Page 208 of War

Hussain moves, but he’s not quick enough to avoid the hit altogether. The arrow lodges itself near his hip bone.

His teeth clench, but that’s all the reaction I get. And still he keeps coming forward, removing the arrow as he does so.

I see blood drip from his wound, but he doesn’t look bothered in the least. He yanks the second arrow out a moment later, tossing it aside.

What the fuck is this savagery?

Dropping my bow and quiver, I pull out my dagger and the battle axe, backing up. His gaze goes to the axe in my hand. He lifts his eyebrows.

“You managed to kill Ezra?” he asks, recognizing the axe. “Miriam, I’m impressed.”

Hussain’s gaze moves to my face, then to the horse beyond me. He must see the blood-soaked saddlebag, which means he knows I know.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask.

His attention returns to me. “War’s ending his raids. If he hasn’t told you as much, you must have at least seen it.”

I shift my weight, sweat from my palms slicking my weapons.

“He left his army of children and innocents back in Dongola,” Hussain continues, “but not his trained killers. Why do you think that is?”

Honestly, I don’t have any idea.

“Let’s be truthful with one another: War might spare the innocents of the world—he might even spare the average man, but his phobos riders? We’ve seen and done too much.” Hussain shakes his head. “We gave him everything—”

“Everything but your loyalty,” I say.

“He intended tokillus.”

“No,” I say, something deep within me aching. “War didn’t intend on doing that.”

None of these fighters must’ve known War’s thoughts on redemption and forgiveness. If they had, they would’ve known that the horseman would’ve spared them too. War believed even they were capable of redemption. It’s these men in the end who lacked faith.

And so they plotted to kill the horseman.

Hussain brings his sword up, his intentions clear.

“You were kind to me,” I say a bit mournfully.

Not that it much matters now. It didn’t stop Hussain from plotting against War, nor did it stop me from firing the first shot at him. And it won’t stop the phobos rider from trying to slice me open now.

“And you were kind to me,” he replies, acknowledging our strange relationship. He takes a step forward, then another, his sword still raised. “Kind enough for me to consider sparing you. But we both know if I do, you’ll try to save him.”

I stare back at Hussain. There’s no use denying it. He already saw me cut down his men. He knows my intentions, just as I now know his.

“Besides,” his eyes move to my stomach, “there’s also the matter of his child …”

Without warning, Hussain brings the weapon down like a hammer, and I barely move out of the way in time. I swipe out at him, but I’m too far away and my weapons are too short to connect with anything.

The last of my emotions take a backseat as I truly engage in battle, dodging Hussain’s successive blows even as I swipe at him with my own weapons.

The two of us duck and pivot, sidestep and lunge, moving almost in synchrony. It’s a violent dance, and Hussain is my partner.

He swings again at me, and this time I’m too slow. I feel the sensation of skin tearing and warm liquid spilling down my arm.

The next second, the pain sets in.Fuck, does it set in. My left upper arm is on fire.

The rider follows the hit with another, this one grazing my other arm, equally deep.

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