Page 49 of Of Kings and Thieves

The keep stood in front of us. Once tall and imposing, the corner had crumbled long ago, exposing the inner floors, or what was left of them. I shuddered, thinking about the trees we just left behind. My knowledge of castles and warfare was sparse, at best, but I knew the keep was usually the place of last defense; everyone did. Yet the trees grew outside it.

“Did they evacuate the fortress?” I asked. “When the dragons attacked?”

“They tried,” Col said, “when they knew it would crumble and burn with them inside. The dragons approached from the east and over the mountains, where there was less chance of them being spotted. They arrived at night and people had little warning. There was a brave captain here who led his men against the attack while allowing regular folk to flee. The captain and his men all perished, but there are songs about them in my people’s histories.”

We dismounted at the base of the tower, and eager to be out of the wind, I made to step inside. A rough hand grabbed my arm and jerked me backward. I turned in a flash of anger and saw Killian.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“Something’s not right,” he said. When he was sure I wasn’t going to run into the tower like an idiot, he let go of my arm. “Stay back.”

Magnus and Col joined Killian at the door. I kept my sword in my hand, more for the comfort of having it there than out of any feeling of confidence in using it.

I hadn’t stayed alive this long without learning how to be silent when danger approached, so I waited, the tension rolling through me just as a blast of icy air rolled over me.

“Hey!” Killian said, and darted into the tower. It snapped the tension like a stick, and the rest of us ran after him.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside, but there was still enough light leaking out through the high windows that when I saw what greeted us, I opened my mouth in shock.

Magnus gave a startled cry, his ax catching the light as he ran forward.

Far above our heads, someone was hanging by their feet, with a long, red braid dangling below them. A woman, and she was either unconscious or dead. She was gagged, her hands bound behind her back, and she swung back and forth like a pendulum, spinning in a dizzying way. Three cruel black arrows protruded from her body, and blood pooled on the stone floor below her; it looked like someone had been using her for target practice.

On the other side of the tower, the end of the rope that had been used to haul her upward was tied off on a support beam for the stairway that wound up the inside wall.

“Who is she?” I asked as Magnus ran to untie the rope.

“His sister,” Col answered grimly, “Scarlet.”

Magnus was already lowering his sister’s limp body to the floor, and the rest of us caught her in the middle of the tower, making sure she didn’t land on the arrows.

Killian began working on her immediately, assessing her wounds, examining the arrows jutting out of her body. “She’s alive.”

Col swiftly cut her bonds, freeing her limbs, and then Magnus was there, cradling Scarlet’s head and brushing the bloodied hair out of her face, which matched the shade of the gray rocks outside. She had lost a lot of blood.

“What do you need?” I asked Killian, thinking I could help in some way. Scarlet’s injuries were far beyond my simple medicines, but I couldn’t stand around and watch her die. But the mage didn’t answer.

I thought of Flint, with those arrows sticking out of his back, the memory more vivid thanks to the nightmare of the Darkrift. Even if the soldiers… even if they hadn’t killed Flint like they did, he had been mortally wounded. I wouldn’t have been able to save him.

Scarlet had two arrows piercing her stomach, and one her chest. Her chances of survival were slim; even a mage might not be able to save her. Though I knew little of mages as healers, especially Deviants.

Feeling useless, I glanced up to where the light shone through the hole in the tower roof, and my heart seemed to stop beating.

There was a shadow, the silhouette of an enormous figure standing in the gap. They had hulking muscles and held a curved sword in their hand.

My blood ran cold, and I shouted a warning just as more figures emerged from every shadow, window, and the only door.

“Orcs!” Col yelled, and unsheathed his sword.

There was a flurry of activity, and the orcs attacked. I gripped my sword and spun with my back to Killian.

Magnus had left his sister’s side and was swinging his mighty ax, the runes on its handle glowing. He stood back-to-back with Col, who had already killed two orcs. Magnus’s first stroke beheaded one orc and took the arm off a second.

I braced myself next to Scarlet, standing guard over her and Killian as he continued to work on the red-haired woman as if there wasn’t a battle being fought around him. Calm and cold as ice.

The other two men traded blows with the seemingly endless number of orcs who had spilled into the tower. The orcs were of many sizes—tall, short, thick, skinny—but they were all armed to the teeth, their bodies muscular and dangerous.

The air crackled as if lightning had struck the tower, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

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