The Rise of Fortune and Fury (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 5)

We’re clearly on some type of platform with hydraulics under us, and without warning, the floor tilts to the side. It’s slow, and I’m able to bend one leg, extending the other to keep a strong stance while holding my whip out, ready to strike if the fae makes a move. His actions mimic mine, but he looks a little clumsy, trying to situate himself to accommodate for the tilt.

When the movement stops, I take the initiative and attack first. I whirl my arm, slice the whip, and manage to land a strike across his chest. It slices his shirt and skin, and I hear the sizzle from the iron scales burning him.

He bellows in rage and pain, but I don’t wait for him to react. I bring my whip down on him again, slicing his chest in roughly the same spot.

It drives him back a few steps, and he screams again as I advance on him. My goal is to drive him off the edge of the platform and down into the dark abyss below.

But just as I lift my foot to take a step, a metal spike thrusts upward from the dirt floor no more than six inches from my body. It’s thin and approximately four feet tall. I jerk clumsily backward, my heart slamming against my chest when I realize I almost got skewered.

The fae frowns at this new development, and because I’ve halted my progress, he decides to go on the attack. He rushes at me, and I scramble backward. He takes three, four, five strides. Just as I’m nearing the edge of the platform, a spike thrusts up in front of him. He skitters to a halt, snorting in frustration.

I prepare to launch my whip to drive him back, but the damn platform, which is still rotating slowly, now starts to tilt the other way. Except it keeps tilting and tilting until both the fae and I start to slide. I stay upright as long as I can, but I’m eventually driven down to my stomach by the angle of the floor and gravity.

Same with the fae, except he’s smart enough to grab onto the spike that had thrust up in front of him and he hangs on tight. I, on the other hand, go sliding across the dirt floor. Looking back, I see the edge rushing to meet me and almost accept my demise with nothing to grab on to.

But then my brain kicks into overdrive, and I realize I have in my hand the means to save me from going over the edge.

My whip isn’t long enough to latch onto the first spike that came up, but I merely conjure length to it and let it fly just as my feet slide free from the floor. Thankful for the hours upon hours of target training with this weapon, I manage to get my thong wrapped securely around the spike. Just as my hips go over, I come to a jarring halt.

For several seconds, both the fae and I hang there as the floor slowly rotates. Because we’re at an angle, halfway around, we end up higher and I am able to actually pop up to my feet. Just as the fae does the same, the floor starts to level out.

I don’t wait for it to be perfectly flat, but immediately attack. I charge him, cracking my whip at the fae repetitively while, at the same time, conjuring a throwing knife made of iron. While my left hand isn’t as strong as my right, my accuracy is almost as good. I crack my whip, not to make contact but to distract, and then fling my knife. I don’t bother to try to penetrate his sternum as it won’t work. Instead, it sinks in deep just inside his left shoulder socket below the collarbone, and I watch that left arm go completely limp.

Another bellow of rage as the fae wrenches the knife out and throws it back. I don’t even have to dodge it as it doesn’t come close and now, I’ve learned something important.

This fae doesn’t know how to wield weapons, but I expect if eating children is his sole talent, why would he?

That gives me the boost of confidence I need to attack again.

For the next few minutes, I slice and dice with my whip and throw two more knives—one to his existing shoulder wound and the other to his thigh. Again, mere wounds, but they are making the beast angrier. All the while, the platform continues its lazy rotation, but with unpredictable tilts and spikes thrusting up through the floor, one catching me on my left forearm when I’m not able to get out of the way in time. It slices a groove through skin and muscle, and gods does it hurt like a son of a bitch.