Page 19 of The Last Bell
“Now,” River said softly. He and Tye released the rope despite being several feet from the ground. Tye’s hands rose with shimmering magic before they landed, heating the air, still damp with recent rain. By the time River’s boots landed on the balcony, a thick cloud of fog concealing him and the others, his heart was beating with steady hard beats that sharpened all his senses.
The lighttap tap tapof others landing safely behind him made River nod in approval, though no one could see him—which didn’t mean the Night Guard archers would not loose their arrows, just that they’d not be able to aim. Would not know just how many of them were here to cause trouble.
As if in answer to his thoughts, the tip of a nocked arrow shimmered with reflected light.
“Shields!” River snapped, his own magic reacting on instinct. A moment later, theclank clank clankof shafts falling harmlessly to the stone mirrored the soft taps of warriors’ feet landing behind River’s wide back. The second dozen fighters had made it down the ropes, then. Good.
“Bows!” River ordered, the bowmen stepping forward out of the fog to take aim at the Night Guard below. Unlike Owalin’s archers, who were firing horizontally over the mezzanine, River’s people had the advantage of shooting downward. “Aim.” He held his breath, giving the humans an extra second to acquire their targets before dropping the shield. “Loose.”
The bowstrings loosened, the arrows whistling as they cut the air.
In the Great Hall below, Owalin shouted orders dispatching forces to the mezzanine, the magic shield around him keeping him safe from the fired arrows.
“Remind me to compliment Owalin for that bellowing voice of his,” River murmured to Coal, the dark warrior unsheathing one of the swords strapped across his back. If the humans counted correctly, they’d be making entry thirty heartbeats from now, while most of the Guard were distracted with the mezzanine assault.
Heart beating a steady rhythm, River pulled out his own sword in time to meet an overhead strike from a newly arrived dark-haired male whose eyes burned with murder.
Steel met steel in a resounding ring that sent welcome vibrations through River’s bones.Stars,he’d missed this. The feel of the blade in his hand, the way battle made every one of his senses alive and hungry.
Twenty seconds, then he’d have to go.
The lingering ache inside his chest faded to a distant, irrelevant throb as the scent ofnowfilled his lungs. Kicking the male away, River grabbed the next assailant, using him as a shield against a straw-thin fae warrior whose eyes widened as he realized he’d sunk his blade into his own comrade.
Ten seconds.
Sensing the fight, magic inside River roared for the freedom it had been denied so very long, kicking him like a crazed stallion determined to escape the stall. Tightening his jaw, River gave the magic no leave as he peered over the rail to survey the Great Hall below.
The place swarmed with predictable chaos, cowering hostages and scrambling Guardsmen. Owalin was in the corner now, an oblique magical shield around him preventing archers from landing a shot.
“River,” Coal called behind him. “Three, two, go.”
River vaulted over the mezzanine rail just as the second contingent of his mortal forces rammed down a side door and streamed inside. Absorbing the landing, River rose into a defensive crouch, the sounds of the melee rising around him in a familiar cadence. Clash of swords. Grunts of fighters. Screams of the wounded. The latter were intense but surprisingly few for the numbers involved.
Out of the corner of his eye, River marked Coal engaging several of Owalin’s minions together, the blond warrior’s sword moving with a lazy precision as it sliced the air, reminding the world of why their quint was feared throughout Lunos.
On River’s other side, Katita was leading another assault—the warriors with her doing their best to put themselves between the princess and her attackers.
It was going well.
It was going too well. River blinked as one of the Night Guard warriors twisted in the air to avoid harming a hostage instead of running the young princess through, while another of Owalin’s warriors actually pushed a confused noble out of the way with an admonishment to stay the hell down. River’s heart started to speed. If Owalin gave orders to protect the hostages, it meant he was certain he’d still need them after this assault.
Owalin was certain he’d win.
Cursing under his breath, River forged his way toward where he’d last seen Owalin, the bloodred cloak of the Night Guard leader like a beacon amidst the fog. He had to take out Owalin. Whatever was truly happening—and something was—it would not stop until River had the Night Guard leader’s surrender—or his head.
River carved his way forward, clashing blades only enough to throw the others from his path. Closer. Closer. River’s heart pounded against his ribs, the sounds around him dulling as he approached his prey. Now he could see the tall body rising above the rest, his back turned to River. Another two steps and Owalin would be within sword’s reach. River could already see the face beneath the deep cowl, sharp and—pleased? One step.
“River.” His name, said with a sharp desperate inhale, came from a voice so familiar that it stopped his heart. Froze him so completely that someone’s sword managed to leave a long gash along his shoulder before he was even aware of the attack. Because suddenly, the attack, the hostages, the battle, all stopped mattering.
Because there, in the middle of the ring River had just penetrated to get to Owalin, stood not only the leader of the Night Guard, but also Leralynn herself.
14
River
River’s world stopped. Leralynn stood weaponless, her beautiful face fallen, her shoulders hunched in apology.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking. “They had Arisha. I couldn’t leave her. Not her.”
