Page 111 of Cursed Shadows 4

I blink, and he’s gone.

No sign of him among the lush trees flecked around me.

I don’t obey his command for longer than a moment. In just a few heartbeats, I twist around and sneak in the direction he went.

I trace his steps to the arched tree, whose trunks come out from the earth in a pair, then merge into one looming tree that reaches as far up as the low-hanging clouds.

I slip under the arch. Foliage crinkles under my weight, but it’s an oddly hushed sound, as though the arch muffles it. My movements are slow as I crawl under the arch—and I pause when I reach the dead, frosted bush.

It blocks my way.

Reaching out my frozen hands, I peel aside the shrubbery, and peer over the mass of twigs to the small leaf-littered clearing ahead, no bigger than an ordinary bedchamber.

It’s not the clearing that has my shoulders tensing. It’s not the size of the clearing that shrinks me down behind the shrub. It’s that the moment,the exact secondI pull aside the shrub, the noise of battle is quick to blast my eardrums, as though the bush works in tandem with the arched tree trunk to silence the fight that I land my gaze on.

A sharp breath cuts through me, and I am rigid behind the bush. One hand stuck into a mass of twigs, knees digging into the soil, I watch as an ateralum sword comes cutting down the air. Crushed black powder of sorts, a glittering blade, slices through the gut of brown leathers. Intestines spill out of the perfect incision—and I blanch at the horror of that ghastly sight.

I swerve my gaze around the battle.

Five litalves, sheathed in brown leathers, closing in on the dokkalves with their backs to me. Even with their backs facing me, I recognise them.

Dare.

Caius, his bulky self and his massive ateralum sword.

And Samick, the familiar icy hues of his hair, spattered crimson; the starkness of black leathers on marble pale skin. He’s farther down the way, three corpses at his feet, their blood staining his black leathers, splashed over the sharp cut of his face; a glassy dagger in one fist, and a handful of throwing stars in the other, each tucked between his fingers.

I found the battle in a fleeting moment, a standstill. I suppose that Dare’s sudden arrival split the fight up, but only for a moment, a heartbeat, and now the clash ignites again.

Three litalves run at Caius—and that’s a smart move. I doubt just one could take down muscle wrapped in flesh.

I grimace as they are about to collide.

But before they can, the trio splinter off at the last moment, then whirl around him. They have strategy. Caius is as much of a target as I am, as Daxeel is. Take down Caius, take out one of three threats to the victory of the Sacrament.

The realisation strikes me much the same way as their daggers strike down Caius’s arms. Black blood spills out of him freely, as a gasp spills out of me.

I press my hands to my mouth.

Dare wanted me hidden. Kept away from the battle he sensed nearby. Because Caius is a target—and so am I.

I’ve just brought them another target. Kill Caius, kill me—win the Sacrament.

Dare and Samick shudder into movement. Their instinct turns to Caius’s attackers, the urge to protect one of the Sgail bloodlines. But neither of them close the distance, not before the remaining three litalves rush at them.

The strategy is obvious.

Keep the three dokkalves separated.

Now, Caius fights off three light warriors on his own.

Caius staggers around to follow the attackers on him like flies to honey. The kind you can never quite swat away. That’s how he looks at them. Withering and bothered, but not at all afraid.

That fear only flickers through the blue of his eyes when he lurches around with the weight of his sword, severing the throat of a litalf… and his gaze lands on me.

Startled, Caius hesitates the rising of his sword.

His gaze pins me under the split arch of the tree, my face poking out from the bush.

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