Page 73 of Dark Rival

“Ailios,” Royce said sharply, turning her toward him.

Her relief was crushing. She had not a doubt she’d been staring at Moffat and that he’d greeted her with telepathy, trying to mesmerize her. “Let’s go,” Allie whispered nervously. He had almost succeeded.

“Today he dies,” Royce said.

THE BATTLE STARTED and the world as she knew it changed.

In one instant, the peace and calm of the day was shattered. Allie stood with Royce in the middle ward, between both gatehouse towers. Flaming arrows whistled, landing not just on the ramparts where most of the men were positioned, but in the ward not far from where she and Royce stood. Allie tensed as rocks and boulders exploded, shards flying dangerously close to them. Men began crying out in agony, shot by arrows or hit by the rocks. A man on fire fell from the walls, landing in the bailey, just across from where she stood with Royce. Shouts of rage began, as the defenders fired arrows and bolts from the crossbows at the attackers, hurling flaming liquids down upon them.

But the wounded increased in number, with every slew of incoming arrows and projectiles. Royce grasped her arm more tightly, as if he knew that it was almost impossible for her not to rush to the stairs and go up to help the wounded. Allie braced herself. She had to stay put for now. Nothing had ever been so hard.

Suddenly a sword-size bolt flew over the crenellations, impaling three men in a row. On the bolt, they fell to their death in the ward.

“I can’t do this,” Allie screamed, shoving at Royce. “I can save two of those men!”

He pulled her into his embrace and locked her there, against his chest. “Stay still. They’ve breached the moat. Giants are scaling the walls—human ones.”

Allie went motionless, staring up at him. “How do you know?”

“I’m listenin’ to Malcolm,” he said.

He was reading Malcolm’s mind. Malcolm and Claire were fighting the invaders from the largest tower, which guarded the drawbridge. Allie tuned in to the three men and realized they were all dead. She told herself not to cry—not now, not yet.

Later, when it was over, she would pray for all the sacrifice and bless their souls, and then she would grieve for the human dead.

She focused on the castle around them, but she didn’t feel evil inside, not yet.

“He’s waitin’,” Royce said, “for the right moment.”

Allie couldn’t imagine when that would be. The arrows, bolt and catapults kept coming. She could now hear the front gates being rammed. Worse, Malcolm’s men were shouting more urgently and furiously on the ramparts. With dread, she looked up and saw two giants crawling over the crenellations. They were instantly slain by Malcolm and Claire and two other huge warriors, using both swords and energy. One was dark and swarthy, the other bronzed and golden. Allie seized Royce’s sleeve—the two additional men had the brilliant powerful auras that only Masters could have.

He had followed her gaze. “Aye, Malcolm has summoned help.”

A slew of giants now began breaching the crenellations. Malcolm, Claire and the two new Masters instantly hurled them back with blasts of energy, but as they dropped, more giants appeared. Allie saw Aidan appear beside them, sword in hand, now dressed like a medieval Highlander in a tunic, mail and boots, his legs bare. She watched him viciously slay four of the giants, making him as much a Terminator as Royce. He no longer appeared affable at all.

Wood screamed, shrieked, exploded.

Allie, now encircled in Royce’s arms, her back to his chest, tensed in dread as the gates were breached and the giants rushed in.

“Ye stay here,” Royce said grimly. “Ye stay against this wall.” He seized her shoulders. “Moffat will try to come now that I fight. Ye ken? I’ll keep one eye on ye.”

Allie nodded, but she didn’t want him distracted. She seized his face in both hands. “Don’t you dare keep one eye on me! I won’t move. You fight with both eyes on the demons, damn it!”

In answer, Royce handed her a small, deadly dagger and drew both swords, and before Allie could blink, he was striding into the horde, viciously determined, a golden warrior. He entered the fray like a lethal machine, his arms moving at stunning speed, like rotating blades, and the giants fell, one after another, as he strode through their midst. He had become a two-handed killing machine.

The entire inner ward had become a battlefield. Just feet from where she stood, Masters and Highlanders fought the giants.

The pale sand-colored dirt ran with blood.

Bodies lay everywhere—the dying and the dead.

How could she simply stand there and watch, doing nothing?

Allie saw that Royce was on a roll. He certainly seemed invincible now. The huge urge to heal overwhelmed her and she moved just two steps from the wall. There, she knelt beside a very young man, stabbed through his side, half of his tunic covered in blood. The boy’s eyes were closed, but he was alive.

Allie sent her white healing light over him and through him. She focused, the terrible uproar of the battle vanishing, and it was only her and the young defender and her white healing power. She didn’t move, aware of his severed flesh knitting, of a severed muscle healing. She felt his heart beating normally. She was rewarded when his eyes opened and he blinked at her in surprise. Then he smiled. “Lady, thank ye.”

Allie glanced into the melee. Royce was half covered in blood but he was focused and unhurt. Every giant who turned toward him—or that he attacked—fell to his blades. In spite of how horrible such a battle was, the sight of him thrilled and reassured her. He was power and courage, and today, the gods smiled upon him.