“Henrith’s our only hope of salvaging this situation,” she said, and her hand shot to her throat, clutching the pendant through her shirt. “Eril! Give us some cover!”
Even a wind spirit understands a real emergency, and Eril set to work with no backtalk, raising a thick dust storm in a matter of moments.
As soon as the lightning struck, Eli knew he had to get the money. He rolled the fallen king over and felt his throat. There was a pulse, erratic but strong, and he decided that was good enough. He stepped over the king and made a dash for the chest, reaching it just as the first wave of soldiers crashed into the clearing.
“Nico!” he shouted, ducking under the arrow that whizzed by his head. “Josef! Get to the boulder!”
He dropped to his knees and grabbed the chest, but as soon as he touched it, his stomach sank. The iron-bound chest was heavy, but not nearly heavy enough. He popped the three locks and flung it open, plunging his hand inside. His fingers barely made it past the top layer of coins before they hit the wooden false bottom. For a moment, he just sat there, staring, as the soldiers charged forward. Then, while more arrows struck the ground beside him, Eli carefully folded the bounty notice and put it in his pocket. When that was done, he slammed the trunk’s lid and sprang forward, running toward where he’d last seen Renaud as an enormous, spirit-driven dust storm covered everything.
“Eli!” Josef shouted, squinting into the swirling dust. Get to the boulder? At this point he’d be lucky to find it. Voices shouted all around him, and he could hear the arrows whizzing overhead, but everywhere he looked, all he saw was dust. He didn’t have to be a wizard to know the cloud wasn’t natural. He just wished he knew which wizard it belonged to.
He felt someone behind him and whirled around, drawing his blade as he spun, only to find himself facing Nico. She pressed her pale lips together, cocking her head to peer quizzically at the sword point hovering beside her unguarded throat. “Jumpy?”
Josef sighed and lowered his sword. “How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? One day I might not stop in time, you know.”
“I trust you,” she said.
“Glad to hear it, but that doesn’t change”—he chopped an arrow out of the air just before it struck her shoulder—“the situation.”
A soldier loomed out of the dust behind her, his sword already falling. Without looking, Nico dropped to the ground, letting his overbalanced swing tip him forward. When he was halfway down, she shot up again, plunging her elbow into his unguarded stomach. The blow caught him right under his ribs, and he fell wheezing to the ground at Josef’s feet.
“This is getting ridiculous,” Josef said, kicking the fallen soldier’s hands out from under him when he tried to get up. “Eli’s probably already got the money. Let’s just find him and—”
He froze. Nico looked up, confused. “And?”
With a whisper of steel, Josef drew his second sword. “Nico,” he said quietly, “go find Eli. I’ll catch up.”
He caught her dark eyes and held them until she nodded and stepped away, disappearing instantly into the dust. He brought his swords up and turned to face the person he knew was standing there.
“Good guess,” a voice said, floating on the swirling dust.
“Guess nothing,” Josef said, stepping into a defensive stance. “I could follow a killing intent like yours blindfolded. Something you pick up when you live your life on the sword.”
The swordsman with the scar across his face stepped out of the swirling dust. “I should have expected nothing less from the Josef Liechten.” He laid his hand on the wrapped sword at his hip. “My name is Gerard Coriano,” he said casually, as if they were meeting in a tavern rather than a battlefield, “and this”—he unhooked the wrapped sword, sheath and all, from his belt—“is Dunea. We are here to kill you.”
“Is that so?” Josef said. “Why bother telling me your name then?”
“A final courtesy.” Coriano smiled. “A true swordsman would want to die knowing the name of the man who killed him. Remember it well, Josef Liechten.”
Josef’s face broke into a feral grin. “I only remember things that deserve to be remembered. So, if you want me to remember your name, you’ll have to make it worth my while.”
Coriano held his wrapped sword out before him, the blade still in its wooden sheath. “When you’re ready.”
Gin led them straight through the dust to the fallen king. Miranda jumped down, gritting her teeth as the impact’s force shot up her spine. The king was on his back, caked in yellow-brown dust. She kneeled beside him, pressing her fingers against his throat.