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And again.

This time higher and higher. Smashing ribs. Breaking his sternum.

And then a final crunch at his nose.

I’m screaming. I’m growling. I’m something completely unrecognizable to myself. But reason fled long ago.

“Ziva,” the voice calls again. Arms come around me, hauling me up to my feet. I don’t attack on instinct, because I recognize that voice.

“Kellyn?” I try to remember there is more in the world than just me and the dead brute. There’s an entire battle. More foes to fell. More blood to spill.

My breathing is coming fast, the starting of a potential panic attack, but I don’t have time for that now.

My body doesn’t care.

The feeling of impending doom settles deep in my head, reclines lazily, like it has all the time in the world. I grip Kellyn tightly, my hands slicking against the blood on his armor.

He holds me to him with his left arm, and I try to slow my breathing. Meanwhile, I think he must be holding Lady Killer in his right hand,one handed, and he begins defending me while I disappear into hysterics.

Sacred Sisters, now isreallynot the time.

I try to focus on the smell of Kellyn, but it’s mixed in with blood and dirt and other foul things. He spins me this way and that with his one arm, trying to keep me safe while he battles foes I cannot see. My head is still pressed between his neck and shoulder. I’m quivering. I’m falling. I surely must be dying. How can this be anything else?

And then all at once, I can breathe again. My hand clenches around my hammer, feeling the weight of it. The texture of the handle. The comforting sturdiness of it. I spin out of Kellyn’s arm and help him fight off the man trying to take advantage of his distraction.

Kellyn’s blade slices into his neck, stopping against the bone, taking the head halfway off.

I scramble to find my fallen shield hammer.

“I thought he had you,” Kellyn says in a panicked voice.

“Me too.”

“Next time, go for the crotch sooner and save me the near-death experience, please.”

I think my hammer flew this way. I stumble around fallen bodies, duck away from fighters. Kellyn is right at my back.

“I’ll do my best,” I say.Come on. Where are you?

It’s pandemonium all around us. I can’t tell if we’re winning or losing. Fighters have extended beyond the length of the road. Marossa and her archers pick off the lone enemies, but they can’t risk hitting their own men in the thick of it.

I finally catch sight of my hammer.

But there’s a boot right next to it. I look up, prepared to take on the enemy with Kellyn.

And then I see that it’s Kymora.

Only, it’s notjustKymora. There in a row, in a neat line, arefiveKymoras. They wear identical tunics, hair pulled up into a neat bun, buckled boots with the same amount of shine. Beside the last one is a girl I recognized instantly.

The cotton spinner, Elany, looking pleased at all the carnage around her.

What has she done?

The Kymora in the middle bends over, retrieves my hammer, holds it delicately in her left hand. “The first of many such weapons I plan to hold,” she says.

She cocks her head to the side, waiting to see what I will do.

Kymora has Echo.