War (The Four Horsemen #2) - Laura Thalassa Page 0,161
from fear, and right now, I really, really need them steady.
Holding the sword in my grip, I lift it up.
Fuck, this thing is stupid heavy.
Why does he need to have the biggest sword of all? So dumb.
My arms tremble as I raise it up. The top of the grave is right above my head. If I can just get it up there …
I get the tip of it over the edge of the grave, and I shove the rest out as best I can. It takes several agonizing minutes, and by the end of it, I have sweat dripping down my chest and back, but finally, I get the weapon out of the grave.
My attention returns to War. Now that his sword is off him, all that’s left is getting this giant of a man out of this pit without blowing both of us up.
I bite back crazy laughter. It’s an impossible task. I don’t know why I thought I could do this …
Deep breath.
I push away my worries and focus on the task at hand. Removing the explosives from the grave is out of the question, which leaves only one other option: getting War and myself out of the pit unscathed.
Only, there’s no way I’m going to be able to lug the horseman out with my own two hands.
I’d need something stronger to get him out of this grave …
Something like a horse.
“Deimos!” I stage whisper, like raising my voice might set off one of these explosives … which it might. You never know.
Last I saw, War’s horse was lingering nearby, but for all I know, it’s wandered off again … probably to eat the bones of the long dead, or whatever immortal war horses do.
Nothing happens.
“Deimos!” I call a little louder.
Still nothing.
Freaking horses.
“Deimos!” I shout.
I don’t blow up. Praise the heavens.
The horse ambles over, peeking over the edge of the pit at me. His reins slide forward, into the grave, the thin leather strap bumping into the shaft wall. I wince as it causes a little dirt to dislodge and skitter down, some of it dusting a nearby IED.
When nothing else happens, I sigh out a breath. Sweat is beginning to drip down my temples.
My eyes catch on the leather sword holster that wraps around the horseman’s torso. If I can loop my own belt around War’s holster and Deimos’s reins, and if I can manage to buckle the reins to the holster, then Deimos could hoist War from his tomb. Hypothetically.
Even if that part of the plan works, there’s still the issue of somehow incentivizing a horse to actually drag his master up and out of the grave … and then, of course, there’s the issue of the explosives.
It’s disheartening to think that this is the best plan I have.
Damnit.
Be brave.
I remove my belt, tossing my weapons over the edge of the pit, and then I turn back to my horseman.
There’s a place near his neck that’s bare of any explosives. Carefully, I take a step forward, placing my foot on that open bit of earth.
Sweat drips from my brow and onto War’s armor as I lean over him and begin to thread my belt through his leather shoulder straps.
Once I’m finished, I reach for Deimos’s reins, which still hang into the grave shaft. I grab hold of them, winding my belt through them as well.
I lean my leg against War’s body as I begin to buckle my belt.
I think I’ve got this.
I nudge the horseman’s body a little more as I finish strapping it all together. In response, one of War’s arms begins to slide off his chest—
No-no-no-no-no.
I drop the belt and the reins and make a desperate grab for his arm, but I’m not fast enough.
His forearm is about to bump right into—
BOOM!
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
Chapter 60
War
I wake, as though from sleep, my eyes wincing open. The mortal sun bears down on me, and the ripe musk of the earth is in my nostrils, along with the scent of spilled blood.
It’s the smell of my first memory, the one that formed me. That and anger. Back in my infancy, I was all cunning and anger. I’ve learned since then some of the finer points of men and war.
For a moment, I cannot place where I am or how I got here. I’m lying in some sort of hole and my skin feels new. This is one of those sensations that I doubt humans have much experience with. New skin.