David Farland - Lords of the Seventh Swarm

“You can’t win,” Maggie said. “Not with your leg.”

Gallen closed his eyes, as if the very thought of fighting pained him. “I can’t win, but I can fight. That’s what I do.” He needed this. He needed to know he’d done all he could.

“Then I’ll fight with you,” she said.

Maggie wore his mantle. She began to remove it, place the net of black rings on his head. But he knew it would be no use. He couldn’t leap about. Couldn’t kick. The mantle could do nothing for him.

“No,” Gallen said. “You keep it. You’re in better physical shape than I.”

Lord Kintiniklintit’s wings rumbled, a slight shift in tone that indicated he was picking up speed, Gallen looked up. The sun was just rising, and in the northeast, a line of thunderheads loomed. Ruin’s dark sun did not give much light, as red and distant as it was. With the clouds obscuring it, it gave even less. Still, Kintiniklintit made his first run from that direction, choosing to fly in out of the sun, blinding his opponents.

Gallen hobbled to Maggie’s right, held her shoulder lightly, balancing on one foot. The grass here was part of an open field, somewhat barren. Gallen knelt and pried up a large rock from the ground, held it in his right hand.

“When Kintiniklintit comes in, he’ll expect you to split left, me to split right,” Gallen whispered. “Don’t do it. Fall right. I’ll be in front of you.”

“What if he spits acid?” Maggie asked. She’d once told him that in all her dreams, it was not dying from wounds inflicted that worried her, it was the painful burning from acid first.

“I’ll feint right,” Gallen said. “I won’t really move. If he spits, I’m hoping he’ll miss.” And if he doesn’t miss , he thought, I’ll be shielding you with my body. You’ve done so much for me, so much to help me, that this is the last service I can offer.

Maggie nodded. She shivered, terrified. Perhaps she wanted to turn and run, or to curl into a ball and hide, but Gallen needed her to stand beside him, to prop him up. He wasn’t sure she could do it. Gallen feared that when Kintiniklintit attacked, she’d simply remain standing, too frozen to move.

Gallen squeezed her shoulder and squinted up into the light as Lord Kintiniklintit completed his great circle and veered at them, full speed. He raised his serrated battle claws over his head as if to attack.

At one time that battle stance would have struck terror in Gallen, but he’d heard how Kintiniklintit fared in other battles. His great arms could chop a person in half like a cleaver. Death would be instantaneous.

Kintiniklintit rushed toward them, wings humming, carapace sullen in the dawn light. Gallen recalled how he’d fought the dronon before, his incredible leaps, his diving and weaves.

He wished Maggie could move like that. Perhaps she could have, months ago. But not now, not with a child in her.

When Kintiniklintit was a hundred meters out, Maggie tensed as if to run, but Gallen held her shoulder stiffly. Everything seemed to slow. Kintiniklintit was coming in low, too low. It was a killing run. He didn’t plan to spit his acid on them, as other dronon would have. He planned to split them in halves, give them a quick and merciful death.

I should have known , Gallen thought. He’s a gallant one. Kintiniklintit plans to kill us. I shouldn’t have told Maggie to fail right. He’ll come straight through us!

There was no time to warn her now. He could only hope she’d see the danger.

Suddenly he felt her shift, spin away as if to dodge left. Gallen feinted right, and Lord Kintiniklintit spit, his stomach acids exploding out, frothing white, hurtling over Gallen’s right shoulder.

But instead of dodging, Gallen hurled his stone with all his might, catching the dronon Lord in the right front eye cluster. In surprise Kintiniklintit turned his head defensively. Gallen dropped and rolled right.

Kintiniklintit’s battle arms swatted the ground as the great Lord passed, hitting the precise spot where Gallen had stood. Fortunately, Maggie had ignored Gallen’s advice and dived left. The maneuver saved her life.

The dronon hosts suddenly quieted, surprised.

And yet Gallen did not feel relief to see Maggie alive and unharmed. Instead he felt only dismay, for as the Lord Escort had passed him, Gallen had seen Kintiniklintit’s left sensor whip sail by, within easy grasp.

Gallen had bulldogged a dronon that way, jerking the sensor whip down so hard that the dronon flew headfirst into the ground. It might not be enough to kill Lord Kintiniklintit, but Gallen realized, to his dismay, he could have struck a blow against the Lord.

As Gallen struggled to rise on his broken leg, he heard Maggie grumble. “If I’m going to be in this fight, I’m in all the way. I’ll not be just a lamppost for you to lean on!”

Maggie fumbled on the ground, pulled up a rock as Gallen had done before. Then she came to Gallen.

Kintiniklintit hurtled through the air, redoubling his speed. Maggie helped Gallen to stand. He groaned in pain as he tried to put weight on his leg. He had retrieved a rock.

“I don’t think it’s legal to use these,” Maggie said.

“I don’t care about the rules anymore,” Gallen said.

Lord Kintiniklintit had reached the apex of his climb. He veered and streaked toward them. The thunderheads behind him were moving fast, so that even as the sun rose, the darkness deepened. He flew now not in sunlight, but in shadow.

“Same tactic as before,” Gallen whispered.

Maggie glanced at him fretfully. “Are you sure?”

“I never used exactly the same tactic twice in my other fights,’’ Gallen said. “He’ll know that. He won’t expect this.”

Gallen considered dropping his stone. If this was to be a replay, he knew what he had to do. He had to grab that sensor whip and yank down with all his might, though the force of it would rip his arms from their sockets.

But this would not be a replay. Lord Kintiniklintit came in lower, and from the left. The front edge of a dronon’s hard wing could slice a man like a saber, and by aiming his attack at Maggie, Lord Kintiniklintit showed that his gallant overtures had reached an end.

If Maggie could not dodge him, Gallen would have to leap between the two. The dronon expected him to do so.

Maggie remained steadfast as Kintiniklintit attacked.

“Go right,” she shouted, and at that moment she threw her rock.

Perhaps she’d imagined Kintiniklintit had enough eyes left in his right eye cluster that he would see the rock coming, try to dodge. She’d imagined wrong.

The Vanquisher flew straight on, taking a hit to the head, the rock bouncing harmlessly off his exoskeleton. Maggie tried to drop beneath his wings, too slow.

Gallen threw himself in front of her, blocking the attack with a fierce blow to Lord Kintinikiintit’s wing. The sturdy wing cracked under the impact, but the edge of the wing caught Gallen in the temple on its upstroke, slamming his forehead.

Gallen felt himself falling, saw nothing but bright flashes of light in the darkness.

The next Gallen knew, he lay on his back, not knowing how long he’d been down. He opened his eyes, felt blood in them, saw red. Blood gushed from his brow, had pooled in his eye sockets.

“Gallen, get up! Save me!” Maggie screamed. She slapped his face, tried to rouse him.

Gallen vainly tried to recall where he was, could not remember. But he rolled to his knees, in tremendous pain.

Only Maggie’s screams seemed to penetrate the fog in his mind.

He stared at the ground for a moment, tried to focus. All around a great din arose-the clacking cries of dronon. He stared dumbly at his gloved hands, saw hot blood spattering on the ground, his blood. Maggie screamed and grabbed his shoulder, tried to pull him up.