Only three more Sentinels lay injured around the gate. Klara waited with the nine remaining members of 12th Squad who stood waiting for more stretchers to arrive. After the chaos of the battle, the soft moans of the fallen were all the more haunting. The moans were punctuated by the occasional wail as an injured Sentinel was moved.

  As soon as the injured were in Katavsk, the Butcher Guild would come and harvest the Nishkuk. The residents of Katavsk survived on a heavy diet of dragon meat. All other food had to be flown up.

  Zimbicki waited by Klara, relaxed against a chunk of rock as tall as him. He hadn’t spoken since the battle had ended—except to issue clipped orders.

  Her mind wandered to her conversation with Zin in Vera’s Revenge. She couldn’t shake the feeling that Zin had been avoiding something. The woman had been acting strangely since she’d learned that Borislav Avilov was Mikhail.

  In all their years of friendship, Klara couldn’t recall seeing her so desperate to help someone—especially someone she barely knew. Did she have feelings for Mikhail?

  Klara’s ears began to ring, and she rolled her jaw, trying to clear the sound. The Nishkuk’s shrieking in combat must have done some damage.

  Suddenly, two simple comments clicked together, and the blood drained from Klara’s face. When she had brought an accusation against Anton Voronin, Zin had leapt to his defence. And only an hour ago, she’d mentioned her dad, Vor… Horror twisted Klara’s gut. How had she not realised it then? Vor, Voronin.

  Idalie wasn’t the spy. Zinaida was.

  “Muck…”

  “You hear it too?” Zimbicki asked.

  Klara started at the sound of his voice. “Huh?”

  “The ringing.” Worry creased the corners of Zimbicki’s eyes.

  Klara frowned and rubbed her ears. “Yeah, but I think my hearing was damaged from the Nishkuk.”

  Zimbicki swore and pushed himself off the rock. “Dragon incoming! Clear everyone away from the gate. Now.”

  “Another one?” Klara asked, gaping at the emerald oval floating a dozen yards away. This couldn’t be happening… “I didn’t think that ever happened.”

  “It doesn’t. Now give me a hand,” he said, jogging to the nearest wounded.

  The gong rang out, and Klara stared at the battlements. The doors to Katavsk would once again be shut, sealing her in. She cursed herself for being a fool. Why hadn’t she left after they’d defeated the first dragon? Until the next died, Mikhail would have to fend for himself.

  “Get over here!” Zimbicki yelled.

  Snapped back to the present, Klara darted to his side and helped him carry an injured Sentinel clear of the gate. He didn’t need a hand for the weight—the strength extract ensured he could carry the wounded Sentinel—but Klara knew they needed to keep the woman’s body as still as possible to avoid further injury.

  The ringing reached a crescendo.

  Zimbicki and Klara put the wounded Sentinel down well clear of the gate and turned to help drag a giant of a man from the far side of the torn ground.

  A deafening explosion ripped through the air, flinging Klara and Zimbicki back.

  Klara tucked her chin to her chest as she hit the ground and tumbled, rolling over her shoulder and landing on her feet. Zimbicki landed similarly by her.

  A huge cloud of dust obscured the gate and everything surrounding it—including the two members of 12th Squad and the wounded Sentinel they were dragging.

  Zimbicki held a finger to his lips and dropped to a crouch, a long knife had appeared in his hand.

  Klara squinted into the swirling dust as she followed Zimbicki towards the gate. One by one, the members of 12th Squad materialised out of the surrounding dust.

  A low rumbling howl that ended in a series of pitiful staccato yelps sounded to her left and Klara spun. The dust appeared darker in that direction. Or was that her imagination?

  They changed direction as Zimbicki led the squad towards the looming darkness. When they were a hundred feet from the black mass, the dust cleared and Klara’s jaw dropped.

  “What the depths kind of dragon is that?” someone asked.

  It looked similar to other Nishkuk, just low and sleek and only two-thirds the size. Long spines covered its entire body and an almost elegant head rested atop its long, sinewy neck. A head that currently nuzzled the corpse of the downed Nishkuk. The unfamiliar dragon bit one of the harpoons in the Nishkuk’s side and yanked it out, shattering the hollow uzhasgart shaft.

  “I’m going to say it’s a female Nishkuk,” Zimbicki said.

  “Who cares? How do we kill it?” another squad member asked.

  “Cursed if I know,” Zimbicki said.

  The “small” Nishkuk’s head swung towards them, its four eyes focusing on the small squad. Even from this distance, Klara could see the fury burning in every one of its four eyes. Klara set her jaw and glared back as she hefted her sword. “I know how you feel,” she said softly, “your kind killed my sister… But now you stand between me and my brother.”

  “We better work out how to kill it soon,” Zimbicki said. “I think it’s just realised who killed its mate.”

  The dust fully settled and thunderous booms echoed through the Arena as the harpoon cannons spoke.

  The Nishkuk leapt, flying through the air. Straight at 12th Squad.

