Page 183 of The Last One
His words feel like small slaps and busy gnats—annoying and painful and shocking.If it’s the last thing I do for you…If I had the time, I’d throw my hands up at him, and we’d shout at each other, and I’d spin on my heel after declaring my hate for him, and I’d swear that I’d strike him down if he ever looked at me again. Later. Right now, there’s no time.
Yes, the amulet is near, and its tugging is stronger. I need to follow its pull before it wanes again. I back away from Gileon and his guards. The pulsing in my gut quickens the closer I come to the doors. The chill of fresh air as I back all the way to the porch tickles my neck.
Philia, smiling, hurries away from Separi at the bar, excited at the prospect of reuniting with her love. But that look of relief quickly shifts as she pales and stops in her step and looks past me with glazed eyes.
What now?
I spin around.
Jadon has stopped in his tracks, and the three of us stand frozen on the porch of the Broken Hammer.
Ohshit.
56
At least seventy sword-wielding soldiers with hard frowns and clenched fists stand at the ready on the cobblestone street. They’re glowing blue, but there’s something else happening here besides their curious good health. Just like that soldier we passed on the road, the one wearing a dead man’s armor, I can’t hear the thoughts of any of these soldiers or their horses. Just that drone of waves hitting the shore, constant, high and low, hissing and unchanging.
These soldiers’ capes morph from blue to no color at all, blending with shadows and light, there and not there. Their armor isn’t simple copper and chain. No, the metal breastplates are engraved with runes that glow with blue light. These are not the same type of soldiers I fought in Maford or outside Caerno Woods. These are not the same class of soldiers guarding Gileon Wake in the sitting room.
I don’t recognize those blue glowing letters or symbols, but I do recognize the soldiers’ thicker-looking skin, and those weaponized capes, and the magical forces protecting them. These mage-soldiers are meant to stop me.
For good.
Elyn has thought of everything—if anyone can stop me, if anyone could cast a spell on an entire army, it would be her.
With his guards close behind, Gileon swaggers past and saunters down the porch stairs. “I guess my stop here was a waste of time. Obviously, brother, you’ve made your choice. But I can’t let her leave this town. Not if you want to live beyond this season. Not if I want to live long enough to become emperor of Vallendor.”
It feels as though fog is building in the space beneath my ribs, pressing and cold and growing and pushing. The pain that had radiated from my knee has swallowed my toes and now creeps from one shoulder to the other.
Beyond this ring of soldiers stand a dozen or so horses, some with riders, some without. Olivia is seated on a slate-colored horse in the middle. There are bruises around her eyes and nose, and her wrists are tied around the saddle horn with rope. Eyes glazed, she turns her head to scan the crowd and wobbles, barely maintaining her balance.
The twinkle of red and gold gems blink against her torn gray blouse as Gileon deftly parts the soldiers and makes his way to that slate-colored horse. “Like I said…” He grabs the saddle and hoists himself into position behind Olivia, who winces. “I won’t stop either of you from retrieving the amulet. You want it? Come take it, then.” He grabs the reins and spurs his horse as the soldiers from the inn all mount their own horses. Together, the contingent rides west.
“No,” Philia cries out. “We have to follow them!”
We do, but first, I must remove the two-legged obstacles blocking us.
“Can those things be killed?” Philia whispers.
“If they bleed, they die,” Jadon whispers back.
“Unless you’re lying about that, too?” I snark.
“Kai,” Jadon says. “I promise—”
I’ve stopped listening to him—I’ll use his brawn now and deal with his betrayal later. I lock eyes on the largest warrior in the battalion before us.
The only skin that isn’t protected by armor on this man resembles the pebbly scales of lizards. Even his eyes look as though they’re protected beneath resin. Underneath all the magic and fortification, the space around his heart glows the bluest, throbbing hard and quick.
Yes, he can be killed.
Jadon clenches Chaos, but I don’t wait for him to swing. I sweep both of my hands across the air, using wind to knock the first row of soldiers, including the big soldier, onto their asses. My vicious gale sparkles with red and gold dust. It’s beautiful and incredibly effective, but using my power has made that troubling, traveling pain carve a line from my shoulders down my arms to my hands. Every place on my body that pain has passed—from my knees to my toes and across my shoulders—is now numb.
Wind and fire will have to be my last resort.
Before the soldiers can clamber back onto their feet, I storm down the porch steps, and in a single bound, I stand over that giant soldier. I grab the blade of his broadsword and easily yank the weapon out of his hands. “You may be magic,” I tell him, “but you still need to know how to fight.” Then I drive his sword into the only available, unprotected space: the pebbly-skinned space between his eyebrows.
The second wave of soldiers crashes over their fallen comrades, their swords, pikes, and maces thrusting and swinging.
