Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 729(@200wpm)___ 583(@250wpm)___ 486(@300wpm)
“Rethinking their allegiances by now, I would imagine.” His claim suggests something wicked.
Jarek’s teeth grind in my ear.
Isembert edges closer toward us. “I thought I was clear about what would happen the next time you stepped foot within my walls.”
“You were.” Jarek remains calm as he sets his mug down. “Will it be this imbecile delivering your judgment? Because it didn’t work out well for him last time either.”
The man snaps his meaty fingers. Three others close in, drawing blades that glint in the firelight.
Jarek raises a finger. “Hold that thought. You.” Turning to me, he offers a flat smile. “This was fun, but time to find another lap to warm.” Giving me a gentle but firm shove off the bench—away from the battle about to erupt—Jarek stands and draws a sword and dagger. The ring of steel shivers through the alehouse.
Elisaf follows suit.
Oh my God. They’re going to start swinging blades in the middle of a tavern full of people. The bar fights I witnessed in my old life seem like a nursery school spat.
And there is still a sword pressed against Zander’s throat.
The waitresses scramble to hide behind the bar. They’ve likely had to clean up more than one pool of blood from this floor in the past. Several patrons quietly filter out the door while others brandish their weapons—for protection, or an excuse to use them.
I do the only thing I can think of: edge toward the wall and draw my dagger.
A palpable tension pulses as time stands still, muscles corded and senses riveted, everyone waiting for the first twitch, the first command, the first reason to swing. Anyone watching must be able to see each beat of my heart pulsing in my throat.
And then a bloodcurdling scream peals through the paralyzed room.
It’s coming from above us, in one of the inn’s rooms, and there is no mistaking what it means. I’ve heard it far too many times now.
The distraction is what Zander needed, and he doesn’t waste it, spinning out of his seat to disarm the man holding him at sword point before cutting him down with his own blade. In seconds, he’s slayed two more men and is moving in on a fourth, wielding a sword in each hand.
Elisaf and Jarek fight off opponents in their respective corners, Jarek standing on the table, swinging his blades so fast I can’t follow either of them as he cleaves into flesh. The hairy-knuckled beast lies facedown on the tavern floor, nothing more than a bloody obstacle to trip over.
The sounds that have exploded in the tavern are deafening, of clashing steel and battle screams and moans of agony. It’s enough to make me grip my dagger and press my back against the wall as I watch my three companions slice, stab, and twist away from rival attacks.
The ox twins have shifted into a corner and are still downing ale, watching the battle unfold, their swords inert on the table in front of them.
Maybe they’re smarter than I gave them credit for.
Suddenly, a hand clamps over my wrist and tugs at me. On instinct, I swing my dagger toward the assailant, only to register that it’s Pan a split second before I stab him.
He yelps and jumps back, holding up his hands in surrender. “This way!” He jerks his head toward a hidden door in the corner. Of course he’s found it. He’s as resourceful as I was in my old life.
I falter, scanning the tavern again. It’s nothing but a flurry of blades, the skilled swordsmen easily cutting down drunken opponents caught up in the moment.
Zander catches my attention. “Go! Now!” he shouts, pointing toward the door, a second before one of Isembert’s men charges him. He barely lifts his sword in time to block the attack, and then he’s checking to see where I am again. “Get out of here!” he roars.
I’m risking his life by standing here.
“Go.” I shove Pan toward the concealed exit.
He leads me down a narrow hall surely meant for servants, hopping over crates and spare pillows strewn across the path, before pushing through another door. We spill out near the stable yard.
The cold rain against my face is a welcome relief.
As is the sight of Abarrane, Eros’s reins in her grip. “Leave now,” she growls, not wasting time with her usual threats of bodily harm.
“They need you inside!” She’s alone, which means she hasn’t found Drakon or Iago yet. “Isembert knows where the scouts are, and he’s in there.” I jerk my head toward the tavern.
Her eyes flare with determination. Shoving the reins into Pan’s hand, she draws her sword and disappears through the door.
“I thought she was gonna kill me for sure.” Pan leans over to brace his hands on his knees, catching his breath. “Scariest moment of my life. Even scarier than when Oswald had me on that fountain. Scarier than when those guys dragged us into the woods …”