Page 46 of Fallen Nocturne

He remembers my weakness.

I circle him, searching for an opening while the lynxes prowl at the edge of the flames. They are swift, but their forms are fragile. One solid strike could scatter them completely.

A warrior charges from my left. I twist aside and send one of the lynxes across his path. Its claws rake through his thigh, dropping him hard to the floor with a cry of pain.

I don’t let myself dwell on the fact that I know the warrior’s name. I trained beside Oberyn. I pulled him out of a collapsed trench outside Caer Myrddin six years ago. I hate this. I hate fighting people I know, warriors I trained beside, people who saved my life and whose lives I saved in return. But they stand between me and the door and none of them intends to let me leave.

The informer is bleeding now, a cut across her ribs and another along her arm, but she remains on her feet. One of her opponents lies motionless near the bar while the other keeps her pinned between two overturned tables.

Torvan sends another wave of fire toward me. It herds me across the tavern, controlling every step and driving me toward the wall where I will have no room to evade him.

I let him believe it is working.

He advances with fire in one hand and his sword in the other. His face is set with grim determination. He does not want to kill me, but he will.

Duty over friendship.

I realize now that it is what Finn would choose too.

The thought twists painfully inside my chest. I feint left, and Torvan follows. His fire sweeps across my path, cutting off my escape.

One of my shadow lynxes reforms behind him and pounces, sinking its teeth into his back. The wound is shallow, not enough to kill him, but enough to make him stagger.

Torvan spins, his face twisted with pain and anger. “You bastard.”

“I’m sorry.”

I mean it. But I still evade his next strike and send shadows curling around his ankles. They tighten and pull.

Torvan hits the floor. His head strikes the edge of a table, and his body goes still.

He does not get up.

I stare at his unconscious form, my chest heaving. How many times did we fight beside each other? How many battles did we survive together?

A warrior crashes into me from the side.

We hit the floor and roll through broken wood. He lands on top of me, a knife descending toward my throat. I catch his wrist with my forearm, but the blade bites into my skin. Heat spreads beneath my sleeve.

He snarls inches from my face. “Traitor. Deserter. Devil-marked filth.”

I drive my forehead into his nose.

He reels back, and I throw him aside before scrambling to my feet. The informer appears behind him and drives one dagger into his side. The warrior collapses.

“We need to leave,” she gasps. Blood darkens the fabric over her ribs. “Now.”

I look around. Six warriors are down. Torvan lies unconscious among the wreckage, and the bartender stands over two more, breathing hard with her axe clenched in both hands.

“The back,” she pants. “Cellar door. It leads to the tunnels.”

Movement fills the shattered entrance. More warriors. Reinforcements.

“Go!” the barkeeper shouts. “I’ll hold them.”

“You should come with us,” I call over the approaching clash of armor.

She grins, savage and bright, and hefts her axe. “This is my tavern.”