Page 126 of Sword & Sacrifice

“They’re tough, but slow!” Kern called out behind Archer.

He turned to find two of his soldiers loading the crossbow again. The huge arbalest required two people to man, but it had the strength to pierce straight through a steel shield.

As soon as it was loaded again, Kern triggered the mechanism and shot the creature, this time demolishing its malformed head. “We’ve found that breaking them keeps them busy for a bit!”

“How many are there?” Archer demanded.

“No idea! Seems like every time—”

The mountain shifted beneath them again. A small avalanche of rocks tumbled down from the peak.

“—that happens, there’s more!”

Archer turned his attention to the top of the mountain. That’s where Alistair is. He stepped toward it, only for another stone creature to lumber into his path.

The soldiers behind him were occupied with the other one, so Archer broke this one apart. As soon as the stones were piled at his feet, he pushed forward, only for another creature to intercept him. Every time it seemed like he’d defeated one, a new one was already waiting to draw him into another fight.

Gritting his teeth, Archer slowly carved his way through Alistair’s creations. Adelaide said Penn had a plan to deal with Alistair. Archer hoped she was right, that Penn could take care of the mage. No matter how many of these things he would have to break, Archer would fight to defend his home.

Chapter Fifty

Varro tightened his hands around Silas’ throat, his grip stronger and more confident than Quentin’s. He held Silas aloft, dangling his feet over the water. Black spots formed at the edges of his vision. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t call for help. After everything he’d survived, it was like they’d never left that courtyard, like he’d never escaped Varro’s hold the first time. Like no matter how much time had passed, it would always end with Varro slowly but surely strangling the life from Silas.

Movement flickered at the edges of his vision right before an arrow buried itself in Varro’s shoulder. He bellowed in pain and his grip slackened, releasing Silas. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he prepared to plunge back into the water.

Instead, two strong arms wrapped around him, hauling him back up onto the dock. “I’ve got you,” Langley panted, his voice strained as his arms squeezed around Silas’ middle.

Rage filled Varro’s eyes as he sought the archer. Then his face slackened with confusion. “You?”

“Get away from my son,” Braden snarled as he pulled the bowstring back and shot another arrow toward the disgraced general.

Varro dodged and the arrow shot uselessly into the waters behind him. “We should have ended your whole fucking line!” he shouted as he ripped the arrow from his arm. Blood streamed freely from the wound, soaking his sleeve, but he ignored it as he gripped his sword with both hands and strode toward Braden.

“Papa!” Silas shouted, the word came out hoarse and choked, a childish nickname Silas hadn’t said aloud in years.

Griselda stepped in front of Braden, axe raised to meet Varro’s sword. The graceful disguise of her glamour had completely torn away, leaving only the hardened warrior in its place. She and Varro were the same age, the same height, but standing next to her he looked like a rotting log while she was an ancient, towering tree.

“Finally,” Griselda growled. “I’ve been waiting to kick your ass since the day I met you.” She chopped her axe toward Varro.

The fighting around them had stalled, men turning to watch their leader. “What are you waiting for?” Varro shouted, scrambling to block the heavy swing in time. “Kill the damn king and we’ll win this fight!” One hand released his sword so he could point an incriminating finger at Silas.

Several heads turned toward Silas, and suddenly the fighting shifted focus. Soldiers tried to form a barrier to block the king, but some enemies slipped through.

Arrows zipped through the air from Braden and the other archers. Some found their marks, but most buried into the docks or the surrounding ships.

“Fuck, one of them is going to hit us if they aren’t careful,” Langley said. “Maybe you should get back in the water.” He started shoving Silas toward the edge of the dock.

The thought of the water closing over his head again, invading his lungs, dragging him under, filled Silas with more fear than the approaching fighters. “Wait!”

Before Langley shoved Silas over the edge, a barrier rose up around them. Thorny canes wove together to create a wall between them and the fighting. One moment they were solid, the next thin shadows that allowed Silas to see the battle beyond. A stray arrow caught in the weave, proving that even when they appeared insubstantial, they remained strong.

“Don’t worry, Silas,” Emmaline panted. She stood over him, hands raised as she held up the barrier. “I’ll protect you.”

I’m supposed to be protecting you, Silas thought, staring up at her in wonder. He thought of how many times people had underestimated Emmaline—assumed her sweet demeanor equaled weakness. Whatever she’d gone through on her journey to Litus, certainly no one would think she was weak now.

A loud rip sounded as a sword tore through the barrier, slicing cleanly through the canes. One of Varro’s men grinned at them through the hole. He reached inside, fingers flexing as he tried to grab Silas and drag him out onto the battlefield.

Three things happened at once: the hole snapped shut, burying thorns in the man’s arm; Langley’s sword slashed cleanly through his wrist; and an arrow pierced the man’s shoulder.