I’m vaguely aware of being lifted, of being thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of barley. The indignity of it all would be funny if I weren’t being abducted again.
As the men carry me off, I send up a silent prayer to Olah. A prayer for Cenric, for his safety and his strength. A prayer for myself, that I’ll somehow find a way out of this mess.
Most of all, I pray for a miracle, knowing it’s the only thing that can save us.
Chapter
Six
CENRIC
Blood poundsin my ears as I lunge at the nearest attacker. The sharp clang of metal against metal rings out as our blades collide. I grit my teeth, muscles straining as I shove him back with a powerful thrust.
I spin, my blade whirling in a quick arc. It bites into flesh, drawing a pained cry from one of the masked men. He staggers back, clutching his bleeding arm.
Two more rush at me from opposite sides. I pivot, then slam my boot into the chest of the one on my left. He flies back and crashes into a stack of barrels.
The other swings his sword in a vicious overhead strike. I catch his blade with mine, the impact reverberating up my arm. Our eyes lock, his filled with cold determination and mine, no doubt, with unwavering resolve. I shove him away and whirl to face the next attacker.
Another masked man lunges at me, his blade aimed at myheart.
Not today!
I sidestep, letting his momentum carry him past. Then, I attack, finding the gap in his armor, and he falls to the ground with a gurgling cry.
The remaining men close in, their movements more cautious now. They’ve seen what I can do. Good, let them know fear.
I’ve faced worse odds before and emerged victorious. These fools don’t stand a chance.
“Come on,” I challenge. “Let’s dance.”
They hesitate, exchanging uncertain glances.
I take a step forward and wave my sword back and forth. “Who’s next?”
Before any of them can react, I lunge at the nearest man. He parries my strike as I pivot to face the second man. Our swords clash, and I use my brute strength to shove him backward.
The first man comes at me again, and I duck beneath his blade and slam my elbow into his face. He staggers back, blood gushing from his shattered nose.
I don’t give him a chance to recover. Instead, I sweep his legs out from under him with a powerful kick, sending him crashing to the ground. My sword finds his throat, and I slash it.
The second man is more cautious, circling me with wary eyes.
I smirk, twirling my sword in a lazy arc. “Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
He lunges, and I block his strike, then counter witha fierce cut of my own. He stumbles back, barely avoiding the deadly edge of my sword. I feint right, then spin to the left, my blade slicing across his thigh. He howls in pain, and his sword falls from his grasp as he clutches at the wound.
I kick his blade away and press my weapon against his throat. “Pathetic.”
“Please,” he begs. “I have children.”
Then, he should have thought about them before attacking me.
I don’t allow him to say anything else before slashing my weapon across his neck.
A familiar voice rings out from behind me. “Need a hand, brother?”
I glance over my shoulder as Praxis strides toward me, his sword already drawn.
