The clang of weapons and the creak of leather were the only sounds in the large armoury. Every Sentinel in the four squads realised tonight could be their last, and the weight of that finally settled on Klara’s shoulders.

  You’re going to die, you know, a small voice taunted. Just like Lokteva.

  She was a fool. She should’ve found Mikhail and Zin and run.

  But she hadn’t.

  Now here she stood, sweat trickling down her forehead while she checked for the hundredth time that her sword and knife were secure around her waist.

  An Alchemist walked along the rows of Sentinels handing out Trinity.

  Klara took the three phials of speed, reflex, and strength extract and downed the bitter concoctions.

  Pain lanced through her body and she shut her eyes, forcing her breaths into a steady rhythm as the extracts rebuilt her body, hardening her muscles and igniting a fire within her nerves. Sinews twitched, begging her to unleash the newfound energy. To run, to fight, to be free.

  “Dry the sweat,” a short, broad-shouldered defender next to her said, pointing to her forehead. “It’ll freeze when we get into the cavern.”

  Klara wiped her forehead with her coat sleeve, feeling stupid. She knew it’d freeze so why hadn’t she wiped it dry earlier? She pulled her hood up and clipped her half-mask over her nose.

  “I don’t recognise you,” the defender said. “Whose squad are you with?”

  “Ah, I just arrived as a courier. The gong sounded, so I came here. Figured you could use the sword.”

  The defender grunted as he fastened his half-mask in place. “Name?”

  “Koskova.”

  “Koskova?” the defender asked, his eyebrows arching. “As in, Koskov’s daughter?”

  Klara suppressed a groan. Of course he knew that name. “Yes.”

  “Welcome to Katavsk, Koskova. It’s an honour to have the Koskov’s daughter here. I’m Zimbicki. You’ll join my squad for the combat. 12th Squad, Koskov Battalion.” Zimbicki winked at her, then continued. “Listen hard for that name and follow my orders to the word. Understood?”

  Klara nodded.

  “12th Squad,” Zimbicki said, turning to a cluster of nine Sentinel watchers. “This is Koskova—yes, the Koskov’s daughter—she just arrived. She’s your family tonight.”

  “Sure thing, Zimbicki,” one of the women called, throwing up a lazy salute. “We’ll take care of Koskov’s kid.”

  Klara ignored the smirks and joined 12th Squad while Zimbicki picked up a large war hammer. The head was over a foot wide and blunt on one end and tapered to a lethal, hardened spike two feet long at the other end. The war hammer’s steel shaft was as long as Zimbicki was tall, a weapon designed only for use with strength extract.

  “You all ready to show this muck-eater who owns this world?” Zimbicki asked.

  The squad let out a cheer and raised their weapons.

  A keeper marched into the room. “Sentinels, attention!” he yelled. “In the Arena is a dragon, a mucker that you will purge from Serovnya. All it wants is to turn you into paste. But you are Sentinels! You will not fear that which can bleed. Now remember the code: Protect your…”

  “Family!” the Sentinels roared.

  “Speak in…”

  “Truth!”

  “Fight with…”

  “Honour!”

  Adrenaline surged through Klara as the Sentinels unsheathed their weapons and sprinted out of the armoury.

  Blood pounded in her ears as they swept through a short hallway with blinding speed.

  Suddenly, they were in the open, crossing a drawbridge that spanned the wide moat.

  A giant dragon crouched on the far side of the cavern, lit by the spotlights on the battlement towers. Huge, black interlocking plates covered the hundred-foot-long dragon. A long, plated tail swept behind it, tipped with lethal, barbed spikes that secreted poison when they struck.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Klara’s stomach churned as she recognised the dragon. A Nishkuk.

  Half a dozen harpoons already protruded the Nishkuk’s side, though none looked to have penetrated its armoured hide. Bloody teeth lined its long snout and hate burned in its four eyes as it focused on the approaching Sentinels. Three thick ridges looped underneath its head behind its jaw and below its eyes. Sergei had told stories of Nishkuks using those ridges to smash through stone.

  Between the wave of Sentinels and the Nishkuk, a pile of torn bodies lay strewn across the cavern floor.

  The first squad to attack.

  Klara swallowed past the lump in her throat. Her head buzzed, the sound of Sentinels yelling and boots pounding distant to her ears.

  In a matter of seconds, they reached the gate—halfway to the death that awaited them.

  The Nishkuk crouched and tensed as they raced towards it.

  Hollow booms reverberated through the cavern as the cannons unleashed their harpoons upon the unmoving Nishkuk. At the last second, the Nishkuk rolled its giant body.

  The harpoons deflected harmlessly off its armoured plates and clattered against the wall behind it.

