Gilded Serpent Danielle Jensen (i can read with my eyes shut .TXT) 📖

“There are two flood paths they have to cross. If we can hold them to the far side long enough for the water to make its way down the mountains, they won’t be able to cross. They’ll either have to retreat or approach over higher ground, and by then, we’ll have our reinforcements.”

They hurried along the path, the rain overhead turning the rocky ground slick and treacherous. Lightning flashed, and ahead, he saw his men formed up along the high banks of a narrow streambed, perhaps eight feet across. It was still dry, but with water flooding down from the mountains, it wouldn’t be long until it turned into a raging torrent.

Except the water wasn’t going to come soon enough.

Racing down the rocky trail were hundreds of Anuk warriors, and they were only the front-runners of the force headed toward Killian’s men.

Far more than they could ever hope to hold back.

The Anuk caught sight of his force, screaming their war cries as they pulled their weapons. They were here for vengeance for what Ria had done, and it would take more than rain and floods to hold them back.

His soldiers parted, allowing Killian to move to the front of their ranks. Lifting his weapon, he shouted, “Shields!”

A heartbeat later, his ears picked up a whistling sound, and the sky turned from grey to black, deadly arrows raining down.

The loud thunks of arrows striking shields were drowned out by the screams where they’d found flesh, and all around him, Killian saw his men dropping. “Archers, loose!” he roared over the sound, lifting his own bow and taking down three Anuk.

But those coming from behind only leapt over the bodies of the fallen, holding shields over their heads as they sped toward the bank.

“The flood is coming!” Sonia shouted from where she knelt next to him. And when Killian risked looking upstream, his eyes latched upon a dark mass rolling down the streambed. Not water, but a monstrous tangle of trees and branches and debris being pushed by the floodwaters, dark fingers reaching ahead of the main mass like it was some strange sentient beast.

And if this stream were flooding, the riverbed Killian and his men had crossed to get here would flood next. They had to get to the far side of it, or his men would be caught between raging bodies of water.

“Retreat!” He repeated the order, fighting to be heard over the thunder and ominous snapping of branches as the deadly tide surged down the streambed. “Retreat to the far side of the next flood path!”

Holding a shield over his head, he caught Sonia’s arm. “You must hold the river, or we’re lost. Leave me ten men to buy you time.”

“What about you?” his friend demanded. “I’m not leaving you here to get killed!”

“Go!” he shouted, even as he chose those who’d stand with him. Who’d probably die with him. “I’ll give you the count of fifty and then we’ll follow.”

At least his men would.

“Dying isn’t going to bring her back!”

If only it would, he’d die a hundred times over. A thousand. “You’re in command, Sonia. You let these soldiers die because you’re busy arguing with me, that’s on you.”

Indecision rolled across her face, and then she was screaming orders, the Rowenes soldiers moving rapidly backward, shields up against the endless barrage of arrows.

One. Two. Three. He started the count in his head.

“We keep as many as we can to the far side of the stream,” he said to those who remained with him, and then he pulled his sword. His shield shuddered, already bristled with arrows. Another thirty seconds and the deadly tide of water and debris would fill the banks in front of him.

Eight. Nine. Ten.

The front-runners raced across the dry bed, screaming their fury as they attacked. Killian met them, hacking and slicing, men falling back into the streambed only to be replaced by more. And more.

Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

Then the flood struck.

The Anuk caught in its way were pulled under the nightmarish mess of shattered trees and mud and water, dashed to death before they could drown. But it didn’t stop them from coming.

In twos and threes, they leapt the eight-foot gap between banks, heedless of the danger rushing beneath them despite dozens of them falling into the murk.

Twenty-nine. Thirty. Thirty-one.

Killian kept fighting, taking down those who made it across even as he saw warriors on the far side lifting felled tree trunks, dropping them across the deadly stream to form bridges, the flood flowing just beneath them as they raced across.

Where they met his sword.

Killian lost himself to the swing of his weapon, the crash of steel a music accompanied by the roar of the thunder.

Forty-two. Forty-three. Forty-four.

He’d thought he would be the only one alive by now, but four of his soldiers remained. Fighting. Holding their ground. Waiting for his order.

Forty-nine. He silently cursed the gods, then shouted, “Retreat!”

As one, they twisted and broke into a sprint, racing down the rocky trail toward the distant river, which would be impassable in a matter of minutes. An arrow skipped off his armored shoulder, and next to him, one of his men dropped, fletching jutting from the back of his head. “Run!”

He hazarded a glance backward, seeing Anuk swarming across the makeshift bridges or losing patience and leaping the gap.

His men sprinted down the trail, and in the distance, Killian could make out Sonia and her line of soldiers holding the far bank of the riverbed. It was empty still, but upstream, another, far larger flood of debris was surging its way down. “Run!” he shouted at his men. “Get to the far side!”

One of them dropped, an arrow in his back. Another tripped and nearly went down, an arrow embedded in his leg.

They weren’t going to make it.

Skidding to a stop, Killian sheathed his sword and unslung his bow. In rapid motion, he picked off the Anuk archers shooting at his men. Only their eyes were visible between the folds of their scarves, but it