  “Scatter!”

  Everything slowed as Klara threw herself from the path of the incoming Nishkuk. It smashed into the ground where they had stood a half-second before.

  The dragon had covered the full hundred feet in one bound!

  No sooner had it landed then it leapt again, aiming for the battlements.

  “Don’t worry, it can’t scale the battlements!” Zimbicki said.

  The female Nishkuk reached the moat in seconds and coiled, then launched high into the air and landed squarely atop the battlements.

  Klara’s eyes boggled.

  Screams rent the night. Human screams.

  “They don’t have extracts,” a Sentinel near Klara yelled.

  Klara paled at the implication. Those Sentinels were defenceless against the Nishkuk.

  They reached the moat and thundered across the drawbridge. A Sentinel fell past them, screaming as she plunged into the waterless depths.

  Klara blocked her ears against the nauseating wet crack as the poor woman hit the ground.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  The squad sprinted through the armoury and scrambled up the ladders to the battlements, some pausing to grab new weapons. Zimbicki grabbed a new hammer.

  Within seconds they burst onto the battlements.

  Klara gaped at the devastation before her. Harpoon cannons had been torn from their mountings and swept from the wall. Eviscerated Sentinels lay strewn across the rampart.

  One hundred yards away, its back to them, the Nishkuk terrorised a harpoon cannon crew.

  A yell went up amongst 12th Squad, and they surged forwards.

  The Nishkuk spun, its long tail swiping the harpoon cannon from the battlement as it charged, head down, spikes out.

  Zimbicki reached the Nishkuk and swung at its skull, but it jerked away and struck at Zimbicki from the side. The man lurched away from the Nishkuk’s jaws and darted in for another strike.

  A keen-eye watcher joined the assault on the Nishkuk’s head, distracting it while the remainder of 12th Squad ran towards the legs.

  “There’s no exposed skin!” one yelled.

  Klara baulked. There had to be some way to bring it down. But how? She studied the dragon as it danced through the ranks of Sentinels, never pausing, never giving an open target. Klara stared at its glittering eyes. With chilling certainty, she knew what had to be done.

  “Zimbicki,” she yelled, “keep it distracted. I know how to kill it.”

  Before he could respond, she ran past the Nishkuk, awkwardly ripping her boots and socks off as she went. They’d only hinder her in what came next.

  She dropped her sword and pulled her knife from its sheath as she ran straight at the spikes covering the Nishkuk. Cold stone bit into her feet, but she could trust that sensation, she could feel the traction—just as she had on the Ice Run. As she expected, the world slowed as the reflex extract heightening her senses anticipated the danger of the oncoming spikes. Klara twisted and aimed between them before the Nishkuk could move.

  She slipped between the razor-sharp tips and slammed into the smooth leather of the Nishkuk’s hide.

  With a powerful blow, she severed the hardened bone spike above her at the base, clearing a path. Klara grabbed hold of a spike by the Nishkuk’s knee as its leg soared into the air. It smashed into the ground, nearly throwing Klara, but she clung on with desperate determination.

  Moving carefully, she pulled herself up the Nishkuk, severing spikes that blocked her path.

  Zimbicki did his job admirably. Every time the Nishkuk focused on Klara, a surge of attacks dragged its attention from her.

  Klara reached the Nishkuk’s back and stood, facing the Nishkuk’s head. Its body was warm and smooth beneath her feet. Wearing boots, she’d have slipped in seconds. She glanced to the right, and her stomach attempted to evacuate through her mouth.

  The Nishkuk stood on the battlement’s edge, leaving nothing to shield Klara from the long, long, fall into the moat. Droplets of sweat ran down her forehead, freezing before they reached her brow.

  The Nishkuk writhed beneath her, and she clutched the three-foot spikes, fighting for balance. Slowly, she moved along the Nishkuk’s back while the Sentinels assaulted the dragon from below, keeping its attention on them.

  Suddenly, the Nishkuk bounded forwards, throwing Klara off balance. She staggered and fell backwards, her arms flung wide.

  A spike sliced through her left pant leg and tore through her skin. It scraped over the hardened muscles of her thigh, and Klara hissed in pain as she crashed to her back amidst the spikes.

  A hot blast of humid air that reeked of decaying meat swept over her and Klara looked up—

  —into the eyes of the Nishkuk only yards from her.

  The dragon growled, a rumble that reverberated through Klara’s body. Hatred and loathing permeated the air as she stared into the Nishkuk’s eyes. Its head was as big as her. Long, curved horns jutted from beneath its eyes, and all down its jaw, shorter straight horns protruded, most dripping with blood. Sentinel blood.

  It snapped forwards, jaw open, and the world slowed for Klara.

  The jaws crashed together a few feet above Klara’s head, splattering her with blood.

  The Nishkuk shrieked as its own defensive spikes protected the lone Sentinel plaguing it. A ragged yell caught the Nishkuk’s attention, and it spun to face charging Sentinels.

