Page 48 of The Jasad Crown
At the top of the hill, Arin stopped. The Visionists joined their fingers at the tips and pulled them apart, moving the scene closer to Arin. We watched, soundless, as he stripped off his gloves and tossed them to the ground. He shrugged off his coat and undid the buttons at his wrists, rolling his sleeves over his elbows.
His gaze lifted. Al Anqa’a had spotted him. A lone figure on thehill; much easier prey than the crush of villagers darting between fire and other predators.
My stomach curled into a pit of dread as Al Anqa’a folded its wings and soared toward Arin. He pulled a dagger from his pocket and waited. What was hethinking? Awaleen below, I was about to watch Arin have his conniving head torn from his shoulders.
“Does he think he can conquer Al Anqa’a with that little knife? He’s going to get torn to pieces,” someone remarked cheerfully.
“Good work, Efra.”
“Wait,” Namsa snapped. “This is the Silver Serpent. He would not usher in his own death. There’s something… something we are not seeing.”
The shadow of Al Anqa’a cast Arin in darkness. Its beak opened. Talons unfurled. And still, he didn’t budge.
Just as pearly white claws were about to curl around Arin, he dropped to the ground and rolled. Before Al Anqa’a could close its claws around the empty spot where he’d stood, Arin stabbed into its underbelly. It bellowed, the powerful beat of its wings sending trees crashing and boulders hurtling down the hill. It burst into flight, weaving along the peaks and hollows of the valley overlooking Galim’s Bend.
“Why is it flying like that?” At some point, Maia had joined me and Namsa on the edge of the lake.
I had no answer for her. When I’d sliced into Al Anqa’a, it had merely shaken me off like a persistent mosquito. Not dipped and weaved like a drunk leaving his tavern chair.
It skimmed dangerously close to an outcropping of sharp stones, and only then did I see him.
Silver hair whipping in the wind, features set with determination, Arin looked like lightning molded into a man.
He must have used the knife to hike his way to the creature’s neck without being thrown off. An elbow was crooked around the bladeto hold him in place, leaving both his hands free to press against Al Anqa’a.
I covered my mouth to hide the wild laugh threatening to burst free. That cunning, brilliant man knew the best weapon against Al Anqa’a wasn’t a knife—it was his touch. The same curse that allowed him to drain magic from Jasadis apparently allowed him to drain it from other creatures. Had he known before he hurled himself onto Al Anqa’a whether his plan would work?
Al Anqa’a looped around, wings slowing, as though it had lost the energy to carry their weight. It flew too low to avoid the outcropping of stone this time, and it bellowed as the rocks shattered the feathers on its underside.
It was going to crash. Al Anqa’a was going to crash with Arin still on it.
The beast had returned to the spot where Arin had stabbed it. It swerved right and flew toward the flaming remnants of Galim’s Bend.
“Get off, get off,” I heard myself whispering. Namsa and Maia glanced at me, but I couldn’t find it in myself to care.
On top of Al Anqa’a, Arin glanced at the hillside rapidly vanishing beneath them and the approaching wreckage.
I held my breath.
Arin slid down Al Anqa’a’s spine, gaining speed as he raced past the glass wings. He tumbled from Al Anqa’a just as it cleared the bottom of the hill. It kept flying, the ends of its fiery wings sweeping the ground, before it slammed into a row of shops. The shops exploded, wood and detritus flying in all directions. Al Anqa’a skidded, toppling at least a dozen structures before it finally slowed to a halt. The path of its destruction cut wide, and at its end the great beast shuddered, completely colorless, and lay still.
“He killed Al Anqa’a,” Maia whispered, voice thick with disbelief.
On the hillside, Arin drew himself up on a knee. Blood wept from multiple gashes on his arms, pouring through his uniform. Shardsfrom Al Anqa’a had slashed his palms, and a patch of his hair was matted and red.
Hundreds of shadows assembled at the top of the hill, blotting out the moonlight.
The Nizahl soldiers had arrived.
Rovial’s tainted tomb, what had taken them so long? How could they have left their Commander to fight alone?
Behind Arin, a single arm dragged a heap of oozing flesh and filleted bone with chilling speed in Arin’s direction.
The nisnas gained on Arin, soundless in the grass. The Heir still knelt, his sight fixed on his soldiers, who were too far to see or help him.
Turn around, I wanted to shout. The scream I swallowed tore my throat raw. He couldn’t defeat Al Anqa’a and then fall to a nisnas.Turn around, turn around!
Arin went still. Very slowly, his head turned, neck tight with tension.
