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.
Chapter Nineteen
YOU LIVE? Saboraak’s thoughts pierced my shock.
I did. I could barely believe it myself.
We flee.
You and Bataar?
Yes.
Thank goodness she was okay. She was okay, right? Her silence worried me.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it, though. If I didn’t get Zin out of here fast, someone would find us here and string us up like those poor Dragon Riders.
She was in a puddle at my feet, her white dress fanned out around her and sobs shaking her apart.
“Zin?”
I reached for her but froze. What should I do? I was afraid that touching her would make it worse. And she wasn’t responding to my words. I thought that she might be looking at the Dragon Riders hanging in front of us.
“Zin?”
I squatted down beside her, trying to get her attention. Her sobs were gasping, shuddering, ugly things, and emotion whipsawed through her eyes, fear, anger, desperation, insensate numbness, back to fear.
If I waited for her to be whole, I’d be waiting forever. If I waited too long, they’d steal her soul.
I bit my lip and ran a hand through my hair. What did you do for broken people?
Gently, not sure if I was even doing the right thing, I wrapped her in my arms. She gasped, turning to cling to me like a child. She was light, like she’d been created out of parchment, a parchment bird folded into shape. I held her like I’d hold a bird, careful not to break her. Afraid to move too fast or even at all.
We sat like that for long breaths. I counted them. Counting and worrying. Worrying we’d be found. Worrying that if I moved there would be nothing left of Zin to find at all.
I could probably carry her. But people would notice a villainous rogue carrying a pretty girl away. They’d notice. and they would remember, and they would tell whoever Apeq sent looking for us.
Perhaps, if I wrapped her in burlap sacking or a sheet so she looked like a sack of some kind of goods. Perhaps then she would go undiscovered.
We breathed five more breaths together as I thought it through. We’d take the bedding from the rooms above. I’d wrap her gently. How far could I carry her? Could I carry her far enough? I needed to get her to the secret tunnels that would lead us to the hideout. It would be the only safe place for her.
I stood carefully, never letting go of her. She clung to me like a child as I stood, weighed no more than a child as I carried her past the bodies and up the stairs, out of the horrors of this deep cavern to the light above. Her sobs turned to silent tears as I wrapped her first in warm blankets and then in covering sheets and tied a curtain rope around them like a package. She turned her head into my chest, soaking my shirt with her tears as I stumbled out the door to the cold world outside.
No one noticed as I slunk down the street toward our hideout. Would I make it there? Would my legs stay strong that long?
Whatever you do, don’t go back to the hideout. Promise me, Tor.
Saboraak?
Saboraak?
There was no reply.
We were on our own. I stood, staring around me at the city as the snow came down heavy and wet and wondered what to do next.
Continue Tor’s story in:
Dragon Chameleon: Episodes 5-8
Dragon Chameleon: Episodes 9-12
To the intrepid reader:
DEAR READER,
You’ve made it this far in your journey with me and my stories. Thank you for caring about stories and the characters that leap from the page.
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Sarah
Behind the Scenes:
USA TODAY BESTSELLING author, Sarah K. L. Wilson loves spinning a yarn and if it paints a magical new world, twists something old into something reborn, or makes your heart pound with excitement ... all the better! Sarah hails from the rocky Canadian Shield in Northern Ontario -
learning patience and tenacity from the long months of icy cold - where she lives with her husband and two small boys. You might find her building fires in her woodstove and wishing she had a dragon handy to light them for her
Sarah would like to thank Harold Trammel and Eugenia Kollia for their incredible work in beta reading and proofreading this book. Without their big hearts and passion for stories, this book would not
be the same.
www.sarahklwilson.com
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