The world skidded to a stop as the memory of Tomas’s murder once again crashed into Jonas. It had happened so quickly—no time to save him, no time to fight or even beg for his life. And then Jonas recalled another memory that would be seared into his soul forever: that of his best friend Brion, slain by the same killer while Jonas watched, helpless.
With Jonas momentarily distracted, a guard took the opportunity to slam his fist into his face. As hot blood poured from his nose, another guard wrenched the blade from his grasp, nearly breaking his fingers. Another kicked the back of his knees and slammed him down to the ground.
The world spun and sparkled before his eyes as he fought to remain conscious.
He knew it would end now, that he’d been on borrowed time ever since his most recent brush with death. There was no magic here to save him this time. Death no longer scared him, but the timing was wrong. He had too much left to do.
Just then, another figure entered the torch-lit clearing, causing the guards to spin around.
“Am I interrupting something?” said the young man. He looked a couple years older than Jonas, with dark hair and eyes. He wore a dark cloak, the hood back to show his skin was deeply tanned, and he gave an easy smile that showed straight white teeth, as well as his apparent nonchalance at the fact that he’d just casually strolled into the middle of a battle. He scanned the area, starting on one side with Rufus, who was still being held in place, then making his way over to Jonas, who braced himself against the mossy ground with two swords pointed at his throat.
“Get out of here,” a guard growled. “Unless you want trouble.”
“You’re Jonas Agallon,” the boy said, nodding at him as if they were meeting in a tavern instead of the middle of the forest in the dead of night. “This is quite an honor.”
Jonas never asked to be famous. But the wanted posters clearly sketched with his face that had been tacked up throughout all three kingdoms had ensured otherwise. Despite having few victories and more false accusations than actual crimes, his name had quickly become legend.
And the high reward his capture offered sparked the interest of many.
The older guard had been cut free from his ropes and was now gingerly rubbing his wrists. “You’ve been following this rebel scum?” he asked. “Does that make you aspiring rebel scum? We’ll save a spike back at the palace for your head as well. Seize him!”
The guards lunged for him, but he just laughed and dodged their grasp as easily as a slippery fish.
“Need my help?” the boy asked Jonas. “How about this—I help you, you help me. That’s the deal.”
He moved so well there was no way he was only a curious bystander. Jonas had no idea who he was, but right now he really didn’t give a damn.
“Sounds good to me,” Jonas managed.
“Then let’s get started.” The boy reached down and pulled out two thick blades the length of his forearms from beneath his cloak. He spun and sliced, moving faster than any of the guards could counter.
Jonas’s head was still swimming, but he managed to elbow the guard behind him directly in his face. He felt and heard the crack as the guard yelped in pain.
He jumped to his feet and grabbed his sword, thrusting the hilt behind him to catch the guard in his soft gut.
The new boy took down the guard holding Rufus. Now free, the unskilled rebel just stood there in place, staring at the violent scene for a frozen moment; then he turned and ran out of the clearing without looking back.
A part of Jonas was disappointed in Rufus, but another part was glad the kid finally had a chance to escape a fight he hadn’t been ready for since day one.
He might even stay alive if he played it smart and stayed out of trouble.
With the other guards now dead, scattered, or unconscious in the clearing, Jonas grabbed hold of his original prisoner and slammed him back against the tree.
The smugness in the guard’s eyes finally turned to fear.
“Spare me,” he gasped.
Jonas ignored him, turning instead to the boy who’d just saved his life. “What’s your name?”
“Felix,” he offered with a grin. “Felix Gaebras. Happy to meet you.”
“Likewise. Thanks for the help.”
“Any time.”
If Felix hadn’t intervened, Jonas would be dead. No doubt about it. He’d given him a chance at another day, one in which he might make a difference. For that, Jonas was damn grateful.
Still, he’d be stupid not to be wary of any stranger who knew his identity.