Page 66 of Sharpen Your Claws

“But if you want answers, you play by our rules.” Rorbek said, causing the red caps to cackle. They wouldn’t be laughing if they saw Arden skipping into the woods, leaving them without supper.

“What are your rules?” asked Evera rather loudly when one of the red caps nearly glanced back at the fire pit. The creature gave her its full attention, allowing Arden to be swallowed by the dark forest entirely.

“Battle.” Rorbek smiled with all his crooked teeth and the red caps cheered behind him. “A fair one. Not against either of you.” Rorbek pointed at Nicholas, then Evera. “One of the mortals.”

“That is hardly fair. Mortals are the weakest of all of us,” Evera argued.

Henry and William shared offended glances.

“The mortal may choose a weapon of their preference. We fight in our battle circle. Whoever is cast out, or dies, will be the winner. If the mortal wins, they get answers and you leave without a fuss. If we win,” Rorbek chuckled and his gums bled, leaking over his chapped lips. “The mortal who failed shall be our feast.”

“I accept,” Henry declared.

William paled. “What? Absolutely not.”

“The challenge has already been accepted.” Rorbek snickered. “Pick your weapon. We have many.”

Cheering and bickering, the red caps formed a circle around them. They were too focused on the battle to realize Arden escaped. A handful of them offered Henry their weapon, explaining the construction of their blades in great detail and how many lives their blades took.

“Nicholas,” William said desperately. “Do something. Henry can’t—”

“I can handle myself,” Henry interjected, earning a sharp glare.

He couldn’t believe the fool would offer himself, and felt even worse when Nicholas said, “Henry can do this.”

“Have the both of you gone mad?” he hissed and pointed at Rorbek, hefting a scythe three times his size. Rorbek swung the weapon as if it weighed less than a twig. With a wicked grin, the beast sliced through the soil, leaving a gash as if to say Henry would be next.

He couldn’t breathe. His mind played their tricks, showing him Henry’s bloodied corpse beneath Rorbek’s scythe. He wanted to scream, to snatch Henry’s hand and run. The sky overhead darkened, clouds of a storm rolling in.

In his shock, he nearly dropped Charmaine. Evera took her from under the arms, easing her into a standing position. The medicine had made her tired, her eyes drooping. She did not know what was going on when he needed her. She would side with him. There would be someone to understand his panic and save his brother from a stupid decision.

Henry settled his hands on William’s shoulders. “You don’t need to protect everyone all the time.”

“I need to protect you,” he argued, struggling to breathe. The forest caved in around them. Sweat coated his back. He felt like he was drowning. All this time, he did everything to keep his family from violence, but Henry so willfully walked towards it.

“You don’t,” Henry whispered, soothing and gentle. “Let me handle this.”

He shook his head, but Rorbek shouted, “Have you chosen a weapon?”

“I have.” Henry smiled with a confidence William found foolish. The confident died first, believing themselves capable in the face of a world too unforgiving to care.

“Off the field!” Rorbek yelled, swinging a clawed hand.

“Henry, wait.” He reached for his brother. Nicholas grabbed his arm. He yanked out of the hold, too pissed off to look at him.

“The agreement has been made. If you interfere, we’re all in trouble,” Nicholas explained.

“You should have been on my side,” he growled.

“I am.”

“You let my brother throw himself into a battle he will not win.”

“I wouldn’t let him do anything I don’t believe he can do.” Nicholas nudged him toward the sidelines where the red caps watched, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Evera kept Charmaine close. With an annoyed huff, he stormed out of the makeshift arena. Thunder roared overhead and lightning streaked across the sky. A few droplets of rain fell, hitting his cheek. Henry stood in front of Rorbek, thirsty for blood. The look reminded him of Fearworn’s creatures, their hunger for destruction that Henry was never meant to meet.

“As I said, the first to die or be pushed from the circle loses. We start on opposite sides. When the gong rings, we attack,” Rorbek explained. Behind him, a red cap held up a gong riddled with dents and hanging from frayed strings. It had certainly seen better days. She stood on the sidelines, jittery with excitement.

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