Master of Iron (Bladesmith #2)(101)

Another hour passes, and the signal comes again. Another scout, this time a lean man.

When he finds the body of his fallen comrade, he bends down to examine her.

Marossa finishes him just like she did with the first.

A third scout arrives and meets the same fate.

Only then do we hear the marching of hundreds of feet, which can’t be masked no matter how quiet they try to be. The ground trembles ever so slightly. I can only feel it because I’m kneeling so low to the forest floor.

Unlike Ravis, Kymora marches at the head of her army. She’s in full armor, riding atop a horse, while most of her men walk behind. They march in perfect formation, taking up just the width of the road. She’s clearly taken the time to train them a bit better.

At some unseen command, the entire party halts.

There’s no possible way Kymora sees us (we’ve hidden the bodies of the scouts), yet some instinct has her surveying the greenery around her.

“Here we are,” Kymora says. She doesn’t speak louder than a conversational tone. “You wanted me walking into your city blindly. I am ready for you to spring your ambush now.”

Petrik swallows from right next to me. For all his reading and planning, his mother is simply better. We can’t really prepare ourselves to match against her skills and experience.

Not a soul moves in response to the warlord’s words.

How are we about to spring a trap when Kymora tells us to?

Kymora crosses her arms above her horse. “I’m waiting.”

Still, no one can find their wits.

The warlord sighs. “It’s too quiet. The wildlife has disappeared, and you missed a streak of blood on that fern. Really, it’s sad how you all think you can play at being warriors.”

Still nobody moves from their hiding places.

“Was this my son’s idea? I expected better. Surely you’re—”

Marossa lets an arrow fly. The distance is ambitious, even for a skilled archer like herself. Nevertheless, her aim is true. The arrow sails right for Kymora’s face.

In a motion I can hardly register, Kymora swings her sword, the arrow bouncing off the steel harmlessly.

Her eyes land on Marossa in her tree.

“Princess,” Kymora greets.

Wrong, wrong. This is all wrong.

I look to Petrik with a desperate What do we do now? gesture.

We were supposed to wait for Kymora to cross an invisible line, then spring up to fight. But she’s farther away than agreed upon, and she’s singled out Marossa.

Kymora smiles. “My men know better than to show their hand.” She says to someone over her shoulder, “Cut down that tree.”

Men with axes spring forward. We’re out of time to think. Marossa lets loose another arrow, fells one man, but others spring forward with shields to cover their fellow men while they chop.

I nudge Petrik.

With a loud exhale, he stands. The rest of us follow suit. There are about two hundred of us in total, including the mercenary company. With weapons drawn, we face Kymora and her men at the road.

“There you are,” Kymora says. “I could hear the fearful heartbeats.” And then she adds, still conversationally, “Loose, please.”

Loose? Did she mean lose? Was she asking us to surrender?

But then a volley of arrows come at us from the sides, thundering down like a hailstorm.

It is my armor that saves us. The arrows glance off harmlessly, the magic protecting every soul in our company. Little plinks like thick raindrops staccato through the space.

“Ah, Ziva. You’ve been busy,” Kymora says. Then, “Another volley.”

There’s no capable commander among our numbers. No one to take charge. Petrik was supposed to give the order to attack once Kymora and her soldiers were in place, but that never happened. Petrik eyes his mother, his knees suddenly locking in place, forgetting himself.

I can’t even blame him; their relationship is the most complicated one I know of.

I stare down the woman who murdered my parents. Who tried to kill my sister. The woman intent on capturing me and destroying everything.

Someone needs to step up.

Feeling like an idiot all the while, I shout, “Advance!”

And I start running.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


The ferns whip against my legs. Brambles catch on my ankles, but they’re ripped free by the force of my sprint. Impossibly, I hear more feet around me—the mercenaries, my friends, Skiro’s and Marossa’s soldiers—joining me.

Kymora scoffs. I can’t hear the sound, but I see the way her head moves. “Go meet them,” she says.

Her soldiers engulf her, racing to engage us.

I thought the fight in Skiro’s Capital was utter chaos.

But it is nothing compared to the bedlam of fighting face-to-face on even ground. The clash as bodies strike against bodies. Shields and steel screaming. Grunts and cries piercing the air. My surroundings completely overwhelmed by red. First by the tunics of Kymora’s soldiers. And then, of course, the blood.

My shield catches the man running straight at me. All the air leaves his body as he flies backward. I bring my hammer down, see his eyes widen just before Agony makes contact with his brow. I taste bile in my throat as I run for the next falcon-decorated soldier.

Out of the corner of my eye, men go flying as a magicked greatsword sends them pelting backward.