Page 44 of Winds of Destiny

“Surely it will be locked. Won’t it?” And how could one man even hope to move such massive blocks of rock if itwasn’tlocked?

“The Gate was designed to open with just one push from a man’s hand,” Kai says. “But the mechanism that controls it is complex and takes weeks of training to learn to operate. If it doesn’t open for him, then our people didn’t let anyone inside. If they didn’t let anyone new in, then they were killed by someone already inside our border.”

Wait, no. “Killed?” That seems like quite the jump to me. “You can’t be serious. Who inside your own borders would want to kill any of you?”

If anything, Kai’s eyes go even flintier. He doesn’t say anything, just watches as Ferow makes it to the Gate. He pushes against it, and—

Nothing happens.

Oh, shit.

He’s already running back our way when the first javelin flies toward him out of the tall grass to the side of the Gate. It takes Ferow in the back of his upper thigh, and he shouts in pain as he falls to the ground.

Oh god, oh god, Ophiucas, no—

Kai is already moving. “Cut the rams loose!” he shouts. “Get them into a defensive position! Turn the wagon, keep Camrael behind it. I want protection on both sides.”

People jump to action at his command faster than I can follow. Someone lifts me from my seat, and, a second later, they’ve tipped the wagon over, spilling the rest of our supplies and all my belongings and dowry out onto the ground. Morfan, his jaw clenched tight and eyes bright with unshed tears, drags Lulu around to my side. “Stay down,” he says, then steps out to the right side of the wagon, heavy spear at the ready.

I don’t know what to say. I’m too afraid to gather breath for any sort of speech, honestly. I can’t imagine having the discipline to remain calm and follow orders if I lost Kai or Turo.

I kneel behind the makeshift cover. How can this be happening? Now, when we’re so close to the end? Who’s behind this?

There’s a gap in the wood where the axle fits to the bottom of the wagon. I stare through it and see…

A man emerging from the grass. He’s wearing a bronze corselet, its scales gleaming in the midday light. His helmet is broad and heavy in the front. He’s got a javelin in one hand and a long, curving sword in the other.

A Kamoran warrior, without his chariot this time. He runs out to where Ferow is doggedly crawling toward us, brings his sword down in a chopping motion, and—

I can’t see the death stroke, but I hear Morfan’s sound of pain. He looks like he’s barely restraining himself from running out there.

“I count twenty,” Rusen says.

“Twenty-three,” Turo corrects. “Look to the far right, there’s a cluster there. They’re going to try and flank.”

“Shields!” Kai orders a second later, and I see those lightweight javelins begin to fall around us. One cuts so close that it parts Lulu’s tail feathers, making her startle. I grab her harness to hold her head steady and pull her in closer to the protection of the wagon.

“They’ll use them as cover for a run on us, the bastards,” Kai goes on. “Turo, can you—”

“Yes.” One word, and then as I watch Turo’s arrows begin to do their work. The bronze armor is good, but it’s flexible, and Turo has experience hunting these people now. I watch three go down before they get within a hundred feet of us—that’s all I can see from my angle.

“I’m out,” he says, a few seconds later.

“But they’ve only got seventeen fighters now.”

Seventeen against the six of us doesn’t seem like wonderful odds to me. What else can we do but fight, though?

What do they even want from us?

“Shields!”

Another rain of javelins, and this time I hear one of the rams cry out. They wear almost as much armor as their owners do. The javelins must be tipped with something that can cut through bronze.

“Got to run them now if you want to get any use out of ’em,” Rusen warns Kai.

Run them? I look through the hole in the wagon again. My hands clench around the hilt of my sword as I see the line of attackers running toward us. Every soldier is armed, their blades at the ready as they charge. My grip tightens around Lulu’s harness. She’s quivering, whether from an urge to fight or an urge to flee, I don’t know.

I hear aclunkover the sound of my own harsh breathing, then a chorus of bellows, and then—

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