Total pages in book: 204
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 193124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 966(@200wpm)___ 772(@250wpm)___ 644(@300wpm)
Hide, that old familiar voice commands me.
And then it follows up with something new:
Seek out the warrior queen who sees no one and return what is hers. Your salvation is there.
Staring at the still water, I shake my head bitterly. “I’m just going to get out of Greensward and survive somewhere. That will be quite hard enough, thank you very much.”
Sixteen
The First Monster.
Merc’s got to be dead by now.
Hot with alarm, I’m pacing at the pool’s edge, as if any movement of mine can help him. It’s been too long, far, far too long. Even though I’ve always nervously avoided water, I know that breath is limited, and that’s before you add in the effort of arms and legs—
A bubbling sound gets my attention, and I pivot to the water. Air is escaping from somewhere and rising to agitate the surface, and I think of that day a man horrifically fell off the moat bridge. He was immediately captured by a balas in a thrash, rolled under the water, and then … nothing but bubbles.
I crouch down with my little knife, and tell myself to dive in.
The waves come next, the pool coming alive with—
A two-headed monster explodes up in a tidal rush, coming right at me.
With a scream, I leap out of range, and it’s as I slam into the slimy wall that I decipher the churning, twisting mass before me. Not a two-headed beast, no. Merc and a balas are in mortal combat, their bodies locked against each other, the snapping jaws of the animal looking for purchase, the man’s arms bulging with muscle as he attempts to control the fight. They land in a tangle at my feet and the balas begins to roll, the thick, spiked tail thrashing and slapping as it attempts to get Merc on the bottom.
Later, I’ll wonder what threw me into action, but in the moment, I swear to the crescent moon that there are no conscious thoughts. I jump around them, stash my useless knife, and go for Merc’s broadsword. With the knobby, tough hide of the balas, the only hope we have is something as heavy, as sharp, as that weapon.
The sickening sounds of solid mass slamming into the tunnel floor spur me on, but I’m unprepared for the sword’s ungainly weight. The thing is heavy as a mountain, and all I’m trying to do is get it out of the holster. Sinking down into my thighs, I throw my back into the effort. The hilt’s textured grip bites into my palms, and nothing shifts. At first. The instant the blade starts to give way, I stamp a foot on the strapping and yank, yank, yank—
The broadsword bursts out of its leather cage like a beast released, but I can’t straighten, the weapon tethering the upper half of me to the ground—and the folly of my impulse becomes clear as the balas pins Merc once again. The animal’s black and mucky green scales eat the torchlight, and when I heave at the weapon, I end up tossing myself right into the thrashing tail. My legs are swept out from under me and I land on my shoulder—
The balas’s craggy head turns on me and its jaws snap with a terrible sound, the fence of enormous yellowed teeth locking shut—
“Give … me … the … sword…”
Merc’s own teeth are like his attacker’s, gritted in the midst of his fierce battle to kill another living thing before he himself is done in. Jumping to my feet, I do my best to drag the broadsword closer, but I’m dodging rear claws and that vicious spiked tail.
The balas’s fangs flash back and forth between us, and every time the jaws open, I focus on the pink meat of its mouth. If Merc lets go to grab the hilt, assuming I can even get over to him, he’s going to be a meal—
The beast bangs him into the wall, then throws him at me. As Merc lands at my feet in a crumple, his body goes lax—and without thinking, I look him square in the face.
I don’t meet his eyes, for they roll back into his head.
The balas lets out a hiss of triumph and focuses on me, opening that maw.
Between one blink and the next, I see what to do. My hands release the broadsword’s handle, and move carefully to the sharp blade itself. Taking it flat between my palms, I wedge the hilt against a catch on the floor, tilt the sharp tip upward, and get the angle right.
That beast is going to lunge at me with its mouth open.
And I’m going to feed it one hell of a dinner.
“Come on, you bastard! Bite me!”
The ripple up its spine announces the moment of attack, and as I scream at a high pitch, I find a flow of energy, and do my best to hold steady. My control isn’t going to last long, and if I get the angle wrong—