Chapter 68. A Shot Tuned to the Scent of a Crystal That Was Already Gone

Chapter 68: 68. A Shot Tuned to the Scent of a Crystal That Was Already Gone

Sharon rose from her boulder as if she’d been waiting for an invitation.

She’d been sitting in the dark, quiet, and unremarkable, and now she was a different creature. She hefted her giant sword in both hands and strode forward to meet the first wolf, and I swear... the ground trembled under her boots.

The wolf leapt. But then Sharon swung at it.

It was one stroke, a sweeping, rising arc, and it split the animal from shoulder to hip. The two halves fell on either side of her, and the crystal collar cracked and went dark.

She didn’t even slow down. She planted her foot, pivoted, and cut the second wolf’s head off in the same motion.

A third rushed her, and she caught it by the throat with one hand and slammed it into the ground so hard that I felt the impact through the soles of my feet.

"Come on!" she roared. "I haven’t had a decent fight in a week!"

I should have been running to her side.

Every instinct I had was screaming at me to charge, to grab my sword and plunge into the fray and hit things until they stopped moving.

That’s what I’d always done... and that’s how I’d fought Garrick and the bandits and everything else.

I had the power, and I had the speed, and I had a glowing meter that was nearly full.

But something kept me where I was...

It was a small, cold voice, and it sounded a lot like Hallis.

’They’re patient. They’re never where you’re looking.’

I made myself stand still. I crouched behind the boulder, drew a long, painful breath, and let Combat Instinct unfold across my mind.

The camp spread out in front of me like a map, every figure lit in a faint gold outline, every movement clear.

I saw the wolves fanning out toward the flanks.

I saw the boar lowering its head.

I saw the bear rising on its haunches.

And I saw what was wrong with it.

None of them were going for the wagon.

The wolves attacked the shield wall. The boar hammered at the breastwork. The bear swiped at the nearest guards.

They were all fighting hard, but every one of them was fighting the edges. Not one had tried to break through to the center, where Garrick lay under his wet hides and his iron bars.

’It’s a distraction...!’ I thought. ’The arrows and the monsters... It’s all noise!’

’They’re keeping us busy...!’

"Eveline!" I yelled.

She’d been standing by Sharon’s side with her sword half drawn, her eyes wide, and her ears flat against her skull. She looked at me across the chaos of the camp.

I could see her chest heaving. And I could see the fear on her face... the old, familiar panic, rising like a wave.

"Eveline! "I called again. "Breathe!"

She blinked.

"Four in! Two hold! Six out!" I shouted. "Then get to the wagon!"

"Don’t attack anything! Just guard the left side and don’t let anything get near Garrick! Do you hear me?!"

For a second, I thought she was going to freeze.

Then I saw her lips move, silently. ’Four. Two. Six.’

Her shoulders dropped. The terror on her face receded, and in its place came a hard, bright focus that I’d never seen before.

She drew her sword all the way out, and it flashed in the moonlight, a slender, elegant blade.

"Yes, Roland!" she called.

And she was gone.

I’ve never seen anything move like that.

One moment she was standing by the boulder, and the next she was a pale blur crossing the camp at a speed my eyes could hardly follow.

She didn’t trip. And she didn’t even stumble at anything.

She flowed over the uneven ground like water, ducking under a swinging paw and vaulting a fallen shield, and she arrived at the left side of the wagon just as two wolves broke through the line.

They never touched it.

I saw the first wolf leap, and I saw Eveline pivot on one foot, and then the animal was tumbling sideways with a crystal collar cut clean in half.

The second wolf snapped at her legs. She danced back, tapped its muzzle with the flat of her blade, and when it flinched, she drove her heel into its ribs and sent it flying into the rocks.

Both wolves hit the stone at the same moment, a good ten feet from the wagon, and neither got up.

She didn’t pause to look pleased. She dropped back into her stance with her sword leveled, ears pricked, and her tail swaying slowly behind her.

She looked like a different person now... She looked like the SSS-Rank knight she’d been born to be.

’Good,’ I thought. ’There you are.’

