The Orphan Queen (The Orphan Queen #1)(58)

I swung my sword down on the nearest glowman. He blocked my sword stroke with his staff, and fire raced up my arm and shoulder from the impact.

With a grunt, I staggered back and into another glowman. He kicked me back toward the first. I adjusted my grip at the last moment, ducked, and sliced a wide arc with my sword. Blood sprayed from the glowman’s stomach, but I didn’t have the luxury of watching him flail. I turned and attacked the second one, but he lifted his forearm, wrapped in chains, and steel struck steel with a spray of sparks.

I stabbed with my dagger, hitting the large artery in his thigh with a long, clean cut. Blood poured out of him in wraith-stinking torrents.

Smoke choked the air. I coughed into my sleeve and turned for my next opponent, a third glowman. Then a fourth and a fifth and a sixth. The fight became automatic—cut and block and duck and slice and do not die—and the glowmen kept coming, wearing horrifying faces that reminded me of hounds and birds of prey.

My right arm burned as I raised my sword again and again. Cacophony filled my head, all clank of steel, rush of fire, screams of horses, shouts of men, and the click-clack of the scorpion. I saw it only between glowmen trying to behead me. The wraith beast was black and glossy, its carapace barely scratched in spite of the guards throwing themselves at it.

Glowmen littered the ground around me. I used a dead one as a stool so I could slice open the inner-thigh artery of another, who’d been fighting Josh or Jack or whatever that guard’s name was. The man gave a curt nod before turning to his next opponent.

The scorpion’s tail slammed into the ground as people hurried out of its way. Men stood on top of the wagons, brandishing torches to keep the beast away from the merchants and merchandise, but a giant glowman with a sparking metal rod jabbed at the scorpion, keeping it from retreating.

I pushed toward it, elbowing my way through guards and glowmen, using my blades where necessary. Blood and sweat coated my hands, drying into a dull armor under the heat. Someone had thrown a torch at the scorpion, but overshot. Now flames licked the edge of the forest, working into a full blaze. The scorpion screeched, shying away from both fires. Its stinger struck the ground, remnants of its binding chain flailing along with it.

People screamed as the chain hit the edge of a wagon roof. Wood splintered and the wagon tipped, but men raced to right it.

I forced past a clutch of guards taking out a glowman with rough skin that looked more like alligator hide.

“Will!” Black Knife appeared beside me, both of us just out of reach of the wraith scorpion. “You’re hurt?”

I shook my head. “Not my blood.”

“Thank saints.” He bumped my arm with his and jerked his chin toward the wraith beast. “Remember the giant cat?”

“With horror.” But I knew what he was going to suggest. “This one has no neck.”

“Not long ago you claimed you knew which end of your sword to stick where.”

Ugh. Using my own words against me wasn’t fair. “Taking me out to robberies, bar fights, and wraith houses isn’t enough for you anymore? I thought we were happy.”

“Only the best for you, my lady.” He tugged my arm. “Let’s go.”

We split up. I headed for the scorpion’s back end, looking for a way to climb onto the dancing beast. There were men all around, hacking at its legs and underside, but the stinger came down again and again, the chain striking men aside.

I sheathed my weapons and waited as close as I dared. When the stinger hit the ground, I darted in and grabbed the chain with both hands.

The tail whipped up, nearly catapulting me into the forest, but I clung to the chain so hard my knuckles ached. I screamed as I whirled over the tail, swinging within a gasp of the stinger. All my breath whooshed out of me when I dropped onto the scorpion’s back.

I groaned and forced myself to sit up. The scorpion probably wouldn’t sting itself—if it even knew I was up here—but its exoskeleton was slick and difficult to grip. I braced myself with one boot tread against the shell, getting my bearings. The glowman at the scorpion’s rear prodded it toward the wagons again, but the torches made it duck backward—not too close to the fire growing in the forest. The scorpion struck with its tail, driving back the guardsmen.

I couldn’t see Black Knife in all the chaos, but he was somewhere in front, trying to get beneath the wraith beast to spear it. But the scorpion was too big—much bigger than the cat—and it had enormous pincers just waiting to snap that reckless vigilante in half.

There was no other way.

I stood, clutching the upright tail for balance, and stretched my hand to touch the chain. “Wake up. Be heavy.”

The tail went crashing down and I scrambled out of its way, farther up the body of the beast. When I reached the chain wrapped between its head and abdomen sections, I said, “Wake up. Squeeze.”

Dizziness spun through me, and I slipped as the beast shuddered against the living chains. Pincers snapped out at nothing, and its legs scrambled across the blood-slicked ground. Men screamed and backed out of the scorpion’s way as it began turning in a circle.

Fire in the trees roared, stirring the beast into a frenzy. It banged against wagons and trees, shrieking, and I kept myself low and steady on its head. Where was Black Knife?

There. He’d either killed or disabled the giant glowman with the prod and seized it for himself. “Will!”