Deception
Page 13
Thom, Drake, Ian, and the two remaining Baalboden men aren’t faring as well. They’re backed against the Wall, cut off on all sides by soldiers, and the space between them and the teeth of the soldier’s swords is steadily shrinking. Even as I watch, a soldier plunges his sword into the chest of the man beside Thom, and the man drops to the ground.
I slam my Switch into a soldier standing between me and Drake, then slice my knife across his neck as he turns. Blood spurts, and I stagger back as it arcs toward me. Logan leaps over the fallen man, his sword dripping, and together we shove our way to Drake’s side.
Soldiers press around us from all sides, herding us toward the city’s entrance.
I hope Logan planned for this, too.
“Get inside,” he says, and our men scramble across the rubble while Willow fires two more arrows into the soldiers surrounding us.
“Time to go,” she says, and leaps into the city.
Logan climbs after her, already yelling orders to whoever is on the other side of the gate to kill the soldiers who broke through or get out of the way and let him do it himself. In seconds, he’s over the other side.
I grab for a handhold in the pile of steel and stone, but someone behind me wraps a fist around my hair and yanks me back. The soldier holding my hair pulls me against him, trapping my Switch with his sword arm in a movement so fluid and fast, I don’t even register it until I’m already at a disadvantage. The soldiers around me step back, and a sudden silence falls across the field.
“Rachel Adams!”
My name, cut into bite-size syllables, echoes through the air, coated in fury. I know that voice. Terror and rage battle for control over my body. My limbs are too heavy. My head is too light. A distant roaring fills my ears as the soldier holding me pivots toward the Wasteland, and I see Commander Jason Chase, our former leader and the man who singlehandedly destroyed my family and my world, riding toward me on a large brown horse.
Chapter Six
RACHEL
The Commander glares at me with palpable hatred.
My pulse thunders against my ears as I glare right back.
A slew of Baalboden guards dressed in crisp blue military jackets with shining silver buttons step out of the Wasteland and form ranks behind their leader.
We aren’t facing one army, we’re facing two.
Whose army is the Commander borrowing? I rack my brain, running through what I know of the southeastern city-states. All allied with the Commander. All places my father refused to bring me for fear one of the Commander’s many spies would mention the presence of Jared Adams’s daughter when I was supposed to be meekly learning domestic arts at home in Baalboden.
Red-and-gold uniforms. Horses. Carrington? Schoensville? I can’t remember which of them uses red uniforms—a tremendously stupid color to wear while traveling through the Wasteland since it offers zero camouflage—and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Commander is coming closer, and I’m still pinned.
I need to be free of this soldier before the Commander reaches me, or I’m dead. I’m not about to die without taking the Commander with me.
“You took something of mine,” he says, his dark eyes burning while the thick scar that bisects his face pulls at his mouth.
The dull ache of missing Oliver and Dad throbs beneath my breastbone, and then slowly sinks into the icy silence that bloomed inside of me while I was lying on my father’s grave.
The Commander can’t hurt me if I refuse to feel it.
I let the memory of Dad and Oliver dissolve my terror and straighten my spine. Raising my chin, I tighten my grip on my knife while I say, “You took something of mine, too.”
His laugh is a bitter poison spilling from his lips. “I suppose you think we’re even now, you foolish girl.”
Soldiers step aside as the horse comes closer. I have forty yards before he reaches me. Maybe less. My knife is a reassuring weight in my left hand. I lower my arm, and the soldier holding me tightens his grip. I flip my knife blade around and aim for what I hope is the artery in his thigh.
I’m only going to get one chance at this.
Meeting the Commander’s eyes, I raise my voice and speak as clearly as possible. “We won’t be even until you lie dead at my feet.”
A faint thwing disturbs the air, and an arrow flies past me to bury itself in the Commander’s chest. I don’t know whether to celebrate that someone—most likely Willow—had such excellent aim or to be sorry that I didn’t get to destroy him myself.
I don’t get the chance to decide because the Commander sneers, reaches for the arrow, and yanks it free. I stare at his chest, waiting for the blood to come. Willing it to come, but it doesn’t.
He’s wearing armor. Only one city-state equips its soldiers with armor, which means the soldiers in red must be Carrington, and any blows we aim at their chests will be useless. No wonder Willow’s arrows had such little effect on the attackers.
“Aim at his head!” I scream.
The Commander throws the arrow onto the ground and spurs his horse forward. Willow doesn’t fire again. Either she’s out, or she has her hands full defending the survivors inside the Wall from the soldiers who overran the gate. Either way, I’ve got seconds before the Commander reaches me. Seconds to get free of the soldier who pins me, release the blade at the end of my Switch, and prepare to kill the Commander or die trying.
