Page 15 of Warrior of the Wild
Five ziken beasts block our path, almost as if they were waiting for us.
They cackle at the sight of us, and the sounds send a shiver down my back.
“The one in the middle is enormous,” Torrin says.
My grip on my ax tightens. “Then I’ll kill it and leave you to deal with the hatchlings.”
Torrin snorts. The others can hardly be called newborns. They are only marginally smaller.
“The sensible thing,” Torrin says, “would be for one of us to take on three, and the other to take on two, including the big one.”
“I don’t think they’re going to give us much say in the matter.”
As if in agreement, all five of them race for Torrin, clinging to the left side of the path where he stands, instead of spreading to the right side where I am.
I try not to be offended. He is taller, bulkier. And while I am certainly no fragile or dainty thing, I must not look as threatening.
How very misguided of them.
“Rasmira, get over here,” Torrin says. It’s not fear in his voice. Mostly anticipation, but he doesn’t like his odds five on one.
“Perhaps I should just run. I need only be faster than you.”
Torrin gives me a gesture, and by the gasps in the audience, I can tell at least a few people saw it.
I laugh and leap to his side just as the horde reaches us.
They pounce, hind legs sending them flying through the air, jaws unhinging, teeth flashing in the light of the sun.
I hold my ax out in front of me, turn it sideways, and use the length of the rod to connect with three separate ziken, careful not to let teeth get anywhere near where my hands are spaced apart. I skidback across the rocky soil at the impact. One of the beasts takes the rod in the mouth, another at the neck, and the third—the monstrous one—hits at the knees and continues sailing over my head.
Brown blood smears the rod from the ziken who took it in the mouth, but that particular beast finds its feet and licks its lips, as though even more crazed by the taste of its own blood. A tooth flicks to the floor as it roves its mouth with its tongue. A canine. Good.
I bring my ax down on its head, the sharp blade sinking in deeply, right between the beast’s eyes. Before I can pull it back out, the monstrous ziken charges me again, this time from behind.
I spin my body around, bringing both ax and impaled ziken with me. The two beasts collide, and my ax finally dislodges from the first one’s head as both beasts are sent flying off to the left.
The final ziken, the one that took the rod to the neck, is still wheezing on the ground. I step up beside it, raise my ax high in the air, and bring it down across its neck. The head rolls off to the side, brown liquid spreading across the rocky ground.
Another loud whistle rises up from the stands.
I look up at Torrin. He’s swinging his ax back and forth, keeping his two ziken at bay.
“They’re both still alive?” I ask. “Come, now, Torrin, I’ve already killed one, and I got stuck with three of the beasts, as well as the large one that made you piss yourself.”
“Then give yourself a pat on the back!” he shouts back to me.
I laugh and turn, ready to meet the two beasts that have found their footing once again.
My hands tighten around my ax, loving the feel of the leather-laced handle. I feel powerful when I hold it, unstoppable, even. Myblood sings in my veins from the thrill of battle, and I eagerly await the next onslaught.
The ziken that took my ax between its eyes has already healed itself. Its armored skin has reconnected so perfectly, one wouldn’t be able to tell it was ever injured.
And the large one—its eyes flash orange with the direct sunlight shining on them. Thick droplets of saliva hit the ground as it licks its lips.
“Come take a bite of this,” I say as I swing my ax at it.
It dodges to the side before taking a swing at me. One clawed foot connects with my breastplate. Sparks rain to the ground at the contact, and the ziken cackles menacingly at the sight. It’s startled by the hot sparks, and I use the beast’s confusion to send another swing its way.
