CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

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Alana

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23rd of Decepter, 935 PC

Alana glanced left, Lotus were moving quietly through the sleeping forest. Her own steps were just as cautious but her teeth chattered so loudly she figured Urman and his traveling mates were sure to hear her wherever they were. Her fingers ached from the icy chill of the morning hours and her toes were catching up quickly. She wiggled inside her boots in hopes of pumping blood into them. No luck. Her bow was out and nocked, the arrow pointed at the ground as she moved. A mistake in Laspin’s eyes, surely. But the greasy prick wasn’t here. He was a mile west, attempting to press the commoners into the teeth of their trap. Besides, she was anything but a marksman as it was, with her bow or lotus magic. The lack of feeling in her fingers ensured she’d be next to useless if they did come to blows with Gant. Might try to take my training a bit more seriously if I survive this endeavor.

The same thought kept racing through her mind. I traveled with the monster. We all did. Who is fool enough to think he will walk with his head down and find himself trapped between two walls of Lotus? She knew the answer. Only an arrogant captain with little care for the lives of his soldiers. However she considered it, the whole situation felt far more likely to end with Lotus dead or searching the forest aimlessly for hours in this miserable cold. In fact, she hoped he slipped through their fingertips yet again. She knew anything else would lead to death and bloodshed. And a lot of it.

When they were roughly a hundred yards off the cliffside that looked down into the Koro River Valley, Kit’s hand went up, signaling her to stop. Alana raised her hand as well, and on it went, to Io, then Seph to his right, and so on down the row. Each Lotus found their way to the closest tree and crouched, bows aimed at the threatening nothingness all around them. Now we wait. And hopefully no more.

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The screams came first. In the distance. Blood-curdling screams. The errant purple streaks of lotus magic sailing off into the sky came next, slowly evaporating or shredding to pieces as the static bonds broke. Ulla was sprinting toward the chaos before Alana knew what to think. Other Lotus followed. Alana stayed still, eyes closed, heart sinking. If I follow I won’t survive. If I stay I’ll be punished so badly I’ll wish I had died. She let out a sigh and took off running.

The terrifying sound of the conflict ahead continued as they ran, grew as they approached. She tried to focus on her own intense sprinting and heavy breathing. Tried to bury her fear. She couldn’t. What’s happening? Has he already killed them all?

Suddenly, a Lotus came stumbling toward her between the trees ahead. Herk Stonewright. He collapsed to his knees. Fell to his hands. Or rather, his hand. The other appeared to be missing. Blood poured from his stumpy wrist. He was just raising his head to look at her when an arrow ripped through his temple. His head jerked upward in shock before he fell to his side. She stopped in her tracks, raised her bow, scanned the trees frantically. It was then she noticed there was movement everywhere. Light green blurs of her Lotus companions darting around as they looked for cover. Purple streaks soaring from the hands of those who had already found it. Indiscernible streaks of rapid movement whizzed across her line of sight from both directions. Arrows. Get down.

She ran for a tree and tucked herself in a cavity between several hefty roots. She looked for Kit, Io, anyone. But there was no one. No one alive anyway. Why would there be? Good soldiers, good friends pressed forward into danger to help their comrades. Alana was none of those things. She wiped the nervous sweat from her forehead and begged The Creator not to summon her to the heavens. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was racing. A simple phrase she had always thought to be overdramatic. One she now knew to be true as the day is long. More injured Lotus came running through the trees, passing her without as much as a glance, hobbling, staggering, crying for help. She didn’t move. I shouldn’t be here. I should be in the brig with Candice. Please Creator, please let me live.

A Lotus in front of her was trying to get behind a tree when an arrow sunk into her skull. Blood coated the tree beside her as it spurted from her head. Her arms wrapped around the tree like a farewell hug as she fell into it and crumbled to the ground. The lifeless body came to rest with its head folding back over a root, dead eyes staring at Alana.

“There!” someone screamed. Ulla maybe. She couldn’t tell. Nor did she care. The word had sent a chill down her spine. She knew what was lurking somewhere close. Please don’t let there, be here.

