Page 71 of Blood Fist

“What the fuck…” he grumbled blearily, slapping Corric’s hands away.

“He’s my brother!” Corric shouted, his raised voice cutting through the ringing in his ears.

Brother? Ridan was too addled to remember what Corric told him about his family—but from what he could shake loose, there wasn’t a single decent Tylock besides the one he currently wanted to smack.

“Please, Ridan,” Corric pleaded, wincing as Osmond was nearly too late to dodge a blast. “You can’t kill him.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Brune snapped, sweat dripping down his face. “Ask him nicely?”

“Maybe I c-can talk to him!” Corric looked desperate, his eyes wide and wet. If Ridan could smell, whatever coming off his packmate would be unpleasant.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head. “No, you can’t reason with him.” Something was wrong with the magic user. Something about his eyes, about that blank stare. The way he ignored everyone else and kept his attention solely on Ridan, even when he was no longer a threat.

They needed a new plan. One that didn’t end with his blade in the man’s throat, or their insides cooked likeSehleh’s chicken dinner. Closing his eyes didn’t help, so he opened them. That seemed to help with the spinning. Ridan took stock of what they had.

Niklas must be too far away to get a good shot, otherwise the man would be down by now. They couldn’t fight him, even Osmond as fast as he was seemed unable to land a blow.

They had to somehow douse the flames…

Jerking, Ridan grabbed the back of Brune’s shirt. He used it to pull himself to his knees. “The horse pens!”

Clambering to his feet, he pointed to where the horses were stabled. Sufficiently far enough away that they would have plenty of room. The big pens were hastily constructed and separated by clan, and then further by gender. The fences were wood, but the rest of the paddocks were flat grassland.

And they had massive water troughs in each one.

It took Brune a moment, but understanding bloomed in his red eyes. “Ridan that’s…”

A half-mile run. A massive risk. An impossible task.

“Can you do it?”

Brune clearly wanted to say no. That he wasn’t interested in what amounted to a fool's run. He nodded tersely.

Ridan didn’t wait.

As he expected, pupiless eyes followed him the moment he broke off. Osmond shouted after him, his hair smoking. Ridan didn’t stop. Pumping his legs, he tried to focus on his destination, refusing to allow himself to look back. Without his sword, he could move a little faster, but the blow to his head was messing with his balance. His vision swam, and his legs and arms felt disconnected. Even his lungs burned. Each breath was riddled with smoke, pinpricks of pain cascading downhis throat like jagged shards of bone. They settled in his chest, and he felt a stitch begin to rip at his side.

Still, he ran. Even when he could feel the heat of a fireball thrown his way, felt sand and dirt raining down on him as the fire cratered out big swaths of land. Dimly he heard Corric screaming pleas that fell on deaf ears.

An explosion ripped in front of him, sending him careening to the ground. He rolled, arms over his head to protect himself. He didn’t feel the searing pain of a burn. Blinking dirt from his eyes, he scrambled back to his feet. His mouth was so dry he couldn’t even spit the grit from between his teeth.

The pens grew closer, but so did the heat at his back. He couldn’t hear anything except the roaring of blood in his ears and the panicky wheezing of his breaths.

A hastily erected fence of taut ropes strung between uneven posts was the only thing keeping the horses contained. Most of them didn’t bother with testing the barrier—they knew they had fresh food and water inside and were content enough. Ridan hit the ropes hard enough that he ripped a post from the ground. Collapsing into the pen, he tried not to get tangled in the ropes as the closest horses spooked, running to the far end.

Kicking the debris loose, he checked that all the horses were clear before he made it to his feet. He could only hope the madman wouldn’t be interested in hurting them. Half crawling, he made his way to the massive water trough set up along the northern fence.

Because the water was so far, the clan used the big trough so they wouldn’t have to make the journey too many times. Now, Ridan just hoped it would be enough.

Just as his hand closed around the lip of thetrough, he was struck from behind. Panicked, he spun, kicking out and throwing punches at whatever he could get his hands on. The magic user was on top of him. This close, Ridan could finally see the details of his face. What he had assumed was dirt was actually runes. Someone had carved runes into the man’s face—across his nose, around his eyes, along his jaw. Tiny, scribbled lines he didn’t recognize scribbled along burnt flesh.

His face was blank as it loomed over him, the flames lighting them up in the trough's shade. Ridan had his hands around the man’s wrists, feet in his abdomen, anything to keep the fire away from him. Heat and pain seared across any inch of exposed skin, and he bared his fangs, willing strength into his trembling limbs.

A loud bang caught his attention moments before he heard a guttural yell, and then a wave of water splashed over them. Water flowed across his face, entering his mouth and choking him. Trying to keep his eyes open against the onslaught, the tide shoved him forward, half burying him in the dirt.

Rolling to his knees, he hacked up water. Air trickled into his lungs. It took all his self-control not to panic, to tell himself to keep breathing. In. Out. Everything hurt. He lifted his head and looked around through wet lashes.

Brune was standing over the magic user, fist raised. The man was limp. His skin was hissing, steam rising from it where the flames had been doused.