Fires of Ruin (War and Deceit #3) - Erin O'Kane Page 0,141

I need to. I’m certainly no expert, but this will give me a chance if I was separated from the others.

Tor’s watching me with approval, and when I look up, he smiles slightly. “Good, you have more skill than I expected, and the staff is a good fit.” Striding over to the huge table in the center of the tent, he picks up a large sword and sheath and straps it to his back.

“What a lovely compliment,” Naril comments, as he lovingly strokes the edge of an axe at the other end of the tent while slipping a jewelled dagger into his pocket.

“We are being attacked, we don’t have time for compliments,” Tor retorts, but he glances at me as he says it, and I give him a small smile to show him I don’t mind. I get it, his people are under attack, and he’s stuck with me. Turning to the elves, he gestures to the table. “Take what you need.”

Vaeril brushes aside his jacket and reveals a hidden sheath. Reaching in, he pulls out a beautiful blade carved with elvish runes along the flat of the blade. The sharp side of the blade looks like a flame, the edges ridged and rippling, almost like it’s moving. My eyebrows rise as I look from the weapon to him. I knew he was carrying weapons on him, and I know he’s got several others, but I’ve never seen that one before. “We never travel anywhere without weapons.” He grins at me as he speaks, winking before returning the blade to its sheath and pulling out the twin daggers at his hips. “Besides, elven weaponry is far superior.” He tosses the two daggers up into the air, and they seem to glow a faint green. I sense magic before they land in his hands. The elves’ magic has always been a bit of an enigma to me, but it seems to be centered around their weaponry.

Tor finishes strapping weapons to himself and looks fierce as he glances around at us. “Are we all ready?” It couldn’t have been more than a couple of minutes since Revna came into the tent to tell us we were under attack, but it feels like a lifetime ago. Looking around at the three of them, I pray to the Mother that we are strong enough to survive this. “We stay in a triangle formation. Clarissa is in the middle,” my tribesman directs, and I want to protest, to tell him that I don’t want anyone to put themselves at risk because of me, but I know it’s pointless.

Taking point, Tor leads the way, and we leave the relative safety of the tent, hurrying away from the ceremonial stones as the sun begins to set behind us. Following Tor, I hear the sound of fighting in the distance, but we head in a different direction. “We have strategies for attacks like this. I’m to take you to a safe place,” he tells me as we hurry along stone paths, jumping over low stone walls and past tents. We pass a couple of bloodied tribesmen as we go, but we still continue on. I’m just beginning to wonder if we’re actually going to leave the camp when we come to a sudden stop.

Instantly, I know something is wrong. The atmosphere is buzzing with a thick, sticky aura that makes me nauseous. Tor’s whole body has stiffened, his hand hovering over his sheathed axe as he looks around. We’re in a small, circular clearing with tents facing inward, and it’s obviously some sort of meeting place, but it’s completely empty.

“We were supposed to meet them here,” he says in a low voice, and that’s when I realise that things aren’t going according to plan. We are far away from the fighting now. In fact, I can hardly hear it above the pounding of my heart and the harshness of my heavy breathing. Clutching the staff in my hand, I’m suddenly glad it’s not made of wood as I’m sure I’d snap it clean in half. Tor was right to give me a weapon, and I’m really thankful that he thought to give me one. If I’m about to die, I want to go down fighting for freedom for my mates and me.

“Someone’s coming,” Vaeril announces, his supernatural hearing picking up what we have yet to hear, and although we have no way of knowing for sure, we all know it’s not the tribes. I sense it the same