Page 76 of The Forgotten Prince

With glee, Gwendolyn thought, as she swung yet again, hewing through the wooden ligaments that connected one’s arm, followed by another heavy chop across its thigh. The creature waddled forward and Gwendolyn sprang at it, swinging hard, slicing off another arm. Then she shoved this one, too, off the ramp.

Running toward the connecting bridge, mist blinding her, she swung and hacked at every gnarled limb that appeared in her periphery.

Behind her, Málik slashed through the middle of another creature, the sheer force of his blow severing the body from its legs. And then, when it lay squirming on the platform, he chopped at the creature’s neck, separating the head.

“Go!” he demanded, hitching his chin toward the adjacent bridge, urging Gwendolyn to run, even as a new mob leapt onto the cross point behind him.

“I won’t leave you,” she said, returning Borlewen’s blade to her boot. It was difficult enough to maneuver the trees and ramps with one weapon, much less two.

“It’s not me they want—go!”

“Not without you!”

“I will follow,” Málik swore. “Stay and we both die.”

Put like that, Gwendolyn could not argue.

She turned to run as Málik swung his blade at the ropes securing the bridge, hacking it so the ramp twisted under the weight of several spriggans. They slid into the gloom with angry squeals. Then, hacking at the other side, he untethered the bridge from its post, and the last of the spriggans tumbled into oblivion.

Gwendolyn stumbled into the mist, greedy for cover. But then, unable to see where she was going—the mist so thick—she kept running. When she heard footsteps behind her, she prayed it would be Málik.

“Follow!” Málik ran past, seizing Gwendolyn by the hand and dragging her deeper into the swirling mist. All about them, she could hear the clunking of wood as spriggans bounded from tree to tree. Her heart pounded fearfully because she couldn’t see them.

“Why are they here?”

“To kill you, of course.”

“Who sent them?”

“The one who commands them.”

The Fae king.

Gwendolyn knew this without being told. Yegods. If he had such an army at his disposal, what else must she face? Even with the finest of skills, Gwendolyn couldn’t have fought off these creatures alone.

Tripping over her own feet, she faltered behind Málik.

Apparently, someone else had the same idea of destroying bridges. She heard the chop and felt the bridge twist beneath her feet. Losing her footing, Gwendolyn slid, only catching the edge, and nearly dropping this sword as well.

“Wait! Don’t cut it! Not yet! Wait!”

Up ahead, the sound of hacking stopped, but behind her, a new spriggan emerged, and Gwendolyn could swear she saw the beast grin.

“Málik,” she said. “Another!”

“I see it,” he said, reaching for her, tugging at her arm. But unless Gwendolyn dropped the sword she held, there was nothing she could do to help until she could find a place to settle her foot. Beneath her, her legs swung frantically as the creature lumbered closer.

“Málik,” she pleaded. “Go! Go! Go!”

If she must, she would release her grip on the bridge and drop into the gloom; come what may, anything would be better than this.

The creature raised its arm toward Málik, and Gwendolyn shrieked. He released her in time to turn and fend off the blow. But Gwendolyn watched haplessly as the creature swung its massive claw at Málik’s throat. Once more, Málik ducked, then rose, but not before taking a wedge out of the creature’s shin—was that a shin? Gwendolyn couldn’t tell. Hanging as she was, she could only watch with horror as Málik battled for his life against a beast unlike anything Gwendolyn had ever witnessed in all her life. Formed like a man, it was no more than woody limbs and parts, with well-placed thorns the size of Borlewen’s blade—one at the back of each calf, two on the back of each forearm. This one made the mistake of turning its attention to Gwendolyn, and Málik pivoted with his blade, severing the head from its shoulders, and then he turned to Gwendolyn, seizing her arm and hauling her up.

“Bloody Danu! About time!” she said, but it wasn’t a complaint.

“Go!” he demanded. “Go, go, go!”

Once more, he led the way, somehow moving through the maze of cross points and ramps until they found themselves again at the village center. There, they dispatched another spriggan, and then dashed in the direction of Gwendolyn’s bower, coming full circle to find Esme and Bryn fighting back-to-back. For a dread-filled moment, Gwendolyn had visions of Briallen and Jenefer that day in Chysauster when their village was raided, and both fell before her eyes. But here, now, Esme and Bryn were fighting in sync as though they had been practicing together for a lifetime. Wooden appendages littered the courtyard at their feet, some splattered by blood—human blood; these creatures would not bleed. It was only then Gwendolyn’s mind recognized the twisted shapes of human forms littering the ramparts.

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