Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
It was so fast, I didn’t actually see it. Reynald had moved, the big guard fell mid-word, and Reynald wiped his sword on his sleeve.
I bolted out of the bed and shoved my feet back into my boots. Kaiden was looking at Reynald like he had seen a god in the flesh. Clover sat up in her bed, her face shocked. The little girls froze, not sure whether to cry.
I had to get the kids out of here. Clover was still sitting on her bunk.
“Get the kids.” I cleared the distance to the nearest child, the smallest girl, scooped her out of her bed, turned, and saw Talpot at the bottom of the stairs with a lantern, his eyes wide.
We hadn’t heard the door open. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had snuck in, the slimy bastard.
Reynald sprinted toward him.
“Guard!” Talpot screamed, fumbling for the knife on his belt. “Gahh!”
Reynald’s blade slid into Talpot’s chest, once, twice, so fast, like a scorpion stinging. Reynald turned his back to him and walked away.
Talpot dropped his knife. His mouth gaped open. He struggled to say something, but no sound came. Pink foam bubbled up on his lips. A faint hissing noise came from his chest. A collapsed lung. The air was rushing into Talpot’s chest through his wounds with every breath, compressing his lungs and his heart. He would die slowly, in pain.
Talpot sagged to the floor. His neck veins bulged out, the skin gaining a slight blue tint. Fear squirmed in his eyes, raw and sharp, the terror of a man who knew he was dying and could do nothing to stop it. The dead boy’s face flashed before me. Good. Die, you scumbag. Be afraid and die.
Footsteps thudded, and two men charged into the room from the other door, cutting off our escape. They must’ve been in the kitchen and heard Talpot scream.
Reynald stepped toward them, his broad back to us. I backed away from him into a corner. Clover lunged for the stairs, holding two children by their hands, but I grabbed her and yanked her back, next to me and the boy.
“No! The safest place in this house is right here. Don’t distract him.”
She pulled the girls closer to her and wrapped her arms around them.
Reynald waited, his blade down.
The two guards advanced. Derog liked to hire beefy intimidating goons, the bigger the better. Reynald was about six feet tall, and these two towered over him. They were both larger and heavier than him by at least thirty pounds. The guy on the left was the scarred guard who had let me and Darotha in, and his coworker on the right looked like a seasoned brawler. No fat, just muscle, big arms, thick legs, and a mean look in his eyes.
The brawler hefted a wooden club, swung it, and roared, “He’s in the pen!”
The girl in my arms flinched. I hugged her to me and said, “Don’t be scared. This is already over.”
And once it was done, Reynald would walk us right out of here and go back in to paint the walls red.
The brawler charged, swinging the club. Reynald sidestepped as if he were floating and slashed across the brawler’s stomach. The other guard stabbed at the blademaster from the side, aiming for his neck. His blade pierced only air. Reynald slashed at the man’s extended arm, opening a gash above his wrist. The guard dropped his sword and howled, red drenching his hand.
The brawler fell, clutching at his gut.
It was insanely fast. They’d clashed in a blink, and now one of them moaned on the floor and the other stumbled away, clenching his arm. Clap your hands once, and the clash was over.
Another guard ran down the stairs, a giant of a man, brandishing a huge sword. He had to be close to seven feet tall, broad, with long troll arms thicker than my legs and huge shovel hands. Where the hell did Derog even find this guy? What was he feeding him?
I held my right arm out and backed a little deeper into the corner, herding the kids behind me.
The injured swordsman grabbed his sword off the floor with his left hand. His right arm hung useless, dripping blood. The giant glanced at him.
Reynald took two steps toward the stairs, his back still to us. He wasn’t maneuvering to get into a better position.
It was because of us, I realized. Reynald had a choice: to kill the slavers for his vengeance or to protect us, and he’d made protecting us his priority.
The giant roared.
The two men charged at the same time, the giant from the right and the injured swordsman from the left. Reynald dodged the giant’s swing. His blade kissed the man’s throat. The giant stumbled back, and Reynald continued the swing, letting the sword drop as he turned left and bringing it back up in a beautiful arc to slice the swordsman’s left arm. The blade barely seemed to touch skin. A red drop swelled at the swordsman’s wrist. His arm gaped open, split in half from hand to biceps.