RISING (#2, of Crows and Thorns)

Chapter 42

I surged forward—gone in a blink.

It was just another day at the office, I kept telling myself, except Jurgana's beasts were more lethal than the average crime lord.

I was a thunderstorm, wide sweeping and all-consuming. I swore I could see the chilly air shimmering and charging, about to erupt in staccato bursts of lightning, as if the raw energy flowing over my swords extended outward and drew in its own kind. A bitterly cold wind whipped through the grass as I tore across the lawn. I was tumultuous and far-reaching.

The first dog I met head-on. Both of us leaped. I drove my sword right through its gaping maw. It felt like I'd forced my blade's keen edge through iron, yet it felt wrong as if I'd sliced through hardened sludge. I used my momentum and my body weight to spin sideways and twist the blade, slicing the dog's skull apart. I drove my second sword down through its back and chest and split it into two. Lightning sparked and coursed through the beast's separated body as it tumbled into pieces and flattened grass, erupting into a thick spray of black gunk.

There was no time to stop.

So on I ran.

I should have been hunting for Byron out here. He should have been my first consideration, but I couldn't take the bleating from the children. I had to get to them first.

I was a blur of fury and destruction as I met dog after dog, trying to get to the kid set furthest away. My blades were an extension of my limbs. My body was made for this. I had been forged in the training pit of hells.

Jurgana's dogs were massive and brutal, swift and vicious. They charged at me, sensing one of their own ilk.

And I flowed with the battle.

Fangs that snapped near my throat—

Went for my leg—

A feint.

Side-stepping—

Leaping and twisting—

Slashing downward—

I was a tempest of wrath.

Of bone-biting winds that blustered ahead of me.

A whirlwind of slicing blades.

Faster, faster, faster—

Beheading—

Gutting—

Hacking away limbs—

Slice and dice and move on—faster, faster, faster.

Bodies tumbled, limbs too. Lightning scorched the unnatural beasts, their body parts melting into a pool of soupy substance.

And I was there, not stopping, sliding a blade into its sheath strapped to my spine and scooping up the wailing girl—five years old in her pretty shoes and party dress. She wrapped her arms around my neck, burying her head into my shoulder, her body shaking with her sobs.

I raced for Petra's team, which had gone for a small cluster of children and was the closest group of hunters this far out on the lawn. I slammed to a halt, about to yell for Petra to take the kid from me, when the twin-link thrummed with disharmony and chilling gusts of utter terror. I felt, rather than heard, Valarie screaming Byron's name.

I twisted around, frantically scanning the lawn.

Amongst the smoke and mist, the soldiers falling, I spotted Byron running with two young boys.

Behind him, Byron's bodyguards had gone down. A dog ripped the back of one's neck, tearing part of her spine out, jagged bone and flesh dangling from its bloodied maw.