The Confectioner's Exile by Claire Luana

Author:Claire Luana [Luana, Claire]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Live Edge Publishing

Chapter 9

Hale wasn’t sure who was more surprised—him or the man who had attacked him from behind. Hale barreled into the man, his feet tangling with his attacker’s. They both went down. Hale landing with a thump on top of the grizzled man. “Bandits!” Hale bellowed. “Attack!”

“Shut up, you dog,” another man snarled, hauling Hale off the first man and smashing Hale across the head with his gauntleted fist. Pain exploded through Hale’s temple as he fell back to the ground, his vision blurring until four men stood before him instead of two. The metallic sting of blood filled his mouth and visions of his untimely death filled his mind. Thankfully, the attackers soon had more pressing matters to attend to. The rest of the camp had sprung to life, and Chiron was now running at them with bared teeth and bared steel.

The sounds of combat filled the night as Chiron crashed into the men with a bellow. Through his hazy vision and sluggish thoughts, Hale counted more bandits—as many as ten. From the ringing of steel and muffled curses, Hale couldn’t tell who was winning. He tried to stand, but his legs didn’t seem to be working right. He fell back to his knees, retching onto the dark earth. He had never felt pain like this. It roared in his head, threatening to consume him. He tried to fend it off, to claw past it and reach a coherent thought. Mother. Cal.

Hale crawled across the ground, past the silhouettes of battle backlit by the embers of the fire, the quicksilver of the moon. One man fell with a crash, pierced through—Hale wasn’t sure if it was a bandit or one of theirs. He saw faces huddled behind a wagon, female faces—Emery, there…his mother. “Cal,” he rasped.

“Help him!” His mother’s voice cut through the pain, and Hale whirled, regretting the sudden movement when it was rewarded with an explosion of fire in his temples. Cal was fighting a skinny bandit, swords flashing and clanging in rapid tempo. He and Cal had rudimentary training in fencing, but this—this was different. This was real. A defeat was not just a tick on the breastplate, it was the end. The bandit seemed to have Cal on the defensive, backing towards the wagons while the horses whinnied in fear. Hale summoned whatever strength he had from some hidden well and with a roar ran at the bandit, tackling him at the waist, bearing him to the ground. He punched the man in the face with a savage blow, then again, then again until his fist was bloody and the man’s face was barely recognizable.

“Hale!” Cal said. “You got him. The others.”

Cal extended his hand to Hale to help him off the ground, and Hale took it gratefully with his own blood-slicked hand. As he went to pull himself up, Cal’s eyes shot open with fear and pain and he let out a gurgling gasp.

“Cal!” Hale gasped in horror as he registered the blade protruding from Cal’s stomach.

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