  The Sentinels were only a hundred yards from the Nishkuk when it charged.

  “Twelve, ready!” Zimbicki yelled.

  Klara tensed.

  The Nishkuk and the three squads closed in on each other.

  Fifty yards.

  “Keep steady.”

  Ten yards.

  “Twelve, split left!”

  Klara sprinted left, speed extract propelling her from the path of destruction. An unearthly scream rent the air behind her, sending goosebumps racing along her arms. Klara spun to see the Nishkuk bury its claws into the ground and swing its massive body around with awe-inspiring speed and lunge—

  —straight at 12th Squad.

  “Scatter and flank!” Zimbicki yelled. “Hit behind the knees.”

  The squad spread out as the Nishkuk ploughed through their ranks. Its heavy, clawed feet slammed into the ground, trying to squash the tiny Sentinels while its tail rained destruction on them.

  Reeling, Klara fought desperately to keep track of the combat. Panic welled. Too much chaos.

  Sentinels dodged and wove beneath the Nishkuk’s thrashing body, avoiding jaws, claws and tail.

  The wretched screams of the dying were faint whispers beside the piercing shriek of the Nishkuk as it lay waste to them all.

  Klara froze.

  I told you, the small voice said, laughing in delight.

  She was no better than Lokteva. Fated for the same death.

  “Move!” a muted voice broke through her panic.

  Klara turned, and the world slowed as the Nishkuk’s tail swept towards her.

  She could make out each individual plate on the tail. Each row overlapped the next as they trailed down the tail. The surface was so dull it absorbed the glare of the spotlights. Each barb on the spike glittered with poison, a poison that some distant voice told Klara would soon be coursing through her veins. Was this what Lokteva felt before she died?

  Someone slammed into her, lifting her from the ground.

  The tail continued its slow arc towards her as she flew through the air, strong arms encasing her torso.

  They smashed into the ground and the tail swept overhead.

  The world sped up.

  “Get your head on,” Zimbicki said, voice gruff as he stood and pulled Klara to her feet. “I don’t have time to nurse you.” He picked up her sword, thrust it into her hand, and retrieved his hammer from nearby. Then he was gone, sprinting towards the Nishkuk’s back leg and the pale flesh behind its knee.

  Klara drew a shuddering breath and ran after him. Her father had been right. If she survived tonight, it would be by a miracle, not her skill.

  Zimbicki reached the leg and leapt into the air, hammer descending on the exposed flesh. The heavy head smashed into the soft skin.

  The Nishkuk’s scream turned to a shriek of agony, and it yanked its leg away from Zimbicki. Its claw hung uselessly, and green blood poured from the open wound.

  The battle turned.

  Squads converged on the Nishkuk’s three good legs and struck. Above them, the dragon thrashed and spun.

  Klara stuck close to Zimbicki as he sprinted beneath the writhing Nishkuk to his next target.

  With one leg down, the disabled Nishkuk quickly fell to the coordinated attack. But though they had disabled it, they hadn’t killed it.

  Klara’s arms trembled as she climbed onto the Nishkuk’s back with the rest of the Sentinels. She hesitated as they drove their blades between the plates of its armour.

  The Nishkuk’s wicked tail continued to writhe, sending luckless Sentinels flying. All the while, the Nishkuk never ceased shrieking, though the sound had taken on a terrified note. It knew its end had arrived.

  Wrestling against an avalanche of nausea, Klara joined the Sentinels and plunged her sword into the Nishkuk. Again and again, she drove the blade down until finally the Nishkuk’s shriek faltered, and died.

  The dragon seemed to diminish as life fled its mighty body. Klara slid off its side and landed on shaky legs. She had lived.

  Somehow, she had lived.

  Then the sounds of the wounded shattered her moment of victory.

  Klara’s hearts broke. She’d survived tonight, but many hadn’t been as fortunate. She’d been a fool to think the war here was glorious. It was brutal and desperate, and they were losing.

  A quick scan of the cavern revealed at least ten Sentinels lay unmoving, probably dead. Another ten had sustained serious injuries. It didn’t take a tactician to know those were poor odds.

  Klara sheathed her sword and joined a group of Sentinels on the torn ground in front of the gate as they tended to the fallen. The gate bathed everyone in a sickly green glow that reflected off the white faces of the injured, making them look near death. Indeed, some were. Klara helped carry a woman with crushed legs to a nearby stretcher. The woman barely even whimpered as they laid her on the stretcher. Two Sentinels picked it up and hurried away.

  Still dazed, Klara stumbled through the rubble to help another fallen Sentinel, wishing desperately that she could do something to stop their suffering.