Ruein: Fires of Haraden: Action/Adventure Necromancy Series (Books of Ruein Book 2), G.O. Turner [little bear else holmelund minarik txt] 📗

Brun finished with a punch to the back of Ceer’s skull. Their friend face-planted. Unmoving.

Brun stood over. Washed in steaming rain, he barked ignan.

With the city gate cleared, Tull emerged from his Elite brethren. Disgust was apparent in his eyes, reserved for Ruein and her companions. He turned to the monk azer, readied.

Retrieving his discarded ringlet, Brun clamped it back over the flame tail from his head. He surveyed the remains of the field and spoke. His voice, like rocks grinding, was ignan authority without question.

Tull clutched at his own throat, his nose wrinkled, as surface common translated from his lips, “This…is…Haraden.”

He stood taller, souring his gaze upon Liv. “Even friend of Shegar Negrath should know. You sought to flee, to escape your crimes. But now you will never be beyond Haraden.”

Rattling through the dark-orcs came the clink of metallic links. Four sets of manacles were brought forward.

Ruein’s cloak tugged. Her eyes fell upon Twigs’ distraught face.

I got them into this.

This was always ever to be a trade meant for her. Their misplaced loyalty for the abomination she was…was now going to haunt them. No matter what the call, there was going to be a cost.

It should be hers to pay.

She rested the palm of her black gauntlet upon the gnome’s head. Her cloak would no longer provide safety. Gently, Ruein nudged him off and stepped away.

Her eyes trailed from the manacles over to Tull and his Elite. She looked to the monk azer and his flaming cohorts.

Her eyes flared necrotic light.

Her glaive swept around, reared overhead…

…and she charged at the orcs.

Her tattered elven cloak trailed behind as she threw all she had left into the phalanx before her. The thrum of so many bowstrings was not to be drowned out by the noise of the rain.

The force of multiplied piercings stopped her in her tracks.

Uncertain footsteps drew Ruein around for another look at her sister. A garden of arrow shafts stemmed from her arms, legs, and side. A last thwunk—pocked the back of her skull, as an arrow tip jutted from between her eyes.

With Liv’s horror upon her face, Ruein collapsed back onto the earth and did not move.

“Noooo!” The rage and rawness of Liv’s cry penetrated Ruein—one last strike.

A hustle of Elite descended upon them. The dark-orcs slapped manacles on Twigs, the unconscious Ceer, and—against a torrent of struggles—her heartbroken Lightbringer sister.

Ruein lay there, eyes open, a vacant gape up at the sky.

The dark clouds above flickered with distant volcanic lightning. The showers, more than flooding her eyes, offered a vague semblance of what she wished she could muster.

Tull lowered himself over her and his thick orc hands pressed upon her throat. He squeezed. With a sneer, he closed Ruein’s eyes. “She’s dead.”

Chains jangling on plate mail drew closer. “Well, no shit.”

28

The rain pelting against her cowl cooled her somewhat after her exertions. Streams ran along her black leather straps, racing across her boots and into the rooftop gullies. Only there did the water begin to wash away the collected filth.

Why couldn’t it wash away hers?

Some cruel joke?

The Lightbringer’s dark sister had called her a shrouded assassin. Draped in the horror of her own acts, that seemed fitting enough. Whatever she could’ve been was surely dead by now. Shroud it is, then.

The shroud peered over to the alley below.

She clenched her teeth with the small glimpses of the bronzed cleric there. Huddled under a rag-of-a-blanket, the Lightbringer remained by her friends, Ceer and Twigs.

Her gut knotted at the sight, twisting within the shroud. How much of her existence had she serviced others, all the while remaining alone in the dark? Then to finally meet a true Lightbringer in her darkest instance—and what does she do? Condemn the only hand she could’ve grabbed onto.

This is damnation.

Silent thoughts from the shadows of her mind crept back over. Pinpricks needled a way around, tightening in and driving ever closer to her heart. She couldn’t just sit there.

A splash from a side street snapped the shroud around. The necromancer had returned. But from what? Some scouting of another way?

There was no other way! It was all there, presented before the shroud—Elites were massed within the gate, the azers had already rolled in, the towering wall was overhead. This was the one way out. And these poor condemned few were only four. They’d been so capable, getting so far. When Haraden gets her…

Acid squelched in her throat. Would’ve been better to just vomit. To be rid of it. Too bad she hadn’t eaten in days.

Darts, daggers, and crossbows were not going to help. All she could do was watch as fate unfold—

An unearthly bellow reverberated off the outer stone walls, sweeping in with the wind and showers. The shroud lowered her mask and leaned toward the sight stalking the gate’s far side.

Darkness made manifest loomed closer, encroaching upon the Elite soldiers. Lumbering movements protruded bone-sharp talons outward. There was something inside and it was large. It laid into the Elite, dragging soldiers away from the formation. In response, the dark-orcs marshaled their numbers toward and against the darkness. Hardened battle cries and handaxes hurled at the behemoth.

The rustle of plate armor clinked up from the alley below. The Lightbringer was making her move. The four of them charged at the Elite’s opening backline.

Settling into a crouch, the shroud brought up her crossbow. Her rooftop was too far away for a sure shot. Maybe she could pick a few off from the flank?

She cued up on an outer, stray Elite just as the battle scene vanished in a gray mist. The roar of monsters and combat cascaded into pandemonium: the crash of crumpling armor, wet meat, and desperate guttural shouts.

And she couldn’t see a damned bit of it!

The shroud continued to rove her crossbow over the mist’s edges. The moments lingered as the needles to act sank deeper. Fear’s tiny legs crawled along her nape. She wasn’t doing