Page 100 of Rise of the Phoenix King (Crown and Crest 4)

One of the monsters has grabbed the Woodmore from behind and ripped him from his horse.

“Bartholomew!” I yell, turning my horse back at a gallop.

Pranmore’s magic surges again, but they’ve overwhelmed him, and he can’t hold it.

I leap from my horse, cutting through the dead soldiers and hurling their dry carcasses aside as I try to unbury the elf.

Finally, I find Pranmore’s arm. I yank him up, pulling him away so he can catch his breath. The canvas of his armor is ripped at his shoulders and stomach, and he’s bleeding from several wounds.

“I can’t…” he says, trying but failing to raise his wards again. “I just need…”

The restless dead press in, surrounding us as they brandish rusted swords and spears. Their eyes are empty shadows, unseeing. They reek of death and dirt.

Bartholomew and I fight, but there are too many.

Suddenly, a skeleton flies away from the back of the horde, almost as if it were picked up and tossed away. Another follows it, and then another. Eventually, a small warrior bursts into view, riding an armored leopard.

“Maisel!” I yell, fighting the soldiers back.

“Were you going to take on the whole horde yourself?” she demands. “I knew you were stupid, but I didn’t know you had a death wish.”

More of the leopard-riding gnomes join her, swarming the skeletons. There must be hundreds of them—where did they all come from? They must have invited comrades from all across Doria. How many gnome settlements are there?

“Get to the gates!” Maisel yells, almost gleefully. “We’ll hold them off!”

“It’s Henrik,” A guard yells from atop the wall when Pranmore, Bartholomew, and I reach it. “Let him in!”

We wait, listening impatiently as the heavy beams are removed and the locks are opened. The guards open the gates just enough to let us slip inside. They close them with a thud, replacing the beams and setting the massive locks once again.

“What about the gnomes?” Bartholomew asks.

“They can take care of themselves,” I assure him.

“Your Grace!” A captain runs up to me. “Necromancers are attacking the city, and I’ve heard rumors war golems have been set loose inside the castle.”

“It’s as you feared, Henrik,” Pranmore says heavily.

“Camellia is here.”

“What are we going to do?” Bartholomew asks.

I stride forward, into the madness. “We’re going to find her.”

Bartholomew and Pranmore follow. A haze of smoke permeates the air like a thick fog, and fires glow to the west. Guards line the streets, blocking the eastern entrances, where it appears they’re evacuating those running from the fires and fighting.

“Can you defeat the princess in your current state?” I ask Pranmore.

His stride falters, but he nods. “I’m fine now.”

“You’re certain?”

“I will not fail.”

Having no choice but to believe him, we continue through the city. The fighting intensifies near the castle, and we find a swarm of necromancers and royal soldiers outside the inner gatehouse. We push through the insanity to reach the portcullis.

“Let us through!” I holler to the guards on the other side.

The gatekeeper stammers, “But, Your Grace—”

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