“Shh,” I tell them. “Let me think.”
“While you do that—” Petrik cocks back his arm and flings his staff. It flies end over end toward the closest of Kymora’s guards, a big man with a mud-colored beard nearly down to his navel.
And while the weapon worked splendidly against untrained city folk, this man catches the staff in one hand.
But the staff has to return to its wielder, so the guard is dragged forward as the staff jerks back toward Petrik. His feet make long trails through the mud on the road as he wrestles with the stick, trying to find purchase.
Petrik’s face is horrified as the guard grows closer and closer. Kymora’s soldiers seem mildly perplexed as they do nothing but watch the scene with interest.
The bearded guard has his full focus on the staff, as though now it’s become a personal struggle between himself and the stick. He clearly doesn’t think us an actual threat.
Which is why his face flits to surprise when Temra sticks him with her shortsword.
A heavy breath escapes his lips before he falls, and the staff finally reaches Petrik once more. He wastes no time before casting it again. A second guard catches it, but she’s smart enough to let go before she can be dragged by the weapon. When Petrik throws it a third time, Kymora’s soldiers are finally ready. The third guard has his bastard sword out and nicks the staff as it reaches him. Making contact, the spear flies back to Petrik.
That’s when the enemy finally advances.
Twenty-nine guards left. They all but ignore Petrik and come running for me and Temra. My sister is prepared, her sword ready for the onslaught, but she can’t take on that many trained soldiers.
And I’m useless in a fight. Temra is far too close for me to pull out Secret Eater. I’d risk hurting her or Petrik.
“Get behind me,” Temra says, stepping forward to block my body with hers.
I’m both touched and infuriated by the gesture. “They won’t hurt me. Kymora wants me alive to build weapons for her army. You get behind me!”
They’re almost upon us. Petrik sidles closer, preparing to throw again.
And then we’re surrounded. The three of us put our backs to each other, eyeing the soldiers. Kellyn is among them, forming ranks as if he’s trained with these men and women.
We must make a truly pathetic spectacle. Two guards grab me by the arms, easily separating me from the rest of the group. A third takes Secret Eater from my side.
No, not the sword!
I kick and yank with my arms, but it does no good. They’re firm with me, yet they don’t retaliate with any strikes of their own.
I watch as another soldier tries to wrest the staff from Petrik. He tosses it straight up into the air and then sinks to his knees on the ground, waiting for the stick to come back and strike the guard right on the head. But it isn’t long before another red-breasted soldier takes the weapon from him and cracks the stick in two across one knee.
“No, you fool!” the woman barking out orders says. “Kymora ordered them and their weapons brought back to us. One of these girls is the smithy gifted with magic.”
Realizing his mistake, the guard takes off running.
Is Kymora’s wrath so terrible as to send a grown soldier fleeing from a misunderstanding?
My captors drag me toward the soldier in charge. One of these girls, she’d said. They don’t know who is who.
“I’m the blacksmith,” I say hurriedly. “You don’t need my sister. Let her go. I’ll come quietly.”
Temra has already been disarmed, though she certainly didn’t go quietly. The men around her are covered in cuts and scrapes.
“Let her go,” I say again. “Please.”
“We don’t need the spare,” the soldier responds, “and we’re not about to leave witnesses.”
That fact sinks low in my chest.
“I’m the spare,” Temra and I say at the same time.
What is she doing? “That’s Ziva,” I say, pointing to her.
Temra shakes her head. “I’m the little sister. That’s Ziva right there.”
As we start talking over each other, the commanding soldier’s voice silences us. “I’m not amused,” she says. “And I have no problem taking you both so that Kymora can deal with you herself. Let’s go.” The surly soldier looks out over the last of her force. “One of you, kill the boy. We don’t need him.”
Petrik’s face goes still, and Temra and I scream our protests. I try to free myself, try to go for a weapon, for Petrik, anything.
The guard holding our weapons walks toward a row of saddled horses I hadn’t noticed before, tied to the trees along the road. The soldier nearest Petrik draws his sword.
“Kellyn,” I say, twisting my head toward him. “Please, don’t let this happen. You’re better than this. You have to be.”
But the mercenary doesn’t even turn at the sound of his name. He watches as the guard advances, an unmoved look upon his face.
Petrik says something to the advancing soldier while holding up his hands. I can’t hear what he says, but there’s no shame at all in trying to bargain for one’s life.
The soldier about to kill him rears back his weapon, preparing to thrust.
I close my eyes. I can’t watch this.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
I flinch as I hear it, the sound of a weapon sinking into flesh. A cry escapes my lips, but a strange sound comes out of Temra’s.
Was that … a relieved laugh?
My eyes fly open. Instead of finding Petrik skewered, I see Kellyn with his longsword plunged into the soldier’s gut.
That can’t be right. He left his longsword with us. And he was standing right next to me two seconds ago.
He still is.
My neck turns from one Kellyn to the next, trying to make sense of it.
“The cotton spinner,” I whisper. She’s somehow made a mask of Kellyn’s face. I knew something was off about the Kellyn next to me. He’s not tall enough to be Kellyn, and he’s leaning with all his weight on one hip. I’ve never seen the mercenary do that before.
Temra hears my words and puts it together herself. Then she shouts, “Took you long enough!” to the real Kellyn.
“I had to figure out which way you went. Thanks for leaving me behind!” He draws his sword out of the stomach of the man he just killed. “You could have yelled for me or something. Let me know someone was taking you aw—”
His eyes land on himself. Kellyn tilts his head to one side, then the other. “That’s uncanny.”
“You failed to mention you had a twin,” Petrik says from beside him.
“I don’t.”
“Don’t just stand there!” Kymora’s commanding guard says. “You five, take care of the boys!”
The rest stay behind to watch over Temra and me: their precious cargo. The others sprint for Petrik and Kellyn. Petrik holds up his fists, as though he has any clue how to use them in hand-to-hand combat. Meanwhile Kellyn brandishes his longsword.
“They’re outnumbered,” Temra says to me.
“I know.”
“They’re going to die.”
“I know!”
“Do something!”
What am I supposed to do? I’ve got a soldier in red on either side of me, pinning my arms. Temra has twice as many guards surrounding her. Trained soldiers everywhere. Horses behind us. Weapons on every side.
One of Kymora’s men is holding all our weapons, about to attach them to the horse just a little to my right.
I’m terrified. I know these men will hurt me if I try to break their hold, but I have to try. For Petrik.
For Kellyn.
The guard at my right has a bastard sword sheathed at his waist on the left. I wedge my knee between the scabbard and his leg.
Then I jerk it upward as hard as I can.
The guard gasps and wheels backward from the pressure of the pommel digging into his stomach. At the same time he releases my arm, I place the flat of my boot against the guard on my left and shove.
And I’m free.
I know it’ll only be a second before the guards respond, so I race for the horse. I snatch Secret Eater, feel its horrible weight in my grasp.