Page 24 of Crown of Iron (The Crown Trilogy #1)

Fourteen

P ressing my chest to Nortus' back, I sink my heels into his sides.

His hooves kiss the ground with rapid claps, and the crisp air stings my cheeks and burns my eyes.

Despite the tears streaming down my face, I grip to the reins and focus on the trail ahead.

I'm desperate to reach the regiments before it's too late.

Time is both my friend and foe. With every second, I lessen the divide between me and the army, and they draw closer to the trap awaiting them.

There were more experienced riders in the camp and soldiers who would hold their own better than me against the Stigians.

But this is my army, my people, who I will one day vow to protect.

I can’t risk leaving their fate in the hands of someone who doesn't wholeheartedly care about every single one of them.

Nortus slows as the ground shifts to soft grass and mud, and the smell of freshwater permeates the air.

The calm surface of Lake Holly reflects the night sky, speckling it with stars.

On the far end of the lake, shadows of horse-drawn wagons move toward a cluster of single-story structures.

Warm gold lights illuminate the caravan's path while their wheels grind over pebbles.

The army is closer to engaging in battle with the Stigians than I am to reaching them.

I spur Nortus forward, and he gallops through the sludge on the lake's bank.

It would be simple to call out for the regiments to stop.

The land is serene, and they would easily hear me.

Therein lies the problem. My voice would carry so well the Stigians would know our intent to stop their plan.

A simple task made impossible, leaving me with no choice but to catch up.

Panic rises in me when the wagons stop and the soldiers climb out of the backs, taking formation to march the rest of the way into the town.

I don't let up on Nortus, racing for the rows of troops. The moment we’re in their ranks, I ask the first soldier I see where to find Greer.

They point me to the front of the line where the colonel sits upon her horse alongside Ulric.

I steer Nortus next to the officers, drawing both their attention. Greer's eyes widen, and her cheeks burn red, anger radiating from her. Through gritted teeth, she says, “What the hell are you doing here? I told you to stay at camp.”

“The Stigians are closing in on you from both sides,” I say, handing her the instructions from the strategy officers.

She skims the paper, crumples it, and dismounts her horse. “We move around the meadow on foot,” she says to Ulric before turning back to me. “Take my horse and wait with the wagons on the other side of the lake.”

I bite my lip, fighting back the urge to beg her to let me go with them, and take the reins from her. “Yes, Colonel.”

“It's for the best, Elle,” Ulric says, sparing me an understanding glance before motioning for another soldier to grab his horse.

I know they mean well, but it doesn't make turning my back on them or the town beyond any easier.

The soldier caring for Ulric's horse informs the wagon drivers of Greer's orders, and the rest of the regiments march into the cropping of trees behind the farming town. The wagons turn around, heading back the way they came, and the other riders and I fall behind them.

Unease creeps over me. I'm fleeing while the others fight. This is how it has always been. There are those who shed blood for our kingdom and those who comfortably enjoy the freedom they fight for. I'm tired of doing so little as they sacrifice so much. I want to fight.

I clench my teeth and squeeze the saddle's horn, struggling between following orders and doing what is right.

A chorus of roars resound through the tranquil surroundings, joined by the clatter of metal.

My head whips toward the trees, where flashes of fire and blasts of wind explode from the leafy canopy.

Two Stigian warriors on horseback race onto the bank of the lake, and the soldiers next to me shout for us to run.

I pull Nortus' reins and draw my sword. My breath hitches as I size up our opponents. Not only are they clad in black leather and steel, but so are their horses. Dark cloths cover the lower half of the warriors' faces, leaving nothing but their pure black eyes on display.

My sword suddenly seems useless as the Stigians lift their hands and take aim.

I have no clue what their Statera-given gifts are, but I know they don’t lie dormant.

Every Stigian warrior is a Khiros. One of them could very well melt the metal in my hand.

With no other choice, I release the reins on Greer’s horse and prepare to fight.

A branch snaps, and a crude arrow cuts through the air on a phantom wind.

It zips past me, the leafy tail brushing my ear.

It punctures the shoulder of one of our retreating soldiers, knocking them from their horse.

