Page 112 of Forged in Flame and Shadow

“Do you think he’ll be happy to see us?” I ask wryly.

“Probably not, but if this information is as important as your brother claims it is, Wadestaff will see the advantages of getting it for us.”

I study Leon’s face. I know he’s not happy about us deviating from our original plan, trying to uncover Caledon’s secrets instead of just going straight to Elmere and killing Oclanna. Not to mention the strain of working with the Hand after the years he’s spent hating them. Speaking of which…

“What were you talking to Alastor about at the Crossed Keys?” I ask. “Right before we left?” I’m pretty sure I know the answer, but I want to see how honest he’ll be.

His eyes slide toward me.

“We were talking about his power, discussing when he thinks it’ll be back to full strength.”

“Any particular reason?” I ask knowingly.

“If there’s truth to be had about the death of my parents, it won’t come easily,” Leon says. “The members of the Hand are used to living covertly—they’re the type most resistant to Alastor’s power.”

“Members of the Hand…like my brother,” I say. Leon meets my gaze but doesn’t deny it. This is the uneasy reality we have to accept at the moment—we’re playing by Harman’s rules and keeping a wary eye on him at the same time.

Suddenly, Leon stiffens, and Damia draws up beside us.

“We’re being watched,” she murmurs, and Leon nods.

“Yes, I feel it too,” Leon says.

My heartrate picking up, I glance around us, looking for some kind of movement in the shadows. We are at a crossroads where the alleys of Hallowbane open up into a main street.The windows in the houses around us are mostly dark, and the nearest shop front is boarded up.

“We should get off the crossroads,” Leons says. “We’re too vulnerable he?—”

The clatter of something collapsing in one of the nearby alleys has everyone drawing their swords. I grab my knife from my belt and concentrate on readying my magic, trying to see into the dark.

Something dashes past my vision to my left, and I whip my head around in time to see Esther being pulled off her horse. She cries out but fights back against whatever’s grabbed her, and the rebels rush to help her, blades flashing. Moments later, they drag a body around from behind her horse, and my heart stops for a beat before I realize it’s not Esther.

She follows behind. Her sleeve is ripped open, and blood is dripping from a deep scratch down her forearm, but she looks in far better shape than the creature on the ground.

It takes a beat before I can even identify it as a person. Or rather, what’s left of one. His face is the gray of rotting flesh, his mouth an open, oozing black hole. He’s dead, his torso all but split in two by the rebel’s weapons, but I’m sure he must’ve been dying before today. His hands are contorted into claws, and I notice several fingers are missing, the wounds old and congealed.

“What is that?” Tira gasps.

“The ruined,” Esther says, grabbing her horse’s reins. “We need to go; there’ll be more.”

As if her words have summoned them, a host of heavy, rasping breaths come from the alleyway to my right.

“Back up!” Leon shouts. Stratton and Damia draw their horses tighter around Tira and me as three more gray-skinned beings sprint out of the darkness toward us. Stratton pulls something from his belt—it looks like a glass jar of water—and hurls it at the nearest attacker. It explodes upon impact, searing red burns across his skin. The man stumbles but doesn’t stop moving, unconcerned by the sizzling of his flesh.

Damia grunts behind me, and I look down to see another one of them attacking her horse while more of the “ruined” emerge from the alleys behind us. Damia’s got a blade embedded in the creature’s shoulder, but that doesn’t deter him. He already has several gouges in his face he doesn’t seem to have noticed—one so deep I can see his teeth through it.

I pull my horse around as best I can and bury my knife in the ruined’s neck, pinning him between our two blades so he can’t move.

“Hold tight,” Damia grunts as she puts all her weight into her sword, the blade sinking deeper. The gray-skinned man barely reacts to the fact he’s being slowly decapitated, continuing to try to rip and tear at Damia with his rotting hands. She kicks them back with her foot to avoid the worst of his scratches until his movements start to slow. I look away, feeling dark blood pour over my fingers and wondering how people don’t vomit in the middle of battle. Then his arms finally stop scrabbling, and Damia puts her foot against his chest, shoving against him so our blades slide free and his body hits the ground.

I look up to see one of the rebels lying dead on the ground, his neck at an odd angle, but everyone else seems to be holding their own, and Leon is in his element. His sword spins so fast it’s a blur as he slices through body after body. Then a high-pitched scream pierces straight through my heart. I recognize it instantly.

“Tira!” I shout as I whip my head around to see she’s down off her horse, two ruined dragging her across the ground.

Terror tunnels my vision as my blood boils in my veins. I throw my hands out and shoot a pair of blazing sun beams across the street, burning holes straight through the backs of Tira’s attackers.

They fall instantly, and I sprint toward my friend, grabbing her to me. There’s a scratch across her neck, and her clothes are torn up from being dragged, but she looks otherwise okay. Until her eyes go wide, looking past me.

“What’s happening?” she gasps. I turn to see shadows flooding the crossroads, swallowing up our friends and the creatures, who seem to be multiplying by the minute. I hold Tira tight, conjuring up some more of my sunlight to protect us in the gloom.

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