Season of Sacrifice (Blood of Azure Book 1) by Jonathan Michael (ereader that reads to you txt) 📗

Not knowing where to run to next, I follow the commotion. Then, a rhythmic thumping resonates from the west. My head breaks in that direction. The Redcliffe Crossing. Coloss must be opening the gate. Maybe the villagers have fled there to escape the attack.

But I can’t join the fight just yet. I remember a prior obligation to a regal beast. I promised Stone I would keep Helios safe. The stable is not too far from Graytu’s hollow.

In a full sprint, I leap into the air as I approach the nearest zip-line and grab onto the charlie. It jerks a little but holds as I traverse through the open air above the forest floor.

As the landing comes into view, an ominous figure stands there, waiting for me. Not the cold-blooded killer that murdered Fairview, but someone else. He’s dressed in pale-grey assassin’s garb—a hooded cross-sash and fitted greaves. The man stands in an attack stance with a pair of blades in hand. His hood conceals his eyes and, in turn, withholds any indication as to what talents I am about to face.  Maybe I ought to be concerned about the blades first. I lift my legs higher and tense my muscles, bracing for impact.

I come at him at a deadly pace, lacking any flexibility. I have only one route, one direction to go, directly at my foe while he anticipates my arrival. My chances of surviving this are slim. He’ll slice me down as soon as I get to the deck. Unless… I slide my fingers around the leather grip of my arachniwhip, gripping the charlie firmly with my other hand. The landing advances, and the man adjusts his stance, eager to kill.

At ten paces out and coming in with incredible speed, I let go of the charlie and snap my whip. Not at the man, but into the canopy. My whip pulls taught and swings me to the right, looping around his back side. He adjusts quicker than anticipated, pivoting and following the curve of my swing. His blade slashes at me.

Before contact, I retract my whip and drop to the bridge with a near miss of his sword. I tuck and roll upon impact then spring to my feet and continue running. I’m no match for this man. He’s a trained assassin. A warrior sent here to slaughter the people of this village. So, I decide to take Fairview’s advice and run. The assailant stays on my tail, following me through the treetops. The stables are within view, three bridges between me and the stable door. If I can make it there before being cut down, Helios will give me a fighting chance. A tiger in the treetops ought to stun him long enough to attack.

I sprint down the first bridge, the man only ten paces off. He’s fast, and his footwork on the organic bridgeway is flawless. He’s too fast.

“Helios!” I shout. “Helios!” He doesn’t respond. Again, I call via my instinctual conduit, but no response from the cat. Not that I can see.

The man is closing the distance, only five paces out. I make an unconscious decision and leap off the third bridge. I snap my whip upward, intending to wrap the bridge itself, but instead snag the man’s ankle. With my stomach already tied in knots, the sudden jerk and release doesn’t affect me. I’m already terrified out of my wits. But he manages to hold his ground, even with the downward force of my body. And with the secure anchor he’s given me, I whip underneath the bridge and make a full circumference. My momentum peaks at shoulder height of my attacker on the opposite side I leaped from. His leg anchored, he pivots at the hips and swings with a miss. I fall back toward the forest floor, pendulating underneath the assailant.

What now? I can’t climb the vine because of the paralyzing toxins it secretes. And even if I did, I would be climbing to my demise. If I retract the vine or let go, I’d surely injure myself. The fall is too great. The only alternative is a gradual drop to the forest floor. I focus my energy on the arachniwhip, manipulating its length. The energy escapes me and pumps into the accreting vine, but I don’t drop any lower. The assassin grips the whip with his bare hands and pulls me upward. I don’t know how without losing the function of his hands, but that’s not important. He’s pulling me up faster than I’m capable of growing the dense whip.

His strength is beyond any normal man’s. He lifts me to eye level. His eyes are as grey as a thunder cloud, with a face that looks as if it’s been scorched by one. Scars line his cheeks, cross the bridge of his nose, and climb his forearms to his shoulders. This man has been through too many battles and obviously survived them all.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because you are weak,” he replies. “And your weakness gives us strength.”

“Then, do it!” I shout at him, angry at myself for giving up. I have no other options. This is it. Anticipating an impale, I inhale, trying to accept my failure. He doesn’t strike.

An orange blur sweeps into my peripheral and pins him to the ground. Without the murderous anchor, I drop. The bridgeway not quite beneath me, I reach for whatever I can. A small sprout growing from the walkway, a nuisance to me until now, becomes my savior. The sprout is strong. It holds my weight.

Helios approaches and bows his head, allowing me to grab the scruff of his neck. He pulls, but my hand slips. I scramble and manage to snag the leg of the assassin. Helios wraps his jaws around the corpse’s arm and tugs. The sound of fabric tearing pierces my ears.

I tumble and twist frantically as I fall. I spin and see the