46. Aemon
46
M y feet kick up sand as I race across the arena. A short sword is poking up from the ground, and I wrench it free as I pass. Then, I dive underneath the dragon’s long neck as it readies itself for another blast, and I swing. The golden scales along its throat part like butter, and it lets out a screech that spears my eardrums and rattles my bones. I break into a roll and keep running, certain the creature is hot on my tail. Sure enough, when I glance over my shoulder, I see the dragon barreling for me. I put all of my strength into pumping my arms and legs, but it’s too fast I can’t outrun it, and as the seconds pass, it closes in.
I can only hope that slice across its neck has done something to hamper its fire breathing, or I am well and truly fucked. It’s so close, I can feel its hot breath cooking the back of my neck. I feint left, then move right, trying to mislead the beast, but it doesn’t fall for my trick. It turns with me, and before I have a chance to contemplate my next move, fire screams across my back and thighs, and I belly flop into the sand. I try to flip over, but the pain in my back is excruciating. Not a burn, I realize, but deep gashes severing ligaments and muscles and nerves and leaving me completely helpless.
This is how I’m going to die.
I’m so sorry, Katya.
I throw my last working arm over my head and wait for the final blow to land. Instead, I hear the sound of a half-dozen voices screaming behind me as the other prisoners run to my defense, slashing and stabbing the deadly beast.
Hands grab me under the arms. “Get up. Get up, dammit,” says a female voice. It isn’t until I’m on my feet that I see it’s Mave and the first prisoner I freed. Pain tears up my back, and black pools at the edges of my vision, but they manage to get me up and drag me away from immediate danger. The two sit me down near the wall and race off to help the others. The dragon hasn’t set anyone on fire yet, so it seems my cut to the throat did something. Even so, the men and women trying to fight it off are wildly over-matched. They fight bravely, though, even as a golden nail guts a man right in front of them and a giant paw sets another one flying.
So close. We were so fucking close.
Then a shout—like a dozen voices speaking as one—booms through the arena.
“Gardis!”
Everyone goes silent, all of us holding our collective breath, waiting. Even the dragon pauses its tirade to back away from the sound. I crane my neck to peer up into the stands above me, and there, standing in that slave master’s box, her arms outstretched, looking like a fucking goddess, is Katya.
And every eye is on her.