chapter 12: continuation
893 Words
The wolves moved in slow steps, paws pressing clean circles into the snow. Steam curled from their nostrils. Each one’s eyes tracked a different target — some on Ronan, some on Sylra.
Ronan’s grip tightened on his sword hilt. “Pick left or right,” he muttered.
“Left,” Sylra answered.
“On three.”
Kerrick smirked. “By all means.”
“One—”
The wolf nearest Sylra lunged before “two.” She dropped to a crouch, letting it sail overhead, then drove her knife into its belly as it passed. The yelp was cut short; it hit the ground and didn’t rise.
Another wolf darted in at Ronan’s side. His blade flashed, slicing along its flank. It spun away, blood marking its trail in the snow.
---
Kerrick stepped forward, sword in hand, moving with the fluid ease of someone who’d fought Ronan before.
“You’ve slowed,” he said.
“Still faster than you,” Ronan replied.
Steel met steel again. The clang rang off the boulders and rolled into the trees. Ronan pushed, forcing Kerrick back, but one of the wolves leapt at his legs. He kicked out hard, sending it sprawling.
Sylra stabbed another clean through the ribs, pulling the blade free in one smooth jerk. “How many of these does he have?” she called.
“Enough,” Ronan said.
---
Kerrick whistled once, sharp.
Three more wolves broke from the trees, sprinting toward the clearing. The ground shook under their weight.
Sylra spun to meet the first one, her knife sinking into its chest as its momentum carried her backward. She planted her boot in its side and kicked it free.
Ronan parried Kerrick’s s***h, twisted the blade aside, and slammed the pommel of his sword into Kerrick’s jaw. Kerrick staggered but didn’t fall.
“Not bad,” Kerrick said, rubbing his mouth. “For an exile.”
“Not bad,” Ronan returned, “for a traitor.”
---
A wolf’s body crashed into Sylra from the side, driving her into the snow. Its teeth snapped inches from her throat. She shoved her forearm into its mouth, using the bracer to block the bite, and drove her knife into its neck again and again until it went limp.
Ronan swung wide, cleaving through another. Blood steamed on the cold air, sharp and metallic.
Kerrick circled, eyes flicking between them, searching for an opening. “You two fight well together,” he said. “Almost a shame.”
“Then walk away,” Sylra said, breathing hard.
Kerrick’s smile widened. “Where’s the fun in that?”
---
Two wolves remained, circling in opposite directions. Their low growls vibrated in the air.
Ronan shifted his stance. “Left’s mine.”
Sylra nodded.
The left wolf feinted toward Ronan, then darted past him toward Sylra. Ronan spun and caught it mid-leap, his sword punching through fur and bone.
The right wolf rushed Sylra head-on. She sidestepped, grabbed its scruff, and slashed deep into its side. It collapsed, kicking weakly in the snow.
---
Kerrick stopped pacing. He lifted his sword into a ready guard. “Now it’s just us.”
“You’ll regret that,” Ronan said.
They met in a flurry of blows — fast, hard strikes, the sound of metal ringing sharp in the cold. Ronan pressed forward, forcing Kerrick back toward the treeline.
Sylra moved to flank, but Kerrick turned quick, slashing in her direction. She ducked low, came up inside his reach, and cut across his thigh.
He grunted, stepping back. “Two-on-one, then?”
“You brought the wolves,” Sylra said.
---
Ronan swung for Kerrick’s shoulder. Kerrick blocked, but Sylra’s knife came in low again, forcing him to retreat another step.
The snow at their feet was trampled, streaked red. Steam curled from their mouths, their breathing loud in the quiet after the wolves.
Kerrick’s eyes darted to the trees, then back to Ronan. “More will come.”
“Then we finish this fast,” Ronan said.
They clashed again, blades sparking. Sylra darted in when she could, her strikes quick, precise, forcing Kerrick to split his attention.
---
A shout echoed from deeper in the forest. Human voices. Footsteps. The crunch of many boots on snow.
Kerrick smiled faintly. “Looks like I’m not alone after all.”
Ronan’s sword came in hard. Kerrick parried once, twice, then kicked Ronan square in the stomach. Ronan slid back in the snow but stayed upright.
“We’re leaving,” Sylra said, eyes on the dark shapes moving between the trees.
“Agreed,” Ronan replied.
Kerrick didn’t give chase as they backed away, blades still up. His smile stayed fixed, eyes glinting.
“Next time,” he called.
Ronan’s voice was flat. “There won’t be one.”
---
They broke into the treeline, snow crunching under each stride. The forest swallowed the clearing behind them.
The sound of pursuit didn’t come — but the voices lingered, drifting through the trees.
“Keep moving,” Ronan said.
Sylra fell in step beside him. “Until where?”
“Somewhere they won’t follow.”
The wind shifted, carrying the smell of blood, steel, and the faintest trace of wet earth — too far from here to be natural.
Neither spoke again. The forest kept its silence.
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