Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(80)

As if delicately picking apart a spider web, she dissected this link and followed the trail into their heads. Hello, vermin.

She lingered, gathering her strength. With one massive outpouring, she speared, flashing through the weak minds in one stroke. Screams ripped from throats before bodies dropped to the ground in crumpled heaps.

When she opened her eyes, she found Lucius in front of her, his body grimy and sweaty, blood splashed across his rippled arms. A pile of bodies lay around them, blood oozing on the dirt floor, reaching for her knees. To her astonishment, Sterling was behind her, protecting her back, heading off a rush of men.

The Inkna had realized she had the Gift. She had just made herself the number one target.

A moment later Shanti was up on her feet, sword whirling, working through the men trying to get a piece of her. The eyes of fighters in red shirts balked, not expecting a Gifted to also know how to fight.

She almost yelled surprise!

Ten paces to the left an Inkna raised his sword with the intent of putting it in Tobias’ back. Shanti snatched a knife from her belt and threw, sticking him in the neck before the blade swung down. Tobias whirled around, seeing the dead man slide before looking up with wide eyes, but Shanti was already focused on the next.

“Beware the black shirts!” she yelled as loudly as possible between slashes of her swords.

Chapter 42

“They have a Sarsher,” a Black Shirt yelled at Betty. “He is powerful.”

“We have many! Bring him down!” Betty screamed back.

Sanders had never actually seen the man ruffled. He must be nervous.

“He took down a Cospe.” Black Shirt stared at Betty through the haze, his voice wavering, trying to hide fear.

“Then they must have more than one, you idiot! Send out more of our Sarshers. Bring him down! Why do you laugh?!” Betty screamed at Sanders.

“It is not a he, and you are all gonna die.”

Chapter 43

Shanti felt invigorated. Her body thoroughly warmed up, she laid into the enemy, punishing them for taking Sanders and his men. She was covered in blood and working her way toward a large building at the south end of the compound. Leilius had disappeared into the building, closing in on Sanders’ whereabouts. Attackers came at her in a steady stream, those closer to the outcropping of buildings more skilled and experienced than those in the outer parts of the city. They were protecting their leader. Who must be with Sanders.

She longed to meet him.

Sterling was still with her, protecting her as Lucius was doing, probably staying in case more Black Shirts arrived. Just when she was about to head into the building through a large archway, a large throb of stinging power slapped at her shields. Lucius and Sterling sank to their knees, eyes closed up in pain, swords clattering to the ground as their bodies bowed.

A swarm of red assaulted her, swords flicking by her head so fast she could barely get out of the way. The pulsing power pounded at her shields, distracting her, trying to break through.

Through her power-mated connection with Cayan she dumped a fervent plea, needing help. She couldn’t even spare enough attention to look around for his location, such was the press of enemy.

She blocked a strike, kicking out, crunching a knee and slashing at an arm. Another sword barely missed her head. Yet another made a shallow slice down her arm. She whirled, gearing up for a widespread mental assault, lacking the time to search for just the Black Shirts. It would severely reduce her energy level, making her less able to confront whoever had Sanders. But it would save her life.

Power gurgled up and blossomed out, at the edges of her command, ready to lash out.

And then Cayan was there, slashing through a wall of enemy to reach her, a pump of power boosting her, swirling their strength to the brink. His blade spun so fast it was hard to see, his strength and skill easily dominating four to his one. He slashed through a red shirt, then turned, knocking another with an elbow while he sliced through a third’s face. Turning back, he stabbed a man in the eye with a magically appearing dagger before turning to Shanti’s back and taking out someone else.

Together they cleared their attackers in minutes, cleaving and slashing and stabbing through eyes or hearts or guts, all the while feeling the steady pressure of a cluster of minds focused on theirs, beating down, pounding and pulling and pushing, trying to work past their defenses.

In between strikes and slices, swords glinting as they swished by her head or narrowly missing her body, Shanti pinpointed a cluster of twenty or so men, hiding off to their right, focusing all their energy on Shanti’s location. They still did not know about Cayan.

“To the right, Cayan!” Shanti shouted, thrusting her sword through the gut of a red faced man, then stepping back as the body fell to the ground. “Cover me while I ta—“

Pain blossomed in her leg, cutting off her speech and momentarily causing her to stumble. She ducked under her sword as a downward strike threatened to cleave her head in two, metal clashing. Ignoring the throbbing pain from the gash, she forced herself back up, realizing that time was running out. There were too many for just her and Cayan, and no one else could get close without the radiating pain from the cluster of Black Shirts dropping them to their knees.

A thick surge of gooey fear shot through the link from Cayan. He turned to the right, rage now taking over logic. His eyes glowed like a beacon in the failing light. He put his hand on the back of Shanti’s neck, sweeping her mind and power toward him like dust toward a broom. He mentally wrapped around her, cushioning her in a protective embrace, threading into her, sinking deep, becoming one, power swirling in wide, broad bands, billowing out, arching up, and waiting for his command.