Page 70 of The Onyx Covenant

A boulder flies past, missing me by inches and crashing into a tree with enough force to splinter it. I wince and swerve away from it. Theron veers left, and I follow instinctively.

My lungs burn, and my muscles scream.

The troll gains ground, its massive fist slamming into a tree trunk just beside me. Splinters of wood sting my flank, spurring me to greater speed.

A yelp slips past my throat, panic driving me forward faster.

Theron gives a short, sharp bark, urging me on. I don’t need to be told twice. He changes direction again, heading toward what appears to be a wall of dense vegetation. As we get closer, I realize it’s not a wall at all but the edge of something—a ravine or gorge, its far side obscured by the rain and mist. A primitive rope bridge spans the gap, swaying precariously in the wind.

Fuck!

I skid to a halt at the edge, hackles rising, a growl of disbelief rumbling in my chest. Theron stops, too, looking back at me with intense eyes. He nudges me toward the bridge with his muzzle, then steps onto it himself, testing it with his weight.

The structure creaks ominously but holds. He looks back at me, ears forward, tail straight—a clear command to follow.

He takes more steps and starts moving forward, glancing back at me, grunting to follow him.

The troll’s roar behind us makes the decision for me. I step onto the first plank, feeling the entire bridge sway alarmingly under my weight. Through gaps in the wooden slats, I glimpse a mist-filled chasm, the roar of rushing water suggesting a river far below. My sensitive ears pick up the creaking of rope fibers.

Theron moves ahead. I match his pace, focusing on him. Behind us, the troll reaches the edge of the ravine. Its frustrated growl is followed by the ominous splintering of wood as it sets foot on the bridge.

The bridge sways dangerously.

I freeze, my heart about to give out.

A warning snarl rises from Theron’s throat. His pace quickens, and I follow suit, pulse hammering in my veins.

A rotted plank gives way beneath my paw, and I scream, plunging through, back legs scrabbling at empty air. A yelp of terror escapes me as I cling desperately to the remaining planks with my front paws.

Theron spins around, ears flat against his skull, eyes wide with alarm. The bridge tilts crazily as the troll advances, its weight causing the entire structure to sag dangerously. The ropes stretch and groan, ancient fibers beginning to snap one by one.

With a desperate surge of strength, I pull myself up, muscles trembling with the effort. Theron seizes the scruff of my neck in his jaws, helping haul me back onto what remains of the walkway. The bite is painful but steadying.

We scramble forward as a tremendous crack echoes across the gorge. The main support rope has snapped under the troll’s weight. The entire bridge lurches sideways, and we’re reduced to scrambling, claws scrabbling for purchase on the remaining planks as the structure begins to collapse around us.

Theron reaches the far side first, leaping to solid ground before turning back. His bark is sharp and urgent, commanding me to jump as the final planks begin to fall away beneath me.

I’m still several feet away, clinging to what’s left of the rope railings as the bridge continues to fall apart. It’s too far, but staying put means certain death. With a desperate lunge, I launch myself toward the edge, front paws extended, muscles straining.

For one heart-stopping moment, I’m suspended in the open air, nothing but mist and death below me.

Then my front paws catch the edge of the ravine, claws digging into mud and rock. I scrabble wildly, back legs kicking at nothing as I fight to pull myself up. Theron’s jaws close around my scruff again, and with a grunt of effort, he drags me the rest of the way. We collapse onto solid ground as the last of the bridge plummets into the gorge.

A furious roar echoes across the chasm. The troll is clinging to the opposite cliff face, its body too heavy for the bridge but strong enough to save itself from the fall.

I struggle to my feet, sides heaving with each desperate breath. Theron rises beside me, nudging me with his muzzle—a wordless command to keep moving. His growl is low and urgent. He turns and bolts into the forest, and I follow, rain beating against us.

We run for what feels like hours. Only when we’ve put miles between us and the ravine do we finally slow, both of us heaving with exertion. We’ve climbed higher, following a narrow game trail that winds through increasingly rocky terrain. The trees are thinning, and through gaps in the foliage, I catch glimpses of our destination—the twin spires of the Darkbone Peaks, with the valley nestled between them.

Theron stops in a small clearing, shaking his black fur to dislodge some of the water. I follow suit, though it does little good in the continuing downpour. He tilts his head, eyes questioning, and I understand without words. We’re relatively safe now, at least from the trolls. We can rest, if briefly.

I sink onto my haunches, grateful for the break. My entire body aches, muscles pushed beyond their limits, the pain in my shoulder from the bridge rescue a persistent throb. But beneath the physical discomfort lies a deeper wound—the image of Zephyr’s broken body, the knowledge that the ritual has already claimed lives.

How many more will die before this is over?

Theron moves closer, his big black form settling beside me, offering warmth and silent comfort. I allow myself to lean against him, drawing strength from his solid presence.

After a few minutes, he nudges me gently with his muzzle, indicating we should continue. I rise reluctantly, knowing he’s right. We’re close.

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