Page 140 of Blood Fist

A kick took him in the ribs, and he bit his tongue. Tasting the coppery tang, he reached forward and, by some miracle, his fingers found the intricate detailing of his bow. With no finesse, he swung wildly. Dirt rained down as his bow caught the assailant, knocking them aside long enough for a blade to run them through.

Dragging himself to his feet, he ignored the pain screaming through his chest. His vision wavered, and he knew his aim wouldn’t be true. Reaching behind him, he pulled an arrow from his quiver and fisted it.

Osmond was on the ground, blood pouring from between his fingers as he held his side. The blood on his lips was foamy, bubbling down his chin as he tried to drag himself away from danger. A lucky strike had a sword clanking off the leather guards on his forearms, but another sliced just below his collarbones.

Niklas leapt onto the back of his attacker, slamming the arrow in his hand through the soft cartilage of the soldier’s ear. They fell together in a heap.

The bowman kicked his legs, trying to get out fromunder the body. Someone grabbed the back of his cloak, and he screamed as they pulled him free.

“Get Osmond the fuck out of here!” Ridan screamed, tossing Niklas toward his intended.

Swiping a fallen spear off the ground, Ridan braced off his back leg and launched it. He grinned when it found its mark.

His hair was sticking to his forehead, sweat dripping in his eyes. Heart thundering against his chest, he stepped up to countless enemies. Ridan never looked at their faces or at the bodies beneath his feet. Arm aching, he blocked blow after blow, gritting his teeth as he cleared the space in front of him.

Kicking a body to dislodge it from his blade, he ignored the sick squelch as it landed at his feet.

Something is wrong.

His instincts were nagging at him, dragging his attention from the fight. Chest heaving, he glanced up to assess the battle.

After fighting for so long, they were in the same place they were before. His people had held Kaldonea back, but they shouldn’t have. When he planned this battle with the other chiefs, they knew they wouldn’t be able to hold this valley. It was a starting point—use the flaming logs to scatter Kaldonea’s forces and attack while they were trying to regroup. It would work for a time, but Kaldonea’s superior forces should have knocked them back into the trees where he had archers set up. His plan was to use to the trees to separate Kaldonea’s forces, knock them into smaller groups. Kaldonea’s swords and magicians would be hampered in the trees, easily picked off by Clansmen used to fighting in smaller spaces.

But that didn’t happen. They were still going toe to toe with Kaldonea’s forces. What was Krait thinking?Why hadn’t he pushed forward? What did he know that Ridan didn’t?

Even the magicians were waning, keeping back and striking at the edges where the fighting was thinnest. Why would they?—

It hit Ridan all at once.

Where the fuck was Krait?

He was here. Ridan’s scouts had seen him. Why wasn’t the King of Kaldonea—a talented magic user and warrior in his own right—not fighting in the thick of it?

Because this wasn’t the real fight.

He thought he’d tricked Kaldonea’s forces into following him here, forcing them into a battle on the Clansmen’s terms. But Krait had been one step ahead. This battle was just a distraction.Krait was going after the scale!

Ridan swore, twisting around to look for Schok. The magic user was flagging, his flames smaller, skin burning.

“Schok!” he screamed, voice hollow with exhaustion.

Smoke curled from every orifice in Schok’s face as he turned his attention toward Ridan.

“I need a path!” he pointed across the fighting toward Kaldonea’s side. Through those trees was the head of the path towards the Shrieking Cliffs.

Schok snorted, the smoke curling thicker before he turned. Arms trembling, he squeezed his fingers into a point. Flames burst across his skin before narrowing to a point, shooting through the ranks like a burning battering ram.

Ridan took off, following the flames as fast as his legs could run. In his peripheral, he watched Schok drop to his knees, shoulders slumped as steam rose fromhis skin. Corric sprinted towards him, standing over his brother with his blades raised.

He didn’t have time to think about his packmates, or Brune. He could only focus on running. Was he too late? He should have seen this!

Across the field, an archer sighted him. He was about to let his arrow go when half his head was caved in with a punch from Sevrin. The alpha raised his fist to Ridan, smiling with two missing teeth.

Flipping his blade so it was pointing behind him, he dropped his head to run forward. Dodging wild swings of swords and exploding earth, he nearly lost his balance several times before he finally hit the tree line.

Leaping over roots and rocks, Ridan couldn’t hear anything but the roaring of blood in his ears. Ridan wasn’t sure he was still running, vision narrowing as his lungs cried out for more air. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

Not for the first time that day, he wished he could have had Peppercorn with him. She would have traversed the distance quickly. But the rocky ground and trees made the horses useless in this fight.