I scanned the camp again, searching for the real threat. The arrows were falling more slowly now, in scattered clusters, and the monsters had settled into a grim struggle with the line.

Alicia was in the middle of it all, shouting orders in a clear, ringing voice, directing Holt’s shield wall and Wynn’s spears and Pike’s hammer.

Laura had drawn her sword and was fighting at her side, cutting and parrying with a cold, deadly precision that I’d have been proud to learn.

It was all going well. And that was... what worried me.

I turned my head slowly toward the river. My eyes passed over the black water, the pale line of the shore, and the wall of cliff on the far side.

And just as I began to look away, Combat Instinct flared, bright and sharp, like a splash of cold water to the face.

It pointed at the cliff.

I stared at the black rock.

At first, I saw nothing... Then, at the top of the cliff, about fifty feet above the water, I saw a notch where the stone had been cut away into a kind of platform.

On the platform, motionless against the starlit sky, stood a figure in dark armor.

A crossbow was tucked against his shoulder, a long, heavy, brutal thing with a stock of black wood and a barrel that glowed with a steady blue light.

The man’s left shoulder bore a faint pale mark, a ring with a jagged edge.

’Corvane,’ I thought.

He was standing perfectly still. And he was looking all perfectly relaxed.

He was aiming, not at the shields, not at the wagon, and not at the fighting figures in the firelight.

His barrel followed the slow arc of the wagon, tracking it like a hawk, and then it stopped, very precisely, pointing at a single spot on the wooden side.

At the place where, beneath the canvas and the wet hides and the iron bars, Garrick was lying on the floor.

I didn’t think about what happens next. I just ran.

"GARRICK!" I screamed. "DOWN! STAY DOWN!"

My boots hit the rocks.

The pain in my ribs tore through me like a knife, but I ignored it. I flung myself across the camp, between Holt’s shield wall and Dessa’s flailing blades, with my sword in one hand and my free arm stretched out in front of me.

I saw Alicia turn her head. And I saw Laura’s mouth open.

On the far cliff, the figure’s finger tightened on the trigger.

There was a flat, heavy crack, like a branch breaking under a boot.

A bolt left the crossbow.

It was a thick, short, blue-white streak, humming like an angry hornet, and it crossed the river in a single breath.

It didn’t fly straight. But it curved.

I watched it bend in the air, a long, impossible arc, swinging around the edge of the shield wall, climbing over the lip of the breastwork, and diving toward the wagon with unnatural precision.

It was tuned... I understood it in a flash.

The bolt had been tuned to whatever faint trace of the red crystal remained in Garrick’s chest, like a hound following a scent, and no shield in the world was going to stop it.

I threw myself forward. I reached out, and my fingers closed on empty air.

The bolt struck the side of the wagon, punched through the canvas, tore through two layers of wet leather, split an iron bar like a twig, and vanished into the darkness inside.

I was... half a second too late.

Somewhere in the wagon, there was a short, wet, terrible sound, and then a clatter... and the faint, bright jangle of iron cuffs falling to the floor.

"N-no," I whispered.

I landed on my knees at the tailgate and tore away the canvas.

In the dim light, I saw Garrick Voss lying on his back between the wheels, with one hand clutching at his chest.

A small, blue-white light was glowing in the center of his shirt, spreading in slow, pulsing rings. And I can see that his neck was arched.

His eyes were wide open... staring at the roof of the wagon, and his mouth was working, but no sound was coming out.

Under his other hand, folded against his heart... was a scrap of paper with a crooked red figure on it.

"Garrick!" I grabbed his shoulder. "Garrick, look at me!"

His eyes rolled toward my face, and I saw the light fading in them.

Behind me, I heard Sharon roar. It was a terrible sound, a vast, grieving bellow that rolled across the hilltop and made the monsters stagger back a full step.

I heard Alicia’s voice, high and sharp, calling my name. I heard Laura’s boots pounding across the stones.

I turned my head and saw Eveline standing frozen at the side of the wagon, with her sword lowered and her face white.

"Eveline..."