The Hills of Home (The Song of the Ash Tree Book 2) by T L Greylock Page B

loosen his grip on the knife just as the tip of the blade pierced skin. Raef wrapped his own hand around both the little knife’s hilt and the warrior’s fingers, then rammed it home in the side of the warrior’s neck.
    Gurgling, the warrior stumbled back, clutching his neck, but his body gave out and he fell to the ground, still trying to curse Raef. Raef leaned over and retrieved the small knife, silencing the bloody mouth.
    He had found Finnoul. Armed now with two blades, Raef darted through a gap in the fighting to reach her only to come face to face with Aerath. For a moment he did not know Raef. His eyes were bright with battle, his blade streaked with gore, and Raef could not tell if he was friend or foe.
    “Aerath.”
    He blinked, his blade still raised, but came no closer. “You live.”
    “For now.”
    His gaze drifted from Raef to his sword and the blood that covered his hand and dripped down his forearm. “I came to save her.” He seemed unsure, on the verge of breaking down.
    “And we will.”
    Together they surged into the wall around Finnoul, who, along with Annun and Thannor, was pressed on all sides by Lorcan and four warriors. Raef quickly dispatched one from behind and then he was in the thick of it, knives flashing. Aerath went down but found his feet. Thannor, bleeding heavily from more than one wound, lunged for Lorcan. He was cut down with ease, but this left Raef an opening and he threw the smaller blade into the chest of the warrior on Lorcan’s right. Though Thannor was down and dying, Lorcan was now outnumbered and he and his final companion hesitated, taking stock of their situation.
    Lorcan moved first, his sword arcing toward Finnoul, but Raef anticipated this and threw himself in Lorcan’s path. His long knife shivered off the larger sword, but it was enough to deflect Lorcan’s momentum away from Finnoul. Instead, the blade bit into Raef’s upper arm, but it was the last blood it would draw. Finnoul seized Lorcan by the throat and hacked down on his sword hand, severing it at the wrist. Screaming, Lorcan fell to his knees and the sound of their captain’s pain brought his remaining warriors to a halt.
    Finnoul circled Lorcan, the tip of her sword tracing across the alf’s broad shoulders and chest. She leaned close and whispered something in her rival’s ear. Whatever it was, it caused Lorcan to close his eyes. When he opened them again, the crystal one flashing in the sun, he did not look away from Finnoul’s gaze, his single, green-flecked eye staring to the last as Finnoul slid her sword between his ribs.
    The battle was done. No one spoke. Finnoul wiped her sword on her pant leg and sheathed it, then drew a knife and severed a small lock of orange-streaked hair from her own head and tied it to a strand of Lorcan’s hair. Then she went to Aerath, placed her hands on his shoulders, and let her forehead rest on his. They exchanged no words but Raef could see much passed between them in that moment. When they stirred, Finnoul knelt beside Thannor’s still form. Annun did the same and closed his friend’s eyes, then he rose and stepped in front of Raef. The alf’s eyes searched Raef’s face as his hands detached a second sword, still nestled in its scabbard, free from the stains of battle, from his waist. It was the blade Raef had found in Finnoul’s mountain hall. Annun held it out for Raef to claim.
    “It does not belong with me,” Raef said, his voice quiet. “It belongs here.”
    “But it found you,” Annun said, his forehead creased with a frown.
    Raef placed his hand on the hilt but did not let his fingers curl around it. He missed the feel of his old sword, of the smooth, plain shaft of an axe wrapped with strips of leather. “It was never mine. Keep it.”
    Only then did Finnoul stand and look to Raef. Her face showed weariness and Raef knew the deaths of Lorcan and Thannor had cost her much. When she stood, her gaze shifted to the plateau in the