Page 133 of Sweetling
Pulling her legs up to fold in front of her, Molly tried to catch her breath—and sight of Allarion.
She spotted his silver head bobbing as the other two fae tried to get hold of him.
They want him alive,she realized. Only he knew where Ravenna hid.
The bottom of her stomach opened up as she watched from her perch. Allarion expertly disabled and dodged their blows and attacks, keeping clear of their grasping hands, but it was still two against one.
The other two unicorns had managed to herd Bellarand further away into the brambles, taking turns stabbing their horns at him.
Desperation clogged her throat, and Molly looked around frantically for something to throw. But there was nothing, not even pinecones.
A whimper of frustration escaped her lips—just before the ground began to tremble.
Finally, reinforcements began hurtling over the stream. Balar and Theron led the charge, battle axes held high above their heads.
The small clearing filled with bodies and utter chaos. In the fray, Molly lost sight of her fae.
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When he got the moment he needed, Allarion thumped his left shoulder against a tree, popping it back into socket. His groan of relief was profound; a few moments longer being pulled by whips and roots, he’d have split in half.
His body was littered with many littler, isolated pains, but they all converged to make him feel like one large, exposed nerve.
That didn’t matter right now, though.
Getting his feet under him, Allarion turned back into the melee.
He didn’t know how or why his land was suddenly swarming with half-orcs, manticores, harpies, and armored human knights, only that it was because of her. He tried to find her in the fray, the sharp dread that’d stabbed him when he saw her riding atop Bellarand straight for his fae attackers still smarting.
Another pang nearly leveled him when he saw Bellarand doing battle with two unicorns, riderless.
He caught the collar of the first person he could find.
Hakon. Excellent.
“Allarion!” the half-orc exclaimed. “Are you badly hurt?”
“Where is Molly?” he rumbled.
The halfling’s green face paled.
There was little time to hiss at the lordling—the final fae still astride his mount came barreling toward them. Hakon raised his battle axe as the dread-mount lowered his horn.
Allarion didn’t have time for halfling bravery nor this battle at all. He needed to find Molly.
With his good arm, he shoved Hakon away, out of the path of the charging unicorn, and caught the brunt of the attack himself. He grimaced, baring his fangs in agony as the horn punctured the meat of his left shoulder above his clavicle.
Grabbing the horn, Allarion stared down the dread-mount. Eyes as hot as burning coals seared him, and the horn prickled and sparked with heated magic against his palm.
Wrenching the horn from his flesh, he pulled the unicorn away. The dread-mount screamed in outrage, neck twisting painfully. Allarion kept hold, no matter how the horn burned or the unicorn hooves tried to paw at him. The fae knight swung his sword but Allarion was too close, pulling the unicorn around by the horn until he had no choice but to fall with his rider lest he break his neck.
The two went tumbling to the ground in a clatter of metal. A frenzy of tawny manticores fell upon them, fangs and claws flashing, and Allarion turned away.
He picked up a discarded blade, the perfect balance of it feeling right in his hand.
The border of the estate had fallen into chaos, pockets of fighting watering the tree roots with blood. The other two dread-mounts had gone back-to-back, fending off Bellarand’s thrusts as harpies swooped from above. One fae knight had been caught in the middle of a circle of half-orcs and human knights, all trying to land a blow. So far, the warrior kept them at bay, but their numbers were too great. The last fae knight had managed to get a tree at his back as he fought the dragon Theron and three halflings.
Nowhere did Allarion see Molly.
