Page 126 of Blood Fist
Schok breezed past Ridan, shoulders back and face set in concentration. The thin linen shirt he was wearing was burnt, hanging off his thin frame. He looked right amongst the carnage, fire curling around his arms like a beloved pet. His burns danced along his face with the flickering shadows.
His steps never slowed, flames growing so strong, none of the attacking soldiers could get close. Arrows melted before they struck him. Schok was untouchable as he strode up to the war machine.
Unlike the dead Kaldoneaean magician, Schok’s flames were effortless. They consumed the machine in moments, snapping and crackling so loudly it drowned out the retreat of the remaining soldiers. Jonen and several of the other warriors gave the burning tower a wide berth as they chased them down. No one wearing Kaldonea armor would survive the night.
Schok stood at the base of the tower, watching with an impassive face as the wood blackened and crumbled. He looked much like he did when he attacked them at the festival, except this time his back was to Ridan and his flames were eating away at a mutual enemy.
“Schok?” Corric’s voice was quiet as he approached. He was limping, pants soaked with blood and face so smeared with gore he was almost unrecognizable.
The magic user didn’t look at him. He just stared at the flames.
“Fuck you, Krait,” he muttered before turning to leave.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
PEARL ENCRUSTED DAGGERS
The smell of sweat and smoke stayed with Brune as they limped back to the clan. Ridan was leading Peppercorn, stroking her neck idly while he spoke with Jonen in hushed tones. Exhaustion clung to them worse than the smoke, weighing heavily on their shoulders and turning their feet wooden as they stumbled through the dark.
Under the exhaustion was confusion. No one understood what had happened. One moment they were sleeping, secure in the safety of home, and the next they were fighting for their life. Brune could still smell burning skin and hear the screams of the dying. He couldn’t save them. He couldn’t even get close enough to help as the flames consumed them. So hot and bright, yet their death was slow. Faces he knew he should recognize, but unrecognizable with terror. Warriors whose strength wasn’t enough.
It was a vicious attack. One that shouldn’t surprise Brune, but it did. How could anyone do that? Guilt pooled low in his guilt, acidic as it ate at him. If circumstances had been different, would that have been Brune? Would he have accepted his orders, done what they toldhim to on the promise of a meal and a roof over his head?
He didn’t know, and that was answer enough.
Stumbling forward, he finally caught sight of the clan. Most of the tents had been burned beyond recognition. The stables were gone. Brune only had a moment to be grateful there were no horses amidst the charred wreckage.
No one said anything as they scouted among the ruins for anything worth saving. Several of the omegas were nearly despondent over losing their nests. It was a testament to their inner strength that they could keep going at all, only their scent giving their true feelings away.
It didn’t take long for them to collect what was left. Before the sun rose, they had set off toward where the rest of the clan had retreated.
As he swayed on Boulder's broad back, Brune took a moment to be grateful that most of their vulnerable clan members had already left. The only Stone Blade that had been left were all able-bodied warriors. While their losses were deeply felt, it could have been so much worse.
Not that it mattered to Ridan. Brune didn’t need to scent him to know he blamed himself. It was in the furrow of his brow and his pinched lips. The way his eyes lingered on the mangled bodies of the dead. No one could have predicted such an attack. Brune had been in the Kaldonean military and had never seen such a machine. Ridan did everything he could, but he wouldn’t see it that way.
Ridan was blinded by his failures. It was what made him such a good leader. He only saw the people he couldn’t stave. He didn’t see the way the survivors looked to him for direction, or how they accepted hisorders without question. Ridan had been so focused on stopping the attack, he couldn’t appreciate how well trained his people were.
But Brune had.
Fate might have brought him here, but it was Restrina who set him on his journey. She looked at Brune and knew exactly what he was meant for. She knew Brune would see the things Ridan couldn’t. She gave him the shield, not for himself, but for Ridan. So that Brune could elevate him to the greatnesshewasfated for.
Reaching up, he touched the necklace hanging around his neck. He had a long way to go to live up to her expectations, but he would do it. For Ridan, but more importantly, for himself. To make up for his past and to create his future.
By the time the sky was beginning to lighten, they arrived at the base of Artrax’s Mountain. It was among the sparse trees and thick slabs of granite that they found the rest of the Stone Blade gathered.
Osmond was so soot stained he was nearly unrecognizable. It was only his blue eyes that were recognizable in the gloom. He greeted them as they approached, limping from what looked like a terrible burn on his right leg.
Ridan dismounted and took his arm. “Thank you for getting them here,” he said gruffly, voice strained.
His lieutenant ducked his head. “I apologize for not being by your side.”
Ignoring his obvious injuries, Ridan punched him in the shoulder. “You saved them, Osmond. That’s more than I could have ever asked.”
It was clear the big man disagreed, but he nodded, pointing out how they’d set up camp.
Though the trees were spindly and bare, they wererooted close together. They would provide excellent cover. The wounded were gathered up the hill, clustered around a large fire as Halm did her best to treat them. Derry was at her side, helping where he could. Brune was grateful to see them unhurt.
“Niklas and some of the others are scouting,” Osmond told Ridan after they took care of the horses. They were grazing by a small stream a little way from the camp. Peppercorn was filthy, covered in sweat and ash, but she still walked amongst them with her ears pinned and a sneer on her face. Boulder followed the haughty mare, taking advantage of her wake.