I jab the knife into the soft meat of the soldier’s leg, and he stiffens, his grip on my Switch arm loosening slightly. Before he can recover, I snap my head back, smashing my skull into his nose. Bright lights dance at the edge of my vision as I crush his instep with my boot and whirl around, my Switch already swinging for his head.
I slam my Switch into a soldier standing between me and Drake, then slice my knife across his neck as he turns. Blood spurts, and I stagger back as it arcs toward me. Logan leaps over the fallen man, his sword dripping, and together we shove our way to Drake’s side.
Soldiers press around us from all sides, herding us toward the city’s entrance.
I hope Logan planned for this, too.
“Get inside,” he says, and our men scramble across the rubble while Willow fires two more arrows into the soldiers surrounding us.
“Time to go,” she says, and leaps into the city.
Logan climbs after her, already yelling orders to whoever is on the other side of the gate to kill the soldiers who broke through or get out of the way and let him do it himself. In seconds, he’s over the other side.
I grab for a handhold in the pile of steel and stone, but someone behind me wraps a fist around my hair and yanks me back. The soldier holding my hair pulls me against him, trapping my Switch with his sword arm in a movement so fluid and fast, I don’t even register it until I’m already at a disadvantage. The soldiers around me step back, and a sudden silence falls across the field.
“Rachel Adams!”
My name, cut into bite-size syllables, echoes through the air, coated in fury. I know that voice. Terror and rage battle for control over my body. My limbs are too heavy. My head is too light. A distant roaring fills my ears as the soldier holding me pivots toward the Wasteland, and I see Commander Jason Chase, our former leader and the man who singlehandedly destroyed my family and my world, riding toward me on a large brown horse.
Chapter Six
RACHEL
The Commander glares at me with palpable hatred.
My pulse thunders against my ears as I glare right back.
A slew of Baalboden guards dressed in crisp blue military jackets with shining silver buttons step out of the Wasteland and form ranks behind their leader.
We aren’t facing one army, we’re facing two.
Whose army is the Commander borrowing? I rack my brain, running through what I know of the southeastern city-states. All allied with the Commander. All places my father refused to bring me for fear one of the Commander’s many spies would mention the presence of Jared Adams’s daughter when I was supposed to be meekly learning domestic arts at home in Baalboden.
Red-and-gold uniforms. Horses. Carrington? Schoensville? I can’t remember which of them uses red uniforms—a tremendously stupid color to wear while traveling through the Wasteland since it offers zero camouflage—and it doesn’t matter. What matters is that the Commander is coming closer, and I’m still pinned.
I need to be free of this soldier before the Commander reaches me, or I’m dead. I’m not about to die without taking the Commander with me.
“You took something of mine,” he says, his dark eyes burning while the thick scar that bisects his face pulls at his mouth.
The dull ache of missing Oliver and Dad throbs beneath my breastbone, and then slowly sinks into the icy silence that bloomed inside of me while I was lying on my father’s grave.
The Commander can’t hurt me if I refuse to feel it.
I let the memory of Dad and Oliver dissolve my terror and straighten my spine. Raising my chin, I tighten my grip on my knife while I say, “You took something of mine, too.”
His laugh is a bitter poison spilling from his lips. “I suppose you think we’re even now, you foolish girl.”
Soldiers step aside as the horse comes closer. I have forty yards before he reaches me. Maybe less. My knife is a reassuring weight in my left hand. I lower my arm, and the soldier holding me tightens his grip. I flip my knife blade around and aim for what I hope is the artery in his thigh.
I’m only going to get one chance at this.
Meeting the Commander’s eyes, I raise my voice and speak as clearly as possible. “We won’t be even until you lie dead at my feet.”
A faint thwing disturbs the air, and an arrow flies past me to bury itself in the Commander’s chest. I don’t know whether to celebrate that someone—most likely Willow—had such excellent aim or to be sorry that I didn’t get to destroy him myself.
I don’t get the chance to decide because the Commander sneers, reaches for the arrow, and yanks it free. I stare at his chest, waiting for the blood to come. Willing it to come, but it doesn’t.
He’s wearing armor. Only one city-state equips its soldiers with armor, which means the soldiers in red must be Carrington, and any blows we aim at their chests will be useless. No wonder Willow’s arrows had such little effect on the attackers.
“Aim at his head!” I scream.
The Commander throws the arrow onto the ground and spurs his horse forward. Willow doesn’t fire again. Either she’s out, or she has her hands full defending the survivors inside the Wall from the soldiers who overran the gate. Either way, I’ve got seconds before the Commander reaches me. Seconds to get free of the soldier who pins me, release the blade at the end of my Switch, and prepare to kill the Commander or die trying.
I jab the knife into the soft meat of the soldier’s leg, and he stiffens, his grip on my Switch arm loosening slightly. Before he can recover, I snap my head back, smashing my skull into his nose. Bright lights dance at the edge of my vision as I crush his instep with my boot and whirl around, my Switch already swinging for his head.
