Page 50 of Of Kings and Thieves

“Mage!” yelled Magnus in warning.

I spun to where he was fighting, now separated from Col. An orc got too close to Magnus’s ax and its head cleaved in two as if Magnus were slicing through butter. But he hadn’t been talking about the orcs in front of him.

He had been talking about the rugged-looking, bulky orc standing in the doorway. He carried a gnarled staff but was otherwise dressed as the other orcs—leather breeches and little else but boots and fur.

The mage orc brought down his staff, which sent a shockwave through the tower. I staggered back, almost tripping over Scarlet. The wooden staircase above us creaked and groaned, and dust rained down. An arc of white light came from the orc mage next, and it streaked straight for Col.

“Look out!” I yelled.

He rolled to the side just as another shockwave made the staircase groan and crack, and Col continued his roll to avoid being crushed beneath the falling stairs. I flung myself over Scarlet’s head, but I needn’t have—Killian had left her side and thrown up a shield of some sort. The air around the three of us shimmered and sparked as the wooden staircase crumbled into a tangled mess going halfway up the tower, ringing us in with dust and debris.

Dazed from that last shockwave, I staggered to my feet and looked for Col, only feeling a small bit of relief when I saw him attacking the orc mage. He and Magnus had escaped the destruction, but the heap of the fallen stairs now separated them from the rest of us.

The shield around us changed, and Killian began to move. Leaving the barrier around Scarlet and me, he stepped through the shimmering air, climbed the wooden heap, and faced off against the orc mage. As if they had practiced the move, Col switched targets to another orc while Killian stepped in.

The other mage switched his attention to the Deviant, and without missing a beat, they began casting spells so fast that the air near the tower flashed white, purple, and green as they clashed. It was too bright to watch, and I looked at Scarlet, whose eyes had fluttered open.

“Hey,” I said, crouching down. The arrows were still there—Killian hadn’t yet removed them, but her face looked less pale. Whatever he had done, it had pulled her back from death’s door. Or at least kept her on the threshold.

“My sword,” she rasped. Through all the noise, I had to put my ear near her lips to hear what she was saying.

“I don’t know where your sword is,” I said, “but you’re safe, for the moment.”

But Scarlet wasn’t looking at me. Instead, she gazed off behind me. I spun on my heel just in time to see an orc warrior crawling out from beneath the pile of the stairs, as if he had been caught in the collapse and was just getting free. Blood dripped down his nearly naked body, over greenish-gray skin, but he still gripped a cruel, curved sword.

His mouth opened in a bloody grin, showing one of his broken lower tusks. The orc was on the other side of Killian’s shield, but was gazing shrewdly at us, unconcerned about the other fights. He tapped the barrier with his sword, and the blade bounced back toward him. I wished it would have stabbed him, but nothing so fortuitous happened.

“We’re safe,” I whispered, more to myself than Scarlet. “The barrier is intact.”

And then, as if the gods were punishing me for my hopeful thinking, there was a bright flash of light followed by a boom that reverberated around the tower. The stones shuddered and groaned, and the walls fractured. Large cracks swept upward, raining down stones large and small. I hoped the shield would protect us from them like it had with the stairs, but when the first stone struck my arm, I looked up and gasped.

The barrier was gone.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The tower didn’t fully collapse—it remained standing, but just barely, as if one strong wind would send it toppling.

“Samara!” I heard Col shout, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the orc in front of me, or the sword in his hand.

I tried to keep my sword arm from shaking and stared him in the eye. “Stay back.”

The orc laughed and advanced on me as if I were nothing more than an ant to squash under his boot.

I forgot about my sword and defaulted to my strength. I had never encountered an orc before, but remembering the delayed effect my song had had on the half-goblin, I knew it would take a lot of effort. My words came out raspy and shaky, but I sang anyway, growing louder as he kept advancing on me.

I knew there could be a delay; I knew I was less effective because of my fear. Even with my new technique, courtesy of Killian, nothing happened except the orc stopped grinning and scowled. If looks could kill, I would have already been bleeding out on the stones.

“You’re not human,” he growled. “A mutt. You know what we do with mutts in these mountains?”

Anger flashed through me, and I forgot about my song and everything Killian had taught me. Instead, I attacked.

I don’t think the orc expected me to do that, and he looked surprised when my blade glanced off his leather armor and into his dominant shoulder. He grunted and then swung at me. But I removed my sword, and just like Col had taught me, attacked again, aiming for his unprotected neck.

This time, the orc parried my blade with a swift counter of his own. Despite my efforts to push him away, I only succeeded in propelling myself backward, colliding with the trembling stone wall. Thankfully, I managed to avoid the scattered wooden beams that littered the vicinity. The orc advanced, his yellow eyes ablaze with a murderous intent.

I attacked again, this time trading a couple of blows with the orc, who was a lot bigger than me and seemed to rely on his brute strength to try to knock me off my feet. It was like fighting Magnus, only ten times scarier. But unlike Magnus, the orc didn’t seem to have any real skill with his weapon, and I surprised myself by ducking out of the way and slashing the back of his arm before he could turn around to get me.

We fell into a deadly dance. I would weave and slip behind him, slicing as deep as I could before he could whirl around. His roars of rage echoed around us, spittle flying from his mouth with each bellow. His arms and back were slick with blood, painting a gruesome picture. Within moments, he charged in a blind fury, brandishing a long, sinister dagger in his free hand.

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