  Klara clawed forwards, every movement sending slashes of pain through her thigh as she inched towards the Nishkuk’s neck. Another ten feet and she’d reach it. Then somehow have to climb it.

  Her thigh burned and her head swam. She was losing a lot of blood, and fast.

  Finally, she reached the Nishkuk’s neck. It was only five feet in diameter and narrowed as it neared the head. The spikes on the neck lay flat, leaving Klara little to use as a handhold.

  Maybe slit its throat? She lifted her knife and slammed it into the Nishkuk’s neck. Despite her strength extract boosted muscles, the blade only dug an inch into its hide.

  Nope. Slitting its throat wasn’t happening.

  Klara’s hearts thudded against her ribcage as she gazed at the neck that snaked on forever. The Nishkuk lashed back and forth, fending off the Sentinels at its feet, its neck twisting and curving, never still.

  Klara squeezed her eyes shut. It would all be gone when she opened them.

  She opened them.

  Nope. The neck was still there.

  With the spikes lying flat against its neck, she couldn’t slide forwards without driving a dozen spines into her.

  Smart dragon.

  Klara hissed with pain as she climbed to her feet and stood, hanging on to the still erect spikes between the Nishkuk’s front shoulders. She fought off the avalanche of nausea that threatened her as she eyed the curved horns protruding from the side of the Nishkuk’s head. Fifteen feet of neck, jump to horn, stick knife in eye.

  Simple.

  The Nishkuk swung its head down to snap at a Sentinel, and Klara launched.

  Her bare feet pounded across the neck and three steps in, the Nishkuk brought its head up and twisted to face her. Klara slipped on the slick spines and she fell to her knees.

  The Nishkuk launched at her and the world slowed.

  A smile curled Klara’s lips beneath her mask as the reflex extract brought everything into sharp focus.

  Perfect.

  Still kneeling, she forced her muscles to respond to the speed extract also coursing through her veins and brought her left leg up, bracing against the Nishkuk’s neck. The Nishkuk’s horns crept closer—in reality moving with incredible speed. Just not to Klara’s boosted senses. She focused on the curved horn below its eyes and took a breath.

  When the horn was only feet away, she pushed every ounce of strength into her left leg. Excruciating pain nearly blinded her as she launched, arms outstretched.

  Her arm wrapped around the horn and the world sped up as her feet swung below the Nishkuk.

  It shrieked and Klara’s eardrums popped.

  Klara howled in pain, not hearing, only feeling her voice rip at her throat.

  The Nishkuk shook its head, trying to dislodge her. But she hung on. It slammed its head against the ground, crushing her between its bony skull and the stone, forcing the air from her.

  She gasped, trying fruitlessly to draw air into her lungs. Stars flashed in her vision.

  Stabs of pure agony lanced through her chest as she managed to draw in a small breath.

  By some miracle, she still held her knife. Klara looked up into the closest Nishkuk eye and snarled. Shunting the pain aside, she hauled herself up and swung the knife. The blade flashed through the air and cracked into a hard, translucent dome that shielded the dragon’s eye.

  The Nishkuk screamed and flung its head to the side as Klara pulled her arm back and struck again.

  Crunch.

  And again.

  Crack!

  On the fourth swing, the blade punched through the shield and plunged deep into the Nishkuk’s now defenceless eye. The slicked handle slipped from her gloved fingers and the Nishkuk staggered, lurching sideways, towards the edge of the rampart. Life faded from its eyes as it hit the parapet, its body going limp.

  The Nishkuk slumped over the edge—

  —with Klara still clinging to its head!

  In desperation, she pushed away from the dragon, flinging herself towards the battlement.

  Her fingers brushed the stone, just out of reach.

  She fell.

  Everything shuddered to a crawl as the world burst into crystalline focus. The parapet drifted away from her. Klara saw Zimbicki’s head appear over the edge, his eyes wide as he watched her fall. She managed a smile—not that he’d see it behind her mask.

  Beside her, the lifeless body of the Nishkuk twisted slowly in the air. Graceful, despite its death.

  At least she’d die knowing she killed a Nishkuk.

  Really? You’re going to give up now?

  Klara gritted her teeth. Her family still needed her—Mikhail still needed her. She couldn’t die tonight.

  Struggling to turn, she scanned her options, speed extract allowing her to move far faster than the crawling world around her.

  If she hit the ground, even with strength extract every bone would break.

  So don’t hit the ground.

  Klara eyed the Nishkuk, took a deep breath, and angled her body at it. Inch by inch, she drifted towards to the lifeless hulk.

  The dark stone at the base of the moat drew inexorably closer with each passing second.

  Klara reached for the Nishkuk still a few feet away. If she could just grab hold of a spike…

  One yard from the ground, her fingers closed around one of the Nishkuk’s spikes, and she ripped herself forwards, trying to slip between spikes.

  Too late.

  The ginormous Nishkuk hit the ground and Klara slammed into the mass of spikes and screamed.