Myles reemerged amid swirling dust, only to find a woman in shadow-black robes and several strangers blocking the path. His brow dug a hard line across his forehead.
“Identify yourselves!” His demand drifted across the stilled air, each word a warning that battle might follow the answer.
The woman, Rowena’s cloak flared behind her like a shard of midnight glass. Her eyes, hard, glacial, swept across Myles’ party before freezing on him.
“We are disciples of the Nethergate Sect. This man holds our Golden Pass. While that sigil shines, he stands beneath our shield. Touch him, and you make corpses of us first!”
Myles answered with a crooked smile that cut as deep as the sword at his hip. “Nethergate Sect? Step aside. The Malevolent Path Hall has business here. Interrupt us again, and we will not stay civil.”
Rowena’s jaw tightened, fury flashing like lightning behind her dark lashes. “The Malevolent Path Hall means nothing to us. If you thirst for blood, begin with ours, only then may you reach the man you seek.”
The sneer vanished from Myles’ face, replaced by a murderous chill. He had expected fear, not defiance.
“Then die for your arrogance!”
His roar cracked the still air. Four of his black-clad subordinates sprang forward as his sword carved a silver arc toward the disciples of the Nethergate Sect.
Steel met steel. Sparks hissed like angry snakes, and the clearing exploded into chaos.
Outnumbered yet unbowed, the Nethergate elites answered with blades honed by hardship. Their war cries rose, fierce and steady, as they locked steel with the advancing assassins.
Rowena snapped her whip. The ebony coil morphed into a black dragon, lancing across the melee toward Myles himself.
Myles met it with a lazy flick of his sword, parrying the dragon-whip in a bright shower of sparks.
“Is that all you can do?”
With that taunt still hanging in the wind, he blurred, lightning given human form, rushing straight for Rowena’s heart. Her breath snagged. She had known he was quick, she had not imagined he could vanish between beats of her heart.
She twisted aside, lashing low. The whip curled like a living thing, hunting Myles’ ankle.
Myles bicycled upward, the tip of one boot barely kissing the earth as he vaulted over the snare. From mid-air, his blade sang, releasing a crescent of sword-light that screamed toward Rowena’s chest.
Rowena cracked her whip again. The cord split the air, shattering the sword-light into harmless motes that died before reaching her.
Meanwhile, the Malevolent Path Hall killers crashed into the Nethergate disciples. The fight devolved into savage grappling, no distance, no mercy. Blades clanged, voices cried, and the grove shook beneath a storm of metal and resolve.
Jared watched, blood pounding in his ears, every heartbeat a drum of panic.
They fought only to shield him. Letting them fall would make his own life worthless.
I will not wait for death like livestock in a pen!
Biting back the pain slashing through his wounded shoulder, Jared lifted the Dragonslayer Sword and charged into the fray.
His sudden entrance lit the Nethergate ranks with renewed fire, courage roaring anew behind every swing.
Side by side with Jared, the disciples met the Malevolent Path Hall’s assault head-on, blades flashing with desperate conviction. Yet strength alone could not bridge the gulf. Minute by minute, the Nethergate disciples began to buckle under the force.
A single scream ripped the din.
One Nethergate warrior staggered, Myles’ henchman’s sword buried in his chest. He collapsed, crimson staining the grass.
“No!” Rowena screamed.
In the half-lit chaos, she caught sight of one of her own falling, blood blooming against the dust. A stab of grief hit so hard it stole her breath.
Grief became fury. She roared, a raw, ragged sound, and her long whip cracked through the air like lightning, carving wild arcs as she plunged toward the masked killers of the Malevolent Path Hall.
But Myles had already read the rhythm of her anger and seen the gap it opened. He slipped from sight, reappearing behind her like ghost-mist. His sword gleamed, a cold promise, and drove for the center of her back.
“Look out!” Jared shouted, his warning knifing through the din.
Jared hurled himself forward, the Dragonslayer Sword flashing in his grasp, its edge burning silver. He slashed at Myles’ path, desperate to intercept the strike, yet Myles moved with impossible speed, the chance to block simply vanished.
An instant before steel met spine, Rowena spun—grace born of years in the Nethergate Sect, so the blade missed her heart. Even so, cold steel kissed her forearm, tearing a deep red groove that spilled across her sleeve.
“Rowena!” a young disciple cried, voice cracking with dread. He darted toward her, panic shattering his composure, but the melee kept him from reaching her side.
