Page 188 of War

I pull on my horse’s reins, angling myself away from the line of fire. Another arrow whistles—

My body jerks as the projectile hits me in the shoulder. I grunt, pain and surprise nearly throwing me off my horse.

“Miriam!” War shouts. His eyes are locked on the arrow protruding from me.

I stare at my wound, warm blood pooling from it. The pain is there, but it’s buried under my shock.

Someone just shot me.

They knew we were coming and they shot me.

War steers Deimos in my direction, putting himself between me and the city ahead of us. There are more arrows coming our way. Most fall short or go wide, but several come right at us.

I have to duck to avoid another one.

The horsemen gets to my side, his flank exposed to the onslaught. His face is calm, but his violent, violent eyes give him away.

In one fluid movement, he grabs me by the waist and drags me onto his horse.

I bite back a cry as the action jostles my shoulder.

And then I’m on Deimos and we’re retreating, though I’ve never known War to retreat, ever.

As we ride away, I see a few arrows sticking out of Deimos’s side. The horse doesn’t so much as flinch from the pain, though it must hurt him.

This is what happens when you let people live. They pass warnings along to cities that haven’t been attacked, and those cities prepare. And then they fight with every last piece of themselves.

My heart beats a little faster, and I feel a thrilling sense of accomplishment, despite being on the wrong end of this fight.

This is because of me and War.Without the trades and the fights and eventually, that vow of his, this never would’ve happened.

War places his hand under the collar of my shirt, near the wound, trying to heal it.

“I can’t remove the arrow until we’re safe,” he says apologetically.

I nod, distracted by the warm drip of blood down my arm.

I chance a glance over my shoulder. The city is quickly growing small, but in the distance, I notice several riders coming after us.

“War …”

“I know.”

We ride for a minute more before the horseman pulls Deimos up short. We turn, so that we can see the men riding out for us.

War lets them come close. Not close enough to shoot us, but close enough to see that these men are wearing uniforms.

They’re not just civilians, which means the outside world officially knows the horseman is on the warpath.

War watches them for several seconds. Calmly, he reaches out a hand.

A shiver moves through me at the sight of it. One of his hands is healing me, while the other …

The ground between us and our assailants buckles and shifts. And then the dead rise, just as they always do.

The earth is full of so many bones.

The riders’ horses rear back, and even from here I can hear the men shouting. They fire arrows at the skeletal bodies, but it doesn’t stop the dead. The creatures amble towards them ever so steadily. The men turn their horses around and ride back, the dead trailing along behind them.

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