Page 70 of Blood Fist

“All right,” he looked over at Osmond. “Try to get behind him. Brune and I will come from the front, you see a chance you take it. No hesitation.”

Osmond nodded and took off. He was quick andlight on his feet. If anyone had a chance of sneaking up on him, it was Osmond.

Looking back to Brune, he slipped a hand around his neck, dragging him in until they were nose to nose. “Watch your back, Brune.”

He smirked. “I’ll be too busy watching yours.”

Fluidly, they advanced forward. Brune in front, crouched, shield raised. With a hand on his shoulder, Ridan held his sword out in front of him. They moved as one, left leg, right leg, as they moved through the smoke.

The first hit of fire shook them both. Ridan was nearly knocked off his feet, clinging to Brune with everything he had. The big man held them both, leaning into his shield with his head bowed low. On tiptoes, Ridan looked up to see their attacker.

He was watching them, eyes eerily pale. Like twin pearls from the Torn Cove mines. So vacant it was almost as if his pupil had melted away. They were the brightest thing about the man, beside the fire licking up his arms.

Ridan watched him, forced himself to ignore the magic. If this were any other opponent, what would he do?

There.

The man had to pause between fire blasts. Perhaps to recoup or aim, but there was a split second of indecision. A moment where he wasn’t exactly susceptible to attack—he was still on fire—but Ridan could get in close.

“Brune,” he rasped, fingers digging into his shoulder. “After this next hit, stand firm.”

It came quickly, a blaze of living flame that hit like a punch but lingered behind to burn. He could feel the heat lickingacross his face and arms, stinging in places where the fire found purchase.

The moment the heat abated, Ridan stood, took a step back, and with eyes narrowed against the onslaught, vaulted over Brune. He used the shield to steady himself, landing on his toes so he could race forward. Unnatural eyes tracked him as he got closer, fingers wiggling in anticipation as the fire in his palms grew in strength.

With a yell, Ridan brought his sword level, stepping into the swing. As the blade arced toward the man, his fire flared bright and Ridan hissed, turning his face from the searing heat. At the last moment, a burning hand grabbed at him, scorching fingers wrapping around his hands and hilt in one.

With no choice but to drop his sword, Ridan released his grip and threw himself forward. The burning on his hands wouldn’t stop. Panic grew in his chest as he tried to wrestle himself free.

Desperately, he kicked. A knee struck a soft belly, and he was released, staggering backward with his painful hands clutched close to his chest. Even without time to examine them, he could see flashes of raw skin from the corner of his eye.

He looked up just in time to see a big palm dwarfing his face. The rough skin was unpleasant against his lips, reeking of burnt skin and hair. It shoved down, and to his horror, began heating. Curling his maimed hands, he threw a punch. And then another. They landed solidly against something that didn’t give. Like the magic user didn’t feel a thing as his knuckles curled and finger nails dug into Ridan’s cheeks.

As the heat became unbearable, an arrow whizzed past his ear and embedded itself into the man’s shoulder. Silently, he dropped his hand, looking over at hisshoulder with the same blank expression he’d had the whole time.

Ridan leaped away, gritting against the pain as he swiped up his sword again. The worn leather rubbed against his painful skin, but he ignored it. Another arrow swooped in, this one slamming into the man’s collarbone, opposite to the last arrow.

It was clear Niklas was trying to disarm the man. It was also clear it wasn’t working. He didn’t seem to care about the feathered shafts sticking from his body.

Tightening his grip, Ridan swung. The man ducked, a little slower with his injuries, but he didn’t seem concerned. The flames grew around him, but Ridan’s blade had been forged in flames just like this, and it didn’t fear the heat.

He snarled; lips lifted as he moved in for the killing blow.

“RIDAN, NO!”

At the last moment, a slender blade caught his, pushing him off his balance. Corric was standing beside him, two hands on his sword.

“Are you ins—” he didn’t get to finish as a flash of fire split them apart, the force knocking them backward far enough that Ridan crashed into the remnants of a burning wagon.

The pain in his hands was forgotten as he blinked blood from his eyes. Stars danced in his vision, blackness licking at the edges. Clinging to consciousness, he saw his sword laying abandoned between them, a dark scorch mark on the fuller.

Beyond his sword, the magic user was glaring at him again. He lifted his hands, palms up, as flames danced between his fingers. Stepping over Corric, and ignoring the hail of arrows and Brune’s screams, his attention never wavered.

Ridan’s couldn’t move. He was stiff, sluggish, and not responding the way he wanted. Clawing into the sand, he desperately tried to make his limbsmove.

Suddenly Osmond was there. With no fear, he engaged the man. His speed was a direct contrast to the magic user, who relied on distance and power.

Corric was suddenly at his side, heaving him up and dragging him closer to Brune and the relative safety of his shield. Resting his back against Brune’s, he felt slender hands checking the wound on his head.