Chapter 8: The Wall

The north fence was a line of broken posts and torn wire when we reached it.

The rogues were already inside.

A dozen moved in the dark between the trees.

They were gaunt wolves with matted fur and yellow eyes, moving toward the stables.

The patrol was spread too thin.

"Fall back to the second line!" I shouted. "Do not chase them into the pines!"

My voice cracked on the last word, and every head turned.

They obeyed.

A grey rogue the size of a pony broke from the pack and came straight at the sound of me.

I drew the silver blade off my back.

It was heavier than the practice sword. My wrist shook.

Elias was beside me before I had finished raising it.

He did not speak.

He put himself between me and the wolf and drew a long blade in each hand.

He met it in the air.

The rogue's weight drove him back a full step.

He turned the first blade into its throat and the second into its flank, and the grey body dropped at my feet.

"Behind me," he said.

"I have a sword."

"Mara."

"I know where to stand," I said. "Fight."

He fought.

I had never seen him fight.

For six years I had only seen him cross the courtyard with a clipboard under his arm.

He moved with no wasted motion.

Wolves came at him in twos.

He left them in the mud and walked on to the next.

Behind us the two lines of the patrol held, and they held because I had told them where to stand.

"Left side!" I called. "Three on the left, they are going for the sick house!"

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