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“The Zmaj,” Gweneth says and every eye in the room shifts to her.
“Excuse me?” Punja says.
“If there is ever going to be even a chance of peace, you and them too, need to respect each other enough to not use derogatory names. They are the Zmaj,” she says.
She is standing tall with square shoulders and her voice is steady. Pride and love fill my chest until I’m sure my heart is going to explode. Beautiful and brave.
“Wise words,” Punja says, nodding. “I agree. The Zmaj.”
“And I’m sure that Rosalind will be happy to help anyway she can, but what is it