She leaned out from behind the tree, as carefully and inconspicuously as she could. Standing in the open, spear in one hand, knife in the other, was Urman Gant. His body language was every bit as intense and intimidating as she remembered. His eyes were still focused on something no one else could see, just like they had been for over a moon in The Emerald Forest. And who knows how long before that. The only differences were that his unruly beard was gone and he was dressed in a light green gambeson like her own. An alchemical shield on a predator that needed no extra aid.

An arrow whizzed through the chaos and struck Urman in the chest. He lurched backward behind the force but the arrow fell to the forest floor uselessly. A small crowd of Lotus emerged from the trees, foolish prey walking into the predator’s den. The blasts began, most errant and wild, some aimed perfectly but missing the now moving target. Urman was charging like an angry bull, the knife leading him, sailing through the air in a silvery blur. A Lotus dropped, the hilt of the sword was all that was visible as it stuck from his forehead. A blast landed directly on Urman’s padded chest, knocking him back, leaving a singed black mark that would have surely killed him with the gambeson. He stayed on his feet, supported by something more than determination. Something more than she had. Rage. Pure and absolute. And more than she would ever want to feel. He shouldered another blast, covering his head with his protected arms.

Then an arrow dropped one of the Lotus in front of Urman. Shot from somewhere behind the unstoppable force. He barely noticed. The spear swung across one woman’s face like a thin club, sending her reeling. Suddenly, the killing blow was coming, a sword to Urman’s skull. To Alana’s dismay, all it found was cold, brisk air. Cut through with no resistance, leaving the Lotus stunned and off-balance. The spear impaled the bottom of his jaw and tore through the top of his skull. His face all but exploded when Urman jerked the weapon back out of the man. The blunt end of the spear found a Lotus’ gut behind Urman that Alana hadn’t even spotted. She was too enthralled by what she was witnessing. The expertise, the efficiency in his killing. Urman spun, punched a Lotus in the jaw, brought the blunt end around in another streak of incredible precision. The Lotus’ head jerked sideways, leading him to the ground like the heavy end of a ball and chain. A purple blast struck Urman in the back. He stumbled forward, toward an incoming Lotus. An ordinary man may have fallen or eaten the sharp point of the woman’s sword. But Urman caught her wrist in a smooth snag and sent the heel of his palm into her jaw. The sword was in Urman’s hand by the time she hit the ground.

Alana didn’t see what he did to the woman because someone shouted her name.

Io had Kit’s arm over his shoulder, his hand was around the blonde man’s waist, trying its best to keep the injured Lotus on his feet until they reached a tree.

“What happened?!” she asked. And for the first time she felt the courage to stand, to move. She left her little cavity made of roots and darted across the gap between the trees. She said a silent prayer as she did. One that would keep Urman’s eyes locked on anything but her.

“Found him like this. Watch after him.”

“Where are you going?” she asked.

The rejected Yilan assassin drew his sword and stepped out from behind the tree, staring Urman down with more focus and purpose than Alana had ever seen from her comrade. “Demons don’t die. They must be killed.” He walked toward the commoner slowly.

Alana turned her focus to her friend. The side of his head was bloody and mangled. Hair matted to the gash above his ear. He was dazed, his senses dull. But in truth, she believed he may live. If they could escape. “You’re going to be alright, Kit.” He smiled at her weakly.

“Just need the Medicalist, ay?” Kit’s voice was so weak she could barely hear him. His head was drooping forward, his arms loose and weak at his side.

“Aye. Candice will help you.” She couldn’t believe she had used the Purist’s name. And so candidly, no less.

There were footsteps coming at them quickly. She glanced up briefly to see a light green gambeson. The man spotted her, redirected himself toward her. His face looked wounded, but not bloody. His hands were out, waving to her.

“Here! Over here!” she yelled. Her eyes shot back to her friend. “He’s injured!”

