Siege (The Pack/Team Crafted)

Chapter Eight

"Squire!"

Squire Christie, a small-statured man who had only been born into royalty, not fought for it, was slumped against his bed, eyes glazed. One of his servants, a lanky woman with scarred skin, stared in horror. She rushed over, tripping over her feet as she slowly moved to kneel. Shaking, her fingers reached to check for a pulse.

She got none.

"G-Get Brice!" She called down the hallway, stumbling back. "Th-There's been a death..."

A younger boy, probably around sixteen or seventeen, poked his head around the corner. "Brice? Are you sure you don't want to fetch Jason from Xavek?"

"N-No, he's definitely d-dead... As if Jason would come anyways-s."

The boy nodded, then turned and dashed off to fetch the warlock. There were no more words.

Someone needed to know how he died.

+

Lachlan had no choice.

Mors threw his head, raising up into a crow-hop. Once Preston leaped off, landing neatly, Lachlan followed him down with a tad less grace.

Reaching for his sheathed longsword, he saw Jerome turn and lunge, fingers closing around his axe. Preston grit his teeth but broke into a grin, meeting the warrior halfway with his dueling sword.

Barely avoiding Mors' flying hooves, Lachlan ducked off to the side, sprinting to Vik's side. He was closest. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Rob leading Mors away by the bridal, leaning off Enfer's withers. Running or just gaining distance for range?

There wasn't time to think about it. Suddenly, Vik was hand-to-hand with the black-haired woman as they grappled on the ground. Deadly teeth flashed, lunging for the thief's throat.

Nerves making him tremble, Lachlan shoved away his fear and raised his blade, bringing it down in an arc. It buried itself deep in the Asuméns shoulder, and she roared with pain. He lost his sword for the moment, but the warrior was off Vik.

In an instant, the thief was back on his feet, shurikans in hand. Of course, their moment of victory didn't last long. She was already charging them again, this time snagging her double hatchets from the ground.

So it isn't just Jerome who bears an axe.

Lachlan's sword was on the ground behind her. He darted to the side as Vik twisted his wrist and through, lodging a throwing star in her shoulder. Snatching the sword from the ground, Lachlan whirled and cut into her ribcage - managing to keep his sword this time.

Dripping blood, the woman turned back clawed at his face. He couldn't duck quite fast enough, and pain split across his cheek as her nails hit home.

His eyes opened right as a bolt speared her head.

Almost like she was unaware to the arrow through her brain, she took a couple staggering steps closer before slumping to the ground. Lachlan's eyes flicked back to where the arrow had come from, seeing Rob with a crossbow - something he had noticed but not really thought about earlier.

"R-Retreat!" The call came up in the form of a scream, the unknown man having seen the woman fall. His face was riddled with small cuts from knives Mitch had produced from seemingly nowhere.

With a snarl, the other girl stumbled back with him, blood dripping from her lips. The corpse of the dead girl waited at Lachlan's feet.

Jerome did not go with them, it seemed, though the shadows cast by the setting moon stirred with three people.