Shadow and Bone by Leigh Bardugo (z-lib.org).mobi

“I’ll gut you right here, witch,” he snarled in a heavy Fjerdan accent.
At that moment, I heard the pounding of hooves and my attacker turned his
head to look down at the road.
A group of riders roared into the glen, their kefta streaming red and blue, their
hands blazing fire and thunder. The lead rider was dressed in black.
The Darkling slid from his mount and threw his hands wide, then brought
them together with a resounding boom. Skeins of darkness shot from his clasped
hands, snaking through the glen, finding the Fjerdan assassins, then slithering up
their bodies to swathe their faces in seething shadow. They screamed. Some
dropped their swords; others waved them blindly.
From the hillside, I watched in mingled awe and horror as the Ravkan fighters
seized the advantage, cutting down the blinded, helpless men with ease.
The bearded man on top of me muttered something I did not understand. I
thought it might be a prayer. He was staring down at the slaughter in the glen,
frozen, his terror palpable. I took my chance.
“I’m here!” I called.
The Darkling’s head turned. He raised his hands.
“Nej!” bleated the Fjerdan, his knife held high. “I don’t need to see to put my
knife through her heart!”
I held my breath. Silence fell in the glen, broken only by the moans of dying
men. The Darkling dropped his hands.
“You must know that you’re surrounded,” he said calmly, his voice carrying
through the trees.
The assassin’s gaze darted right and left, then up to the crest of the hill where
Ravkan soldiers were emerging, rifles at the ready. As the Fjerdan looked around
frantically, the Darkling edged a few steps up the slope.
“No closer!” the man shrieked.
The Darkling stopped. “Give her to me,” he said, “and I’ll let you scurry back
to your King.”
The assassin gave a crazed little giggle. “Oh no, oh no. I don’t think so,” he
said, shaking his head, his knife held high above my pounding heart, its cruel
point gleaming in the sun. “The Darkling doesn’t spare lives.” He looked down
at me. His lashes were light blond, almost invisible. “He will not have you,” he
crooned softly. “He will not have the witch. He will not have this power too.” He
raised the knife higher and yowled, “Skirden Fjerda!”
The knife plunged down in a shining arc. I turned my head, squeezing my
eyes shut in terror, and as I did, I glimpsed the Darkling, his arm slashing
through the air in front of him. I heard another crack like thunder and then …
nothing.