Fields of Fire (The Nissera Chronicles) by Hannah West

Author:Hannah West [West, Hannah]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Holiday House
Published: 2018-09-18T06:00:00+00:00

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I ran through the streets of Cadoma until my muscles were in agony, my lungs burned, and the saturated blue of night had begun to drain away from the eastern sky. I claimed Dusty from the stables—Gannon had already taken Victor—and pressed on in utter desperation.

At last, I burst out of the city and the cobblestone street faded into a dirt road belted by fields. The dawning sun threatened to break free of the horizon. Hopelessness washed over me in a gut-wrenching wave.

I squeezed my legs around Dusty’s flanks, urging him onward.

Demonstration. The word cut through my thoughts along with the image of the captive young woman’s withered arm. Gannon didn’t know what the alchemist had planned for Skye, what he’d done to those other poor women.

Thanks to the faint light, I didn’t see the wagon until I had nearly passed it up. It had diverted from the dirt road into a shallow ditch, and the horse hitch had broken, leaving the cargo stuck. I looked around and found three figures staggered amid the knee-high grasses. Two were sparring against one—Trumble’s men against Gannon, who was clutching his bloody side. He had already taken a bad blow. He brandished his own dirk and the smaller knife I’d given him, hardly a match for two men, one of whom wielded a sword.

With an angry cry, I charged, driving Dusty toward the man with the sword to run him down. But gentle Dusty was no warhorse. He balked and jerked to a halt instead of following my commands, tossing me off in the process. I tried and failed to cling to the pommel as the world jarred and spun. I bounced through the grass and rolled to a painful stop, groaning as I drew my knife. The world had barely righted itself by the time the man I’d thrown over the balcony engaged me. He was less gifted in knife combat than I, and with nothing but a slice across my ribs I managed to knock the knife from his hand. He flinched toward it. I looked at Gannon and found him barely managing to stay upright, fighting back aptly enough to keep mortal injury at bay, but not aptly enough to win.

I turned back to my opponent, who was bent over, frantically searching for his weapon in the early light. The sooner I got rid of him, the sooner I could rush to Gannon’s aid as he had rushed to mine.

But as my opponent scrambled for his knife, a shadowy figure attacked him, kicking up under his chin and sending him flying onto his back. As the sun leaked its early light across the yellow fields, I recognized the attacker as Skye only by her hair; her arms, chest, legs, and gown were covered in the liquid substance that was black as pitch. She slipped out of the loosened bonds she must have been working on and tore a gag from her mouth.

The fields around us began to glow gold in the burgeoning light.

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