One night, when he’d stopped over in the Warlands on his way to the an’Cróan’s hidden land to find his mother, two anmaglâhk had gone after the warlord Darmouth. Leesil, along with Chap and Magiere, had been forced to defend that tyrant. In the end, a master anmaglâhk named Brot’an had tricked him into murdering Darmouth. But before that, Brot’an’s accomplice, Groyt, had come at him. Leesil had killed Groyt in self-defense, but that meant nothing to those left in grief.
Leesil never forgot the names of those he’d killed or those his victims left behind. And now he faced a victim of grief.
Én’nish, betrothed of Groyt, slashed a hook-bladed bone knife at Leesil’s throat.
He caught the strike with his left blade, and his mind cleared. He would take the guilt heaped upon him, for he’d earned that. He could suffer that and more, as he already had, to get Magiere away from here.
Leesil drove the point of his other winged blade for Én’nish’s midsection.
Chap’s hope of flight vanished when the small anmaglâhk leaped over him. He did not turn back for it.
If Leesil could handle that one elven assassin, perhaps Magiere could fend off those coming from behind. But they all had to reach the next intersection, or they would be boxed in.
Chap had to take down the one that remained in their way.
He had no idea how these assassins had made it here—or how they had even picked up a trail. But there was no need to guess who they were after. Aoishenis-Ahâre—Most Aged Father, patriarch of the Anmaglâhk—had wanted Magiere dead since the day they all walked into the Elven Territories, and then left that place still alive.
When the first anmaglâhk charged wide, trying to follow its smaller comrade, it did not surprise Chap. He turned to intercept it, head-on. The elf instantly slowed, slashing down with an oversized bone knife, its silvery white blade curved into a hook.
The blade passed through air before Chap had even closed, and he saw hesitation in the male elf’s eyes.
He had been uncertain if this advantage would hold. Apparently, it did. Even among anmaglâhk, all an’Cróan feared harming a sacred majay-hì. He would not be so kind in turn.
Chap leaped, snapping for the man’s face, and the anmaglâhk spun out of his reach. As he landed, the elf tried to charge onward, and he wheeled around. He quickly closed from behind, jaws spread, ready to tear out the back of the elf’s knee.
Magiere saw Leesil dash out in front of her and clash blades with the smaller anmaglâhk ahead of them. As the first anmaglâhk who’d appeared tried to close, Chap wheeled around it, coming at it from behind. At the snap of his jaws, that elf dove forward upon the cobble and rolled aside to its feet.
Magiere’s senses widened fully, and the night lit up her sight.
Her eyes watered at the stinging points of lantern lights down the street. Hunger welled like acid rising from her stomach into her throat, and that burning flushed through every muscle and bone. Her jaw ached under the change in her teeth.
She heard and felt through the street’s cobble the running footsteps behind her. She spun away to the street’s side, whipping her falchion in a level arc amid her turn.
A tall anmaglâhk ducked under the blade. Before she could reverse, he charged straight at a shack’s front. Her reason gone, instinct drove Magiere to turn fast. Instinct was too late.
She barely finished a direct thrust, and all her falchion did was shatter through the shack’s boards. The anmaglâhk took another step upward, as if running up the wall. He pushed off, arching over her head before she could rip her sword free.
Magiere knew a blade in her back was next—but it never came.
One arm suddenly wrapped around her throat. The other shot out around her, as he gripped her wrist above her sword hand. His weight pressed on her as he wrenched her neck to the right.
Magiere began to topple under the strength of her assailant. Amid the twist, he folded her sword arm in against her stomach. He was trying to put her down and pin her.
Shock and panic cleared her mind, and her hunger receded partway. Anmaglâhk didn’t fight like this. They came like ghosts in the dark, only felt by the touch of a fist, foot, or sharp, silver-white weapons.
Rage and hunger flooded back in, until it was all that was left in Magiere’s mind.
She latched her free hand on to the forearm around her neck and threw her own strength into their toppling spin. She caught a glimpse of Leesil fighting the smaller anmaglâhk, and then her view filled with buildings across the street.
Magiere grounded her feet and heaved with both legs.
The shack’s corner crackled as her weight and effort slammed the anmaglâhk back into it. His grip on her neck faltered, and she thrashed free, ripping her sword arm out of his grip. She slashed at him as she turned, but he ducked, and her falchion tore a hunk out of the shack’s corner.
“Fhœt’as-na â, äm-an!”
Magiere barely heard that shout in the street, and then her left leg suddenly gave way. She stumbled in confusion, and only then did a searing pain cut through her heat. She looked down with wide eyes.
An arrow shaft protruded through Magiere’s left thigh, and her leg buckled completely.
Leesil’s thrust missed as Én’nish bent her midsection like a marsh reed. All he could do before her next thrust was throw himself at her. Something struck the inside of his right calf, forcing his foot to slip, but it wasn’t enough. He slammed down on top of her.
Rolling off, he slashed wildly with one blade, and heard a clang of metal. He kicked out once but didn’t connect as he spun away into the street.
Coming up into a crouch, he saw Én’nish do the same.
She stared at him with a hatred he’d seen cast his way more than once. Holding out her curved bone knife, she had reverse gripped it in her left hand, ready to hook one of his own blades when he came at her. Her other hand wielded a narrow stiletto of the same silver-white metal, ready to thrust in low where he’d have to drop his own second blade to catch it.
Én’nish’s eyes shifted for less than a blink, but Leesil didn’t catch where she’d glanced.
“Fhœt’as-na â, äm-an!” she shouted.
Leesil didn’t understand the words, but he whipped his head both ways.
To the right, Chap circled the first anmaglâhk, who was on his feet but too hesitant to close on the dog. To the left, a rearward anmaglâhk struggled to regain his feet, while yet a fourth had dropped from a rooftop and was rushing toward the street side. Magiere was crumpled on one knee, struggling to get up.
An arrow shaft stuck out both sides of her left thigh.
Én’nish shifted into Leesil’s path, blocking his sight as the fourth anmaglâhk closed on Magiere. Leesil couldn’t hesitate any longer.
He charged, thrusting both blades at Én’nish’s head as he shouted, “Chap, Magiere’s hit! Archer on the roof!”
Én’nish whipped her head aside, thrusting the stiletto under at him, and he slashed downward with both hands.
His left blade pulled down her bone knife hooked in the winged blade’s handle. He felt something grate along his left side, catching briefly in his hauberk’s iron rings. A tearing sound came and went, but he didn’t know if it came from his armor or her clothes.
Én’nish spun out of Leesil’s way before his right blade could take off her hand.
Leesil didn’t slow as he spotted Magiere trying to rise. Racing toward her, he slashed wildly at the fourth anmaglâhk closing in just before he rammed straight into Magiere. She toppled backward into the cutway under his force, and Leesil blindly slashed back to fend off anyone behind him.
He hated to leave Chap alone in the open, but he had no choice, and Chap could outdistance anyone here, if he had to.