Page 41 of Crown of Iron
My sword suddenly seems useless as the Stigians lift their hands and take aim. I have no clue what their Statera-given gifts are, but I know they don’t lie dormant. Every Stigian warrior is a Khiros. One of them could very well melt the metal in my hand. With no other choice, I release the reins on Greer’s horse and prepare to fight.
A branch snaps, and a crude arrow cuts through the air on a phantom wind. It zips past me, the leafy tail brushing my ear. It punctures the shoulder of one of our retreating soldiers, knocking them from their horse. I stare, stunned into place. The arrow came out of nowhere. No. It was wielded. The plant was controlled. One of the Stigian warriors is a Pianti.
I kick Nortus into motion. The Stigian straight ahead raises their hand calling forth the water from the lake. A tidal wave emerges and crashes upon Nortus and me. I'm thrown from the saddle, gripping my sword as I slam to the ground. Water burns my nostrils and fills my lungs while I struggle to break free from its depths. As the wave recedes, it pulls me back with it, not giving me the chance to breathe. Something tickles the back of my hand, and I fumble to get a grip on it. Through the hazy water I see my hand wrapped around the thin trunk of a sapling.
My head pounds and my muscles quiver as the urge to inhale intensifies. Just as the edges of my vision grow dark, the water rolls away from my face. I gasp for breath as another wave rushes toward me.
Over the rushing water I watch a Lucent soldier lift his palm and shoot icicles from his fingertips. One icy dagger rips through the Aquatera's throat, the bloody point protruding from their neck. The water relaxes back into the lakebed, and the Stigian that was wielding slides from their saddle, dead.
The remaining warrior—the powerful plant wielder—watches as the rest of my army retreats down the lake’s shore. I scramble to my feet, and his gaze falls upon me. With no choice but to face him, I swat Nortus on his hindquarters, urging him to follow the others. Alone with my enemy, I do the only thing I can to ensure my survival. I run for the trees.
A sharp snap of leather and galloping hooves race after me. I zigzag through the maze of bark and stone while the cries of battle and blasts of power echo around me.
My pounding heart merges with my panting breaths to create the most frantic song in my head. Every step I take is to its rapid rhythm, pushing me forward. The rocks and roots along the ground trip me up, and I can't always stay on beat.
A branch swings low, like it’s caught in a gust of wind, and I stumble, taking in a mouthful of leaves and dirt before rolling under a bush. Beneath my palms, the ground shudders as I spit and blink away the debris. The Stigian Pianti moves closer and sweeps his hand through the air. The thorny branches of the bush answer the warrior’s command. They whip my arms and legs, tearing my clothes and leaving trails of blood. Biting my lips to stifle my cries, I hurry to my feet. Fear and the searing lesions on my limbs push me into a sprint.
A snort and fiery breath fans across the back of my neck, matching my quick pace. I glance over my shoulder, meeting the face of the warrior's menacing stallion. I swat him away, and the horse snaps at my arm, clipping my skin.
I'm not going to make it.
I'm not going to make it.
My bloody fingers tighten around the pommel of my sword, and the coppery taste of blood floods my mouth as I lick my lips and take a deep breath. The impulse to unleash on the Stigians grows so strong that my muscles sizzle. My feet lose feeling like I'm floating above the ground. I sprint forward until my body slams into a wall.
A hand slides up my spine and fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of my neck, pressing my face into a leather-covered chest. My nails sink into the giving material, and I inhale pine and cinnamon, the image of Kyron's firmly set lips and haunting irises etched inside my eyelids. A blast of fire heats my back, and the blood-curdling wails of animal and man fill the forest. I focus on the spice and flame:I'm safe, I'm safe.
When hot fingers cradle my cheeks and lift my head, all has fallen silent. Smoke lingers in the air, and the moon beams down on Kyron, alighting the blood splattered across his cheekbones and clumping his hair together. Thick layers of crimson-tinted mud cake one arm of his jacket and a gaping cut just above his eyebrow. We lock eyes and a comfortable humvibrates between us. It's this energy that lured me straight into his arms. His gift.
“What are you doing here?” Kyron asks, his jaw ticking.
I pull away from him, a little unsteady on my feet. My throat feels like it's lined with sand and my voice is gritty as I answer, “I came to warn Greer of the ambush, but it was too late, and I couldn't leave them.”
He shakes his head and blows out a puff of air. If Greer didn't want me here, he most definitely isn't happy to see me. I'm a liability until I've completed my training, and no one wants to be responsible for my mistakes. I get it, but I'm here and there is nothing left for me to do but fight.
He bends to retrieve my forgotten sword from the ground. The entire world seems to go quiet as I watch him lift the weapon my father gave me. He examines the delicate metalwork, his fingers nimbly turning it in a full circle. “Tonight, this sword will take someone's life. Are you ready for that?” he asks, holding my weapon out to me.
The iron burns my palm, still hot from his fire. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
The finality of the answer says it all. My life will never be the same. Whether it be in body or spirit, the hope-driven girl in search of her father will die upon the battlefield before the sun rises. It's a fate I'm willing to accept for my kingdom, for the soldiers fighting, and for the innocent people who can't defend themselves.
“I’ll do whatever I can to help protect our people,” I say.
“Do me one better and don’t die tonight.”
“I’ll try my best.”
He gives me a curt nod. “I suppose that’s all I can ask of anyone fighting this battle.”
We race toward the surge of power and grunts of war, my mind recalling the little training I've received for moments like this. It doesn’t matter how many drills I run or how much instruction I receive: all the critical thinking in the five kingdoms couldn't ready me for this moment. Ulric once said only battle could fully prepare me. I’m about to receive the ultimate lesson.
We step out of the trees and into the meadow. I only have a moment to take in the carnage—bodies ablaze, mangled by wind, contained by plants, gashed open from blades—before I'm consumed by the power. It vibrates around me in euphoric swirls; my blood hums with it and answers its call. Irush into the chaos.
A flash of light sends me stumbling back. I block my eyes with my arm, blinking several times to push past the searing pain in my head. A petite Stigian warrior with two blonde braids on either side of her head comes into view. She slashes her sword with skilled movements and a smirk on her thin lips. I hold her gaze and bring my blade between us.
With sweet laughter, she says, “Oh pretty Cyffred, you would have been better off as my power source. I would have treated you well while I slowly drained you.”
