Page 134 of Sweetling
It was time to put an end to this.
Although blood gushed and pain radiated down his side, Allarion charged the fae with his back to the tree. Cutting through the allies gathered there, he swung his blade. The warrior jerked just in time to avoid being pinned to the bark, the blade sinking into the tree just at his jaw.
“Yield,” Allarion demanded in faethling.
“No,” the warrior growled back. His hand darted for his belt, but Theron was quicker, kicking the dagger from his hand.
“Yield,” Allarion said again. “You can be free of her—just lay down your weapons.”
“You know we cannot.”
“Enough,” rumbled Theron, “we don’t need to play with the food.”
The fae warrior sneered up at the dragon. “I will squeeze your heart from the inside, scale-rot.”
Allarion sensed the movement before it happened, saw the defiance in the eyes of his kin—but was too slow to stop it.
The warrior struck at Theron’s knee, hobbling the dragon. The male loosed a thundering shout as he buckled, leaving his flank vulnerable. Grabbing the blade Allarion had sunk in the tree, the fae lurched forward, splinters flying as the blade wrenched free. It flashed in a perfect arc, down at Theron’s head.
Allarion threw himself against his fellow fae, driving the knight back into the bark.
Face to face, the knight smiled sadly at him—before plunging a knife in his side.
Sadness passed between them, an understanding between kin. In another life, they may have fought beside each other, brothers in arms, bound by loyalty and honor. But that was not this life, where both had their duties to their queens.
Allarion felt no anger, no spite. He felt hardly anything when a green hand pulled him backward, out of the way of the enraged dragon.
Theron’s red muzzle elongated in a partial shift, and he opened wide, baring every single sharp tooth as he roared in the fae’s face.With vicious quickness, he raked his claws across the fae’s face and throat, opening up four black lines in his flesh. Black blood spurted from the fae’s neck, but before he could fall, another swipe from the other direction nearly decapitated him.
Allarion turned away, relieved at least that the knight was dead before the dragon descended on him in a bestial frenzy.
Someone said something, perhaps to him, but Allarion did not hear. Covering his slashed side with a hand, he felt the warm, sticky blood pooling there.
Damn, that stings.
He locked his knees to keep upright, viewing what remained of the battlefield.
The unicorns glistened with sweat and blood, claw marks scoring their backs and flanks. The other fae warrior had succumbed, slumped on his knees as the party gathered round him took turns delivering killing blows.
Numbness tried to blanket his senses, but it couldn’t totally snuff the sick feeling in his gut.
“Orek, give us your hatchet—maybe it will cut through this damn horn.”
Allarion turned to look at the manticores, the whole pride gathered round the slain unicorn and his rider. Paws and muzzles bloodied, one of the brothers stood with his foot on the unicorn’s head, claws wrapped round the horn. A handful of blades lay scattered around him, bent or broken.
Allarion’s upper lip peeled back from his fangs. “You willnot.”
The hair on the manticores’ shoulders lifted, their leonine eyes rounding at the ferocity of his tone.
Allarion met Balar’s gaze and held it. Dread-mounts wereneverto be made trophies, only treated with the utmost respect. All of the triad may have been his enemies, but they still deserved honor in death.
Finally, Balar nodded. With a wave of his paw, his younger brother stepped back from the unicorn, letting the head fall to the ground.
When he was sure the manticores would heed him, Allarion turned back to the others.
“Enough,” he called. “Enough!”
His shout rang through the trees, bringing a halt to every swing and blow, and even Theron paused, his face bloodied black.
