Chapter 50 Scythro
I am pinned beneath a very angry Raxxil, fighting for my life.
The tip of his knife hovers a few short sniks above my chest. I’ve got both hands on his wrist, holding it back.
It requires all my strength. He places his other hand on the hilt and starts to push.
My arms tremble. The blade moves closer.
“After I kill you, I will rape your corpse,” he whispers, his breath hot and reeking against my face. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”
How charming.
I must confess, I never thought I would die like this, pinned beneath some random brute not half so clever as myself. At least I managed to defeat five of his comrades.
Not bad for a mere harlot. I just hope it was enough to save Jean.
The Raxxil grunts, and his arms suddenly lose all their strength.
I glance down between our two bodies and see the end of a sword jutting from the center of his chest, its point nearly touching my own.
There is barely any blood on the translucent blue blade, and when it sucks back a moment later, the lips of the wound come together along an almost invisible incision.
And just like that, I am saved.
I roll the Raxxil’s flaccid body off of me. A booted foot helps.
“That was premature,” I joke breathlessly. “I had the bastard right where I wanted—ah!”
Strong fingers fist my hair, hauling me to my feet, and I find myself face-to-face with perhaps the handsomest visage I have ever seen.
High cheekbones. Supple lips. Lapis blue eyes.
The shimmering mane has been singed down to the scalp on one side, but other than that, Venim appears unscathed. The blood on his scales is not his own.
“We’re even now, Hassaith.”
He’s right, of course. His debt has been repaid. My understanding of Znthian honor codes is still a bit hazy, but I believe that means he is free to kill me now if he wishes.
I’m relieved when he doesn’t.
He releases my hair, and I stumble back a step, looking around.
The fight appears to be over. The dead lie around us in pieces.
Vent-light gleams off multicolored pools of blood.
A handful of attackers—the smart ones—are retreating.
They are already so far away, we’ll never be able to catch them before they reach their thrumwings. I return my attention to the Znthian.
“I see you got your sword back.”
Venim just nods.
He turns and strides off in the direction of the others.
Ghorak and Jean are standing a few dozen veks away, on the other side of the little battlefield. They are both alive, and aside from a crossbow bolt through the Grangorian’s hand, they both appear to be unharmed. Thank the Goddess!
As soon as the human sees us, she starts to run in our direction, a big smile of relief spreading across her pretty face. I meet her halfway and gather her in a tight embrace.
“I’m so glad you’re alive,” she whispers.
“Same,” I whisper back, nuzzling the side of her mask.
She turns to say something to Venim, but the Znthian glides silently past, moving toward Ghorak like he’s on a mission. The Grangorian has already removed the crossbow bolt from his hand, and he’s in the process of lighting a fresh weedstalk when Venim draws his sword back…
And swings it at his head.