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I DIDN’T LIKE RAISING that metal rod. Not now that I knew what it was – who had died to provide it. My hand trembled as I thrust it forward. I willed it still. I could buy Zin minutes to escape if I was strong – if I didn’t let them kill me in their first try.
Maybe they’d want to take me alive. Maybe they’d want to suck my soul out just like they had to all those other Dragon Riders. Would it hurt? Would I remain conscious but stuck in an object forever? Fear made my head buzz, painted my thoughts a jagged purple, made me feverish so that sweat sprang up between my shoulder blades and dripped down my temples.
It felt like minutes had passed, but it had only been seconds. Redgers still gurgled unpleasantly between my feet. The Midnight Artificers were still scrambling for weapons. Nine of them had already claimed the half-made rods.
I trembled as I watched them raise the rods in firm, sure hands. Nine to one.
I’d seen worse odds.
Maybe at least Saboraak would survive this. Maybe she could find Hubric afterward and give him her report. Maybe she could bring Zin to him. I was glad Zin was free. She was so wounded, so bruised, so helpless. There was something about her that made me flinch at the thought of harm coming to her. I wasn’t the self-sacrificial type. I wouldn’t play the hero for anyone, but she needed saving and what kind of man wouldn’t step up to do that? Right? Even someone like me knew that. Even street scum had enough honor to know that he couldn’t walk away from her without scarring his soul. If I’d left her to her fate and run, I’d never sleep again – not really. Never enjoy a hot drink on a cold morning. Never share a kiss with a pretty girl – certainly not Zyla! Not with a free conscience, anyway.
And if a man’s conscience wasn’t free, then he wasn’t free either.
You monologue when you’re under stress.
So, what? It was my prerogative to tell my own story – even if it was only being told to myself.
It’s a villain trait.
We’re all villains in someone’s story, Saboraak.
My enemies’ feet were on the steps now. I heard their harsh breathing as they ran.
“We all fire at once!” Cormaz was shouting in his booming voice.
At least death would be fast.
Maybe in Cormaz’s story, I was the villain. Maybe in the next few minutes, I’d be confirming that.
There was a squeak behind me, as if the door was opening. I didn’t dare look back. If there was an enemy there, too, I’d just have to live with it – or die with it more likely.
I raised my arm. Time to use the rod. I had seconds before they’d be on my level. Time to kill as many as I could.
But all I could think about were the people dying yesterday, fleeing in panic and being shredded by golems or falling over the railing into the vast space below. I’d tried so hard not to look, but their faces were seared into my mind forever.
All I could see before me were the hollow husks of the Dragon Riders. I drew in a long breath and dropped the rod. I wasn’t going to win, anyway. Why desecrate the soul of a Dragon Rider if I was going to die anyway?
Salute, Tor. Salute, Dominion’s Son. Honor to you.
Saboraak’s praise was unexpected. I felt warm with her thoughts. Who would have thought that anyone ever would associate honor with Tor Winespring?
I let my mouth form my best cocky grin and raised my hands in a “can you blame a guy for trying stance.”
I’d go out as myself.
I watched in slow motion as nine rods were aimed at my chest. Cormaz’s exaggerated nod set off a burst of triumphant expressions. Their grips went white on the rods.
A figure pushed past me, small and lithe and faster than light. She leapt between me and the white blasts.
No, Zin! No!
The fire of the rods smacked her right in the chest as my mouth dropped open in horror, slammed her into me with the force of the wind behind it. I wrapped my arms around her, protective in the only way I knew how as we flew backward against the door like two juggling balls thrown against a wall.
Shock filled me as the fires rebounded off of Zin, zipping backward twice as fast and fanning out as they rebounded, searing through the Midnight Artificers. My arms – where they were wrapped around Zin – stung like they’d been splashed with hot water.
No one had time to scream. The only sound was the howling of the wind behind the fire, the sizzling of human flesh, the puff of evaporating hooded cloaks.
I was frozen in shock. I couldn’t move even if I knew which way to go.
The rods clattered to the ground. The white light from the rods and the white lines from the hanging Dragon Riders extinguished like a pinched candle. The only light left was the faint, pulsing purple from below and the crack of light pouring through the door.
Zin collapsed on the ground in front of me, slipping through my numb grip, and a sound like tearing fabric ripped through the air.