Page 125 of Blood Fist

His fellow omega nodded. “Any ideas?”

Watching them load up another boulder sent a pang of anxiety through Ridan. He couldn’t let them loose another one. Even if they could get through the soldiers and the magician, he had no idea how he would destroy the thing.

The soldiers loaded up another boulder, ropescreaking ominously as they stretched under the weight of the missile. Ridan’s eyes widened.

“The ropes!” he shouted, not waiting for Corric to acknowledge him. Heels to Peppercorn’s sides he forced her forward. It was testament to her trust in Ridan that she lunged forward despite her obvious fear. Her quick strides ate up the ground, and before the soldiers could call a warning, Ridan was among them.

His sword sang, slicing through a soldier’s neck and then another’s shoulder before anyone knew he was there. Ridan was hardly aware of what he was doing—only focused on the goal. On getting to that machine and stopping it before it could hurt another one of his people.

Three soldiers rushed him. Peppercorn sprang up onto her back legs, rearing straight up to give Ridan the room to bring his sword around. It was messy, and his mother would have surely chastised him for such inelegance, but he felt meat and bone give way under the edge of his blade.

Blood and gore painted his arm, but he was still too far from his goal. The machine was ready to throw another boulder, and Ridan was too far to stop it. Screaming, he clamped his legs to Peppercorn’s sides and held fast as she jumped forward, bowling through the soldiers surrounding her. He would have to rush it. Run straight at the machine and hope speed?—

Ridan was knocked back, pain screaming through his arm as he flipped backward from Peppercorn. His stomach lurched and his vision spun, body weightless. Until he wasn’t. He hit the ground so hard he rolled. Spots danced in his vision, consciousness fading as his vision tunneled.

His heart hammered into his sore chest. Theground shook under him as he dug his fingers into the dirt, trying to regain his senses.

Through his spinning vision, he saw the machine recoil and the boulder fly. Ridan tried to push himself up, only to fall back to the ground when his left arm gave out.

Fletching of an arrow embedded in his arm tickled his cheeks. He’d never been shot with an arrow before. Getting his knees up under himself, he held his left arm awkwardly as he looked for his sword.

Ahead, he caught sight of Corric. He was still astride Strawberry, one handing a sword as he desperately tried to get to Ridan. There was blood on his leg, but Ridan couldn’t tell if it was his or not.

His sword was lying a few feet ahead. Lurching, he crawled to it. As he reached out, another arrow slammed into the ground only inches from his hand. Jerking back, Ridan looked up in time to see several archers sighting him down the shaft of their arrows. With so many, he was unlikely to just take an arrow to the arm.

Ridan lurched for his sword, landing on his hip to avoid knocking the arrow in his arm. It hurt, pain lancing up his arm with every movement. The shaft swung, embedding the metal point farther into the muscle.

Getting to his feet, he held his sword in his right hand with his left clamped to his chest. He’d be damned if he was taken out by a fucking archer. He’d have to be quick. Move just before they released.

“C’mon!” he screamed, his voice sharp across the smoky battlefield. It startled one of the archers, the arrow flying wide.

Several soldiers were paused in his peripheral, waiting, unwilling to be struck by their own archers. They’dpick off whatever was left from the arrows. Ridan raised his sword.

He heard the pull of the bow, wood creaking as it stretched. Then thetwangof the pull being released.

It wasn’t a thousand pinpricks of pain, but one big thud. Ridan hit the ground, pinned under a heavy weight. The fire was in his eyes, but when they adjusted, he could see red.

Back lit by flames, Brune rose above him, one arm pinning Ridan to his chest while the other lifted the Maladon’s Aegis above his head. Arrows thunked off the scales harmlessly, Brune’s arm barely quivering under the onslaught.

“You’re outnumbered. What were you thinking?!” he shouted, eyes bright with worry.

Ridan was sure it must be the fall that made it so hard to breathe.

“I knew you’d have my back,” he said with a misplaced grin, wrapping his fingers around the shaft of the arrow in his arm and snapping it off. He bit down on his cheek to keep from crying out.

Brune stared at him for a moment before swearing, shaking his head as he stood to meet a soldier running at them, knocking his flimsy Kaldonean sword aside with his shield, only to follow up with a swing of his hammer. The soldier took one hit before he crumpled to the ground.

All around him, the Kaldonea soldiers were clashing with Stone Blade warriors. It seemed Brune had not come alone. Corric was back-to-back with Jonen, and Henroen’s axe was dripping blood. The pain in Ridan’s arm faded as he focused back on his goal.

With Brune to his left, he rejoined the fight. Arrows occasionally whizzed by him, but they were fewer in number the closer he got to the machine.

The soldiers retreated to the machine. They fought harder there, desperate to protect themselves and the weapon. Ridan’s sword arm was numb from the clashes, fingers only clutching the hilt by reflex. He grunted as a soldier came at him from his bad side, forcing him to parry the hit awkwardly. Ducking under their joined swords, he kicked the soldier in the stomach, sending him right into Jonen’s path. His broad sword cut the soldier down with ease.

Sharp pain flared up Ridan’s side. Hissing, he stumbled back in alarm, only to see the Kaldonean magician standing in front of him. The man had his arms spread in front of him, fingers wide as he conjured up what looked like little needles made of compressed air. Sweat poured down the man’s sallow face and his chest heaved under his pricy armor.

Wincing, Ridan brought both hands to his sword. Up on the balls of his feet, he was ready to jump the moment the magician made his move.

The magician never got his chance. White flames erupted along his feet, catching on the man’s shirt and hair before he realized he was being immolated. His scream was short, a piercing cry before he was silenced with a rasping gurgle, dropping to the ground as a smoking husk.