Page 70 of The Shadowed Oracle
Everything in Ingrid’s body burned, screaming to move, to help, to at the very least see if her friend was slowly materializing. But she didn’t. Her body was almost completely visible now.
“There’s a spirit here! Ealis bless me, we’ve found a Shade.”
“Quit your nonsense.” The second voice still seemed apathetic. Eager to move on. “I don’t see anything.”
“Cap, I wouldn’t lie. The more I look, the clearer it appears to me. It’s… it’s a female.”
Tyla.
She must’ve been badly injured, still unable to move away from the frenzied flowers. Ingrid couldn’t sit idly any longer. She pushed herself upward and walked stealthily toward themale. He was smaller and skinnier than any Viator she’d seen to this point. He was less astute, too—still busy marveling at an unconscious Tyla as her body took form.
She was like an angel, lying there as if she’d drifted off to sleep. Seeing her like that, almost sparkling as the color returned, it triggered some primal protectiveness within Ingrid. Her pace quickened, charging awkwardly. This couldn’t be like her bout with the Ungii. She’d have to follow through. She’d have to drive the blade into flesh.
Her footsteps were nearly mute, the element of surprise on her side, and now all she had to do was?—
But the metallic song of her sword unsheathing alerted the thin soldier. He had just enough time to duck before Ingrid brought the full weight of her blade down on him, badly missing his neck and clanging off his armor.
“You imbecile!” the gruff one said. “This is no Shade!”
The smaller Viator that Ingrid had attacked was still on his back. He’d fallen far enough away from Tyla that Ingrid felt comfortable with her ability to reach her unconscious friend if he went for her, so she held her position, watching him.
“Apologies Cap!” The young soldier got to his feet. “Let me… let me take care of her.”
Ingrid bit back a provocation, wanting to fight, wanting to protect her friend, but not losing awareness enough to think she could take him on alone.
“Stay where you are!” the one called Cap called out. He was grey-haired with leathery skin. Older, but not weaker, standing tall and confident. “She’s mine.”
Ingrid took a few rushed steps backward. She watched as the veteran soldier dismounted his horse gracefully, planting his feet and drawing his weapon in one motion. The gleam in his eyes was alarming, telling tales of many battles much more challenging than the one she’d give him.
He broke into a sprint, the tip of his sword outstretched.
Ingrid retreated to Tyla’s side just as fast, protecting her.
“Cap!” the smaller one called out.
But he was too late.
One of Dean’s throwing knives had struck the seasoned warrior directly between the eyes. He recoiled, almost falling, but kept himself upright and on his feet.
“Cap!? You able, Cap?! Oh Ealis save me… Cap!?”
Within seconds of his final plea, the frightened soldier was seized from behind by a hobbled Raidinn. The size difference between the two of them was surreal. Even with the apparent injury he’d sustained to his leg when avoiding the galloping horse, Raidinn lifted the boy upward like a rag doll with just one arm, and promptly slit his throat with the other.
“One down,” he called out to Dean. “How’s the big bastard?”
They both looked to the Captain. He was still standing despite the six-inch blade jammed into the front of his skull.
“Just about done.”
Raidinn chuckled mercilessly, amused. “Bloody hell. Look at him.”
The Captain no longer wobbled. He’d gone eerily still. His eyes were wide, staring directly ahead of him. It might’ve been fascinating if it wasn’t so grotesque to behold. A male who might’ve lived thousands of years, reduced to this. All because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The strangest of all, Ingrid thought, was that he might still live. If Viator could heal as quickly as Tyla had said, then even a wound like this might be fought through. As long as no other wound was inflicted.
Unwilling to underestimate her foe, Ingrid strode toward the half-dead soldier and reared back her sword. With a clunky stroke, she put him out of his misery. The blade made a cleancut. The weight of the Viator once called Cap made a nauseating plopping noise on the ground.
“Good form,” Dean said casually. “I’d compliment Tyla on her teachings if she wasn’t—how is she, Rai?”
