Bloodsworn (Ashlords #2) - Scott Reintgen Page 0,2

From our angle, they look like dull spears being thrust into the sky by invisible hands.

Both towers are empty. I can’t help smiling. The timing is perfect. Our other crew must have arrived. Devlin was assigned the role of the bloody priest. He’ll have crashed his carriage just short of the gate. I can imagine him running forward in his stolen monk’s robes. The crew covered his hands with sheep’s blood. He’s supposed to approach them and pretend he’s been attacked by enemy soldiers. Locklin’s guards won’t be foolish enough to open the gates, but every one of them will be drawn forward by the spectacle.

And we’ll ride up the undefended back ramparts.

Bastian shifts our formation, urging his horse ahead. His movement draws the Rowe siblings forward as well. Squinting, I can see Harlow grinning briefly at his sister. Another hand signal has them both swinging over in front of me.

My eyes dart to Bastian. He sees the scowl on my face and shrugs once. Fury thunders in my chest. He’s been doing this for weeks. Ever since Gig’s Wall. That first battle was chaos. My first real taste of war. I was so shocked that I could barely reload his pistols.

Which means he thinks I need his constant protection now.

There’s no time to wrestle with anger. We reach the bottom of the castle wall. Our horses gallop through a final curl of fog and burst out into sunshine. The ramparts are empty. Bastian tugs on his reins just as he reaches the top of the wall.

The rest of us follow suit. Momentum carries us over the lip and then gravity slams down on our shoulders again. I almost let out a shout. This is an ancient castle. The waiting ramparts are narrower than we expected. Bastian’s horse digs its hooves in and still slams into the opposite wall. My horse skids and the second row of riders almost sends us toppling into the courtyard below.

There’s a chaotic press of bodies as we get a glimpse at Locklin. Our view of the castle is elevated. Looking down, there’s a courtyard that’s been converted into a training ground. Stone staircases lead up the opposite end of the ramparts, and that’s where most of the movement is. A pair of Ashlord soldiers stand above the castle’s barbed gates. One calls down in an annoyed voice.

More soldiers wait below, listening in on the conversation. Our group takes in the scene, awaiting Bastian’s command, when a tinkle of broken glass sounds.

Everyone turns.

A guard stands five paces away. His eyes are shocked wide. At his feet, a shattered teacup. Dark liquid carves rivers through the cobblestones. Cora Rowe smiles as she raises her pistol and points it at the interloper. “Well, good morning, sunshine!”

The boom echoes. Gunpowder and death fill the air. Bastian curses once before barking out new orders. Our crew divides into three groups. Two groups circle the upper ramparts, tasked with holding the upper ground at all costs. Bastian dismounts, leading me and four others down the only access ramp in sight. Ashlord soldiers shout their own orders. More gunshots.

Luca is pressed in beside me. My uncle’s bulky frame follows. I catch a brief glimpse of someone falling from the ramparts as we whip around the corner. An older Ashlord guard barrels right into us. The impact sends him stumbling back. Bastian shoots before the guard can even ask where the hell we came from. Blood slicks the floor. My stomach tightens at the sight, but we keep on moving and searching and aiming. Our path takes us inside the castle proper.

This is war.

We turn down a long hallway. It’s bright with morning light. So bright that we almost miss the Dividian standing at the end of the corridor, his rifle raised. Bastian shouts a clipped warning that has our whole crew darting behind random pieces of furniture. We’re barely hidden when the first blast punches a hole in the artwork behind us.

“Ho, friend!” Bastian calls into the echo. “We’re here for them, not for you.”

A moment of silence. “For who?”

Bastian lifts his head a little. “The Ashlords! We don’t kill our own!”

Another blast forces Bastian back down, cursing.

“The Longhands don’t take prisoners,” the Dividian calls back. “Look at what happened in Vivinia! Your lot burned a sanctuary town to the ground!”

“Do we look like Longhands to you?”

There’s another shot, followed by a groan. I peek around the corner as Harlow Rowe comes strolling toward us, stepping gracefully around