Smolder (Crown of Fae #3) - Sharon Ashwood Page 0,55

in this heat.”

Unless the Shades find them first. Leena’s stomach twisted as her brother’s despairing eyes filled her imagination. She stumbled almost blindly through the seared landscape, windblown grains of sand scouring her cheeks.

The dead were scattered as far as the eye could see. Morran didn’t stop until they reached the first body. The fae had been tall and lean with skin bronzed by the sun. Now he lay with a Shade’s leaf-bladed spear through a gap between his breastplate and the gorget protecting his throat. Morran pulled the weapon free, dropping it to the sand. Sun glinted from the blood-darkened tip.

Then he knelt and removed the fae’s helmet, setting it aside. The high cheekbones, winged brows, and pointed ears marked the warrior as a pureblood fae noble. Morran bowed his head.

“Do you know him?” Leena asked softly.

“I trained him,” Morran replied. “He was a member of my household.”

“I’m sorry.” She brushed away the hair that blew into her eyes and mouth in the insistent wind.

Morran rose, fresh anger kindling behind his eyes. “He deserved to have me at his back. He deserved his prince.”

Leena’s tribe was half-wild, more rabble than kingdom, but she understood Morran’s grief. The oath between a lord and his men ran deep. Juradoc was at fault, but the guilt remained.

Morran took the heavy sword from the dead fae’s hand. “Loan me your blade,” he said softly. “I will drench it with vengeance.”

“Will you now?” came a cracked voice from behind Leena.

A skeletal hand fell on Leena’s shoulder. She spun out from under it, but not before razor-sharp claws dug into her flesh. Springing back, she drew her knife and landed in a fighting crouch—only to feel cavernous fear well inside her. Three Shades—no doubt a patrol from Juradoc’s camp—had appeared from thin air.

One was mounted on a horse as black as cinders. The foot soldier beside him held the same type of spear that had killed Morran’s man. Worst, Claw Hands in front held the crooked staff of a sorcerer. Of them all, he was the most dangerous.

Morran grasped the hilt of his borrowed sword in both hands. “Three black crows, I see. Did you come to pick the bones of the dead?”

“We were looking for a different prize,” Claw Hands said.

Fionn, Leena guessed. Perhaps they hadn’t yet retrieved her brother or Anna.

The Shade’s face was shrouded, but she felt his attention shift fully to Morran. “Never mind. You will do nicely, Morran of Tymeera.”

Morran gave a laugh that was half-growl. “I’ve tired of Juradoc’s hospitality.”

Claw Hands casually dipped his staff, sending a flash of power rippling through the earth. It was almost invisible, like wind on water or a shimmer of heat. A dozen yards away, a boulder exploded in a deafening boom, throwing a shower of dust into the heat-soaked air.

It was a warning, but it fell on deaf ears.

Morran launched into action, sweeping the blade at Claw Hands. The sorcerer shrieked and vanished, leaving the bloody sword to cleave thin air. The horseman reared at the flashing steel, then plunged his mount to Morran’s right. Distracted, Morran was a fraction too slow to notice the spearman move in from the other side. It was a smooth maneuver, as well-timed as any dance move.

Not one bothered with a mere dancing girl. Leena grabbed the spear Morran had pulled from the dead fae. The polished staff was hot from the sun, almost burning her palms, but she clutched it hard. Struggling with the unfamiliar balance, she stabbed at Morran’s attacker, catching him under the arm as he lifted his own weapon to strike. The point missed the curve of his armor and jarred against rib and muscle. Leena twisted the point, screaming to cover the unholy sound of metal piercing flesh.

Morran dragged the rider from his horse, pulling him down just as the other assailant pitched forward. The horseman landed on Leena’s foe, dragging the spear from her grip. The horse, suddenly riderless, bolted for freedom.

Morran moved in, his sword already in motion. The horseman barely had time to react before his head tumbled to the sand. Black, foul blood oozed from the stump of his neck. The spearman beneath shrieked in pain and horror before the sound was cut short by another slashing blow. Morran fell back, breathing hard as he surveyed his handiwork.

“Grab a weapon and run for the pyramids,” he said under his breath. “We’ll be safe from Shade magic there.”

Leena understood his meaning at once. They’d killed the henchmen, but