She looked up as the mutilated Lotus approached. Suddenly, she realized she didn’t recognize him as one of their own. Who is- His boot struck her in the face, sending her onto her arse. She felt the bones in her nose crunch and move. Her mouth filled with blood, both from within and as it poured from her nose. Her bow fell from her hand, the arrow disappeared in the seconds that everything was black. Her eyes were full of tears as she looked at Kit, helplessly sitting against the tree. Her assailant was crouching in front of him. Dagger drawn, hatred in his eyes.

She tried to climb to her feet but stopped on one knee. It was too late. The impostor had Kit by his blonde hair. “No!”

The blade looked like it was sliding in slow motion, diving deeper into Kit’s fleshy throat with every inch. A dark, bloody line emerged where the cut had been made. The killer let go of Kit and stood. Turned his gaze to her. His left eye was ruined, long ago, not in this fight, not today. He stepped toward her. She got to her feet, fumbled with the sword at her hip, backing away in the process. Failing to get her sword unsheathed.

She froze when he lunged at her. Closed her eyes and prepared to die. Then there was a grunt and the sound of leaves scattering and crunching. Ulla was wrestling with the impostor on the cold ground. He outweighed her by a good fifty pounds and it was showing. He was on top of her in seconds, knife raised above his head. Without thought, Alana sprang into action. She crashed into the hideous man, knocking him off of her comrade. They tumbled, split apart as they rolled. He blindly slammed the tip of his blade into the ground inches from her hand. She jerked away. Ulla was up and grabbing her sword already. The impostor was scrambling to his own feet. Alana tried to join them but a sharp pain shot through her right wrist when she put weight on it, sending her down to her elbow. A stiff kick in the ribs sent her flat to the ground. She rolled with the momentum, tucking her broken wrist into her body.

She scrambled toward Kit’s body, hoping there may be a chance to save him. Her heart sank at the sight of the unrelenting gush of blood seeping from his neck. The tall, suave young man she had spent so many nights talking with was nothing more than a heap of death now. His beauty smeared with blood and dirt. She knew what to think, what to feel, but she couldn’t. The shock was too overwhelming.

Behind her, Ulla let out a scream and charged the man. Her long warrior braid flapped behind her. He ducked beneath her slash, the momentum brought her forward. The impostor shoved her onward, tripping her as he did. She rolled head over heels and was back on her feet gracefully. He grinned at her as she snapped around to face him. She snarled. Charged. Her blade slashed again, this time her body was under control but the impostor was too quick, he backpedaled swiftly, smoothly. The blade just barely missed ripping his stomach open yet it looked planned. It was. He was inside Ulla’s reach instantly. The pommel of his dagger hit her forehead. Barely phased, she threw an elbow of her own, connecting with his cheek, snapping his head sideways. They broke away from one another. Briefly. The sword thrust forward. He sidestepped, grabbed her wrist, turned, landed an elbow in her face. Still stuck in his tight grasp, Ulla lurched forward, smashing her head into his mouth and nose. Blood coated his face when she withdrew. He stumbled backward. Her relentless assault continued. This time her blade sunk into his upper arm as she hacked across his body. It remained wedged there until she yanked hard on it. Blood flew through the air with the force of her blade exiting the wound.

Ulla pressed forward with every intention of killing the impostor before fleeing but he turned and ran, his good arm wrapped around his dangling wounded one.

“Ulla!” Alana screamed. “Let him go!” There was no sense in the woman running off on her own and finding herself outnumbered. No matter how fierce she was.

The pale warrior turned and looked at her, breathing heavy, covered in her blood and his. The fight had ended without Alana even noticing. The forest was still but for the handful of uninjured Lotus moving around, checking on the wounded or looking for a place to rest.

Ulla’s eyes were wide. She screamed and ran toward something behind Alana.

Alana followed for a second, pulled by the gravity of a friend’s sorrow. But she stopped no sooner than she had started. The Yilan was crouching over her brother’s nearly beheaded body. A pool of blood had formed beneath his corpse. She was sobbing, muttering Io’s name repeatedly. Alana couldn’t tell if the sight was more sad or disgusting. Her stomach decided for her as she bent over and puked.