Daenn is still fighting. I can’t leave him to fight alone.

We reach the door, and I station myself in front, with Yiorgos and the other monks at my back. I can barely hear their murmuring to open the magical locks. Daenn fights a few feet in front of me, with Storm skirting the beetle and making short lunges at it. It’s fast, but it can’t turn quite as quickly as Storm, and the gryphon is using that to his full advantage.

“We’re through!” Yiorgos cries behind me. A gust hits my neck, and the scraping groan of stone on stone joins the sound of fighting as the door swings open. The monks halt it before it can swing all the way.

“Emana!” Yiorgos grabs at my arm to pull me into the room—but I jerk away.

I’m not going without Daenn.

But his unnatural awareness of his surroundings is as effective as ever. He’s already turning on the spot as his latest opponent falls—he sweeps out an arm and catches me as he runs past, tucking me against his chest and darting through the door. Storm is on our heels, snapping one more attack at the beetle’s legs before skidding through the doorway.

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