When I have my hammer back and spin around, it’s to see Kymora flying at Kellyn with both swords. Only with the superior length of his longsword does he keep her at bay for one slash, two slashes.

She means to kill him before taking me.

I run. I throw myself between the two fighters, raising my hammer-shield, my grip like iron.

Kymora slams into it, but she’s already used to the way the magic works. She plants her feet to catch herself from the force of her strikes rebounding. Again and again she batters at the shield, while Kellyn tries to strike her from above it.

It’s not going to work.

My strength was once impressive with a hammer. I could beat at metal all day, but I’ve grown soft on the road with nothing to do but exercise my legs.

My strength is failing.

Only the knowledge that Kellyn will die, just like my sister did or will do soon—a whimper escapes my lips at the thought—keeps me standing. Keeps me fighting.

Because even if I lose, I can’t stop if I don’t give it my all.

And then a fourth figure joins the fight. I nearly sob at the thought of one of her men helping her, until I realize who it is.

Petrik.

He’s finished dispatching the rest of Kymora’s men, and now he’s joined us.

He has not an inch of skill in fighting, but he still swings the axle. Kymora is forced to turn half her attention on him, raising one sword to block the axle, while another fends off Kellyn’s strike.

With every ounce of my strength, I swing around my shield, allowing myself the vulnerability, and this time when I strike out with my unmagicked hammer—

I connect with the bone at her knee.

A crunch. A scream. I fall toward the warlord as Kellyn advances, throwing me into her, but I don’t care.

Because we finally hit her.

With the three of us, she shrinks toward the ground, little by little, until Petrik finally strikes her on the head.

And she collapses, limp.

Just like Temra.

I toss aside my weapons and run for my sister. Her chest is rising and falling, but blood is oozing out of wounds on her arm and right side.

So. Much. Blood.

I press my hands firmly against the sources of the bleeding before looking up at the two men around me for help.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FOUR

My body convulses, wishing to dispel my last meal.

But I’m not allowed to do anything until Temra is safe.

She wakes not a second after I touch her, and her cries oscillate between screams and whimpers as she tries to get ahold of the pain. When her breathing turns to wheezing, tears rain down my face anew.

“This way,” Kellyn says. He takes off down the dirt road at a run.

The bleeding is more severe at Temra’s arm, so I risk releasing her side to hoist her up to a standing position. She screams at the movement, and I stifle a whimper of my own.