20 #4
“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” bellows the carpet, doing a dramatic roll that makes us gasp and clutch each other. “I am trying to get over that wall without being torn to pieces or soaked in your blood. Fight our enemies if you must, but cease battling each other, and leave the flying to me!”
He puts on a burst of breathtaking speed, and it’s all we can do to hold on. “Your other shield, Vawn!” I shriek through the wind.
I don’t know if he activates it, but he shoves me forward on the carpet and curves his body over mine. Arrows fly, along with what I think are knives and spears. A wyvern’s roar shakes the air and fills my nose with the nauseating stench of blood-soaked breath.
I open my eyes a crack, then turn my head to look beneath Vawn’s braced arm. We’re past the border wall, but four of the wyverns and the final assassin are still chasing us across no man’s land between Belavrin’s boundary and the border of Tularesk.
“My second shield is failing,” Vawn says.
“Switch places with me,” I tell him. “You at the front, me at the back.”
“Are you all right? Your stitches—”
“Ask me about that later. Right now, do as I say.”
“Shit—” He clambers around to Severin’s front end, while I crouch at the back. I untie the bag from my waist and wait until the wyverns are so close I can see their rider’s uncovered faces. Traitors, all of them, not even wearing masks to hide their identities.
If I had ever thought this regime change was instigated by a foreign power, this battle would have changed my mind.
Too many of the Belavrin military are involved with this coup.
This revolt definitely came from within our kingdom’s borders.
There may have been some mercenaries involved, but it has all the earmarks of a takeover by Belavrin’s soldiers and guards—the people who, like me, were trained to put their duty first and serve the Crown without question.
I don’t know all their motives or the identity of their leader. But I do know one thing—that I am the last defense between them and the youngest Molloi prince.
Holding the bag by its string, I whirl it around and around in circles before letting it fly.
As it arcs through the air, the last sheep’s head flies out of the bag’s open mouth.
Two wyverns collide in pursuit of it, and the other beasts become embroiled in the ensuing battle over the food, ignoring the shrill commands of their frustrated riders.
The assassin on the carpet skillfully avoids the mayhem and streaks after us.
I’ve already deactivated my agility and accuracy glyphs, but I engage my luck glyph and my right-hand shield, fending off a few incoming blasts of magic.
By now, the Redeemer who’s following us should have spent all his glyphs as well.
We are nearly within arrow’s flight of the Tularesk border. Once we reach the gate, we can claim political asylum, and they will protect us.
But Severin is flagging. He has flown beautifully, yet his stamina is not infinite, especially when he’s forced to fly so evasively at such high speeds. His energy is beginning to fade.
“Just a little longer,” I urge him. “Please, Severin. You can do this. You can get us there.”
The assassin tucks his boots into the handles of his carpet and stands up, unslinging a crossbow from his back and pointing it toward us.
I have nothing left except my second strength glyph, my knives, and a few more throwing stars in the pouch at my waist. All of Vawn’s useful glyphs are spent, too.
“Stay behind me,” I tell him.
But Vawn grabs my shoulder. “He has a crossbow, Syth. He’ll kill you.”
“Then I’ll die fulfilling my duty.”
“Fuck that,” he snaps. “I’m going to give myself up.”
“Like hell you will, after everything I went through to get you this far.” I struggle against him as he tries to move his body around mine and place it between me and the assassin. “Stop it, Vawn, stop—”
I press my strength glyph, and I punch him right in the face. I know exactly how much force I need to knock a man out without permanently damaging him, and I use a little less than that on the prince. The blow knocks him out cold.
The Redeemer held his fire while we struggled. When I turn to face him, he calls to me through his crystalline mask. “Give me the prince, girl. There is no need for you to die. Deliver him to me, and I will see that you receive the reward.”
No price could equal Vawn’s life, but I may as well play for time, if I can. I tilt my head as if I’m contemplating the offer. “How much is the reward again?”
He names an amount somewhat lower than the one I saw on the wanted poster.
“So much?” I whistle. “And who exactly is offering such a fine price?”
“The Exemplar, leader of the Redemptive Authority.”
“That title means nothing to me. Who is behind the mask?”
“That is privileged knowledge.”
“Are you important enough to know the secret?”
He hesitates, and his crossbow lowers a little.
“Ah.” I cluck my tongue, attempting a mimicry of Vawn’s glib tones.
“You have no idea who the Exemplar is, either. That’s the difference between us, I suppose.
I like to know who I’m working for. Without that information, I would never have agreed to put on one of those sparkly helmets.
It must be terribly dark in there. Can you even see? ”
“Silence,” snarls the Redeemer. “Choose now, wench. Give up the prince, or die.”
“Wench?” I raise my eyebrows. “Little bit of advice, when you’re trying to lure someone to your side, maybe show a bit of respect and avoid calling them things like ‘wench.’ Tends to sour the negotiations. Instead, you could say something like—”
My hand whips out, a movement so quick it’s a blur. Instantly I throw a second star, and a third. No glyphs—just my skill. All three lodge in the assassin’s chest in the span of a single second, and he stumbles back, nearly losing his grip on the bow.
“Severin, stop,” I shout. He halts abruptly, and as the assassin’s carpet rushes up from behind, I leap onto it. The hurtling impact of my body knocks the assassin down, and we grapple, rolling on his carpet’s surface.
He strikes me twice, once on the cheekbone and once in the mouth, but I manage to get hold of his crossbow and smash it into his face. When he goes limp, I roll him off his carpet’s edge.
We’re closer to the ground than we were, so I doubt the fall will kill him, but if he lands on his front, it’ll drive those throwing stars deeper into his body.
The assassin’s carpet hovers in place, uncertain, while I spring back onto mine. “Go, Severin.”
The carpet glides toward the gate of Tularesk while I collapse against Vawn’s unconscious body, holding my side. Warm blood is blooming through my bandages, seeping beneath the protective leathers I wear. I must have ripped my wound open.
Severin is losing altitude quickly, barely skimming above the grass, limping on the last of his energy. We come up to the gate, where Tularesk guards dressed in pale blue uniforms await us. I brace myself on one arm and address them through the taste of my own blood.
“This man is Vawn Molloi, last prince of Belavrin, rightful heir to the throne, and I am his bodyguard. In the name of the treaty of Undayath, by the mercy of the Twin Lieges, we request sanctuary.”