Page 48 of Quarter Labyrinth

His groan of pain melted into a sultry laugh. “The two Seaweeds got in, did they? Good. Now I can kill you without any guards stopping me.”

Bjorn removed my blade from his thigh as if it were nothing and let it clatter to the ground.

“These two Seaweeds are pretty good at staying alive,” I said back.

I spun the axe in my hands, its heavy blade whistling toward Bjorn’s side. He twisted, narrowly dodging, and countered with a swift jab aimed at my ribs. I parried with the haft, bracing myself with my back foot, then stepped in close. His weapon was too large for finesse and devastating in its weight. It made him slow, and that would be his death.

“Leave. There’s ten of us. You can’t hope to—”

A piercing scream cleaved the air. One of the three, Charlotte, lay with a blade in her stomach. Blood seeped from the wound.

Her two closest friends knelt at her side, half tending to her and half cowering from whoever had thrown the blade.

One of them, Barrett, reached into his pocket. With a single flick, he tossed a stone into the sky.

The pale, white stone looked like a small moon. His sign of surrender.

By the time the stone clattered to the ground, Barrett had disappeared in a mist. He was gone, just like that, taken outside the labyrinth where he’d be safe.

“Aiden, don’t—” Charlotte muttered.

“I won’t leave you,” Aiden said. But his fingers curled around a white stone at his side.

Bjorn grinned, pulling my focus back to him. “There’s nine of you,” he corrected. “And fading fast.”

He braced his weight on his good leg, and slashed in a low arch with his sword.

I leapt over it, while Clark had the brains to drive his sword into the ground, stopping Bjorn’s mid-motion.

I slammed my axe down, ripping the sword from Bjorn’s hand. But Bjorn had let go, and instead reached for the long-tipped blade at his waist, his eye glued to Clark.

Everything in me turned to white-hot anger. Forget mercy. Forget preserving his life. If Bjorn lived, Clark and I would never be safe. A growl escaped my throat. “Don’t touch him.” I threwmyself at Bjorn, barreling into his wide frame to knock us both to the ground. His head slammed against rocks.

His strong arms latched around my body. He stared up at me, a bit dazed, blood dripping from his mouth.

“I’ll settle for killing you then.”

I felt a tear along my side. Pain roared from the spot.

The bastard cut me.

Bjorn’s slice stopped as Clark’s sword came against his neck. The victory in his eyes faded.

His arm fell limp.

Bjorn was dead.

I stood, wincing from the searing throb in my side, and took stock of the other two. Gunnar had joined the fight at last, and him and Harald made quick work of their opponent. Ivar struggled against his.

More than struggled. He was losing.

“We need to help—”

I was too late. I closed my eyes as Ivar fell.

His attacker turned to us with a victorious glint in his beady eyes, just for them to fall to Bjorn. His smile wilted. Then his gaze shifted to Harald and Gunnar who killed his other friend, and his skin blanched.

He tripped over Ivar’s body as he retreated, before scampering away.

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