I stare, stunned into place. The arrow came out of nowhere.

No. It was wielded. The plant was controlled.

One of the Stigian warriors is a Pianti.

I kick Nortus into motion. The Stigian straight ahead raises their hand calling forth the water from the lake.

A tidal wave emerges and crashes upon Nortus and me.

I'm thrown from the saddle, gripping my sword as I slam to the ground.

Water burns my nostrils and fills my lungs while I struggle to break free from its depths.

As the wave recedes, it pulls me back with it, not giving me the chance to breathe.

Something tickles the back of my hand, and I fumble to get a grip on it.

Through the hazy water I see my hand wrapped around the thin trunk of a sapling.

My head pounds and my muscles quiver as the urge to inhale intensifies. Just as the edges of my vision grow dark, the water rolls away from my face. I gasp for breath as another wave rushes toward me.

Over the rushing water I watch a Lucent soldier lift his palm and shoot icicles from his fingertips.

One icy dagger rips through the Aquatera's throat, the bloody point protruding from their neck.

The water relaxes back into the lakebed, and the Stigian that was wielding slides from their saddle, dead.

The remaining warrior—the powerful plant wielder—watches as the rest of my army retreats down the lake’s shore.

I scramble to my feet, and his gaze falls upon me.

With no choice but to face him, I swat Nortus on his hindquarters, urging him to follow the others.

Alone with my enemy, I do the only thing I can to ensure my survival. I run for the trees .

A sharp snap of leather and galloping hooves race after me. I zigzag through the maze of bark and stone while the cries of battle and blasts of power echo around me.

My pounding heart merges with my panting breaths to create the most frantic song in my head. Every step I take is to its rapid rhythm, pushing me forward. The rocks and roots along the ground trip me up, and I can't always stay on beat.

A branch swings low, like it’s caught in a gust of wind, and I stumble, taking in a mouthful of leaves and dirt before rolling under a bush.

Beneath my palms, the ground shudders as I spit and blink away the debris.

The Stigian Pianti moves closer and sweeps his hand through the air.

The thorny branches of the bush answer the warrior’s command.

They whip my arms and legs, tearing my clothes and leaving trails of blood.

Biting my lips to stifle my cries, I hurry to my feet.

Fear and the searing lesions on my limbs push me into a sprint.

A snort and fiery breath fans across the back of my neck, matching my quick pace. I glance over my shoulder, meeting the face of the warrior's menacing stallion. I swat him away, and the horse snaps at my arm, clipping my skin.

I'm not going to make it.

I'm not going to make it.

My bloody fingers tighten around the pommel of my sword, and the coppery taste of blood floods my mouth as I lick my lips and take a deep breath.

The impulse to unleash on the Stigians grows so strong that my muscles sizzle.

My feet lose feeling like I'm floating above the ground.

I sprint forward until my body slams into a wall.

A hand slides up my spine and fingers tangle into the hair at the nape of my neck, pressing my face into a leather-covered chest. My nails sink into the giving material, and I inhale pine and cinnamon, the image of Kyron's firmly set lips and haunting irises etched inside my eyelids.

A blast of fire heats my back, and the blood-curdling wails of animal and man fill the forest. I focus on the spice and flame: I'm safe, I'm safe.

When hot fingers cradle my cheeks and lift my head, all has fallen silent.

Smoke lingers in the air, and the moon beams down on Kyron, alighting the blood splattered across his cheekbones and clumping his hair together.

Thick layers of crimson-tinted mud cake one arm of his jacket and a gaping cut just above his eyebrow.

We lock eyes and a comfortable hum vibrates between us.

It's this energy that lured me straight into his arms. His gift.

“What are you doing here?” Kyron asks, his jaw ticking.

I pull away from him, a little unsteady on my feet. My throat feels like it's lined with sand and my voice is gritty as I answer, “I came to warn Greer of the ambush, but it was too late, and I couldn't leave them.”

He shakes his head and blows out a puff of air. If Greer didn't want me here, he most definitely isn't happy to see me. I'm a liability until I've completed my training, and no one wants to be responsible for my mistakes. I get it, but I'm here and there is nothing left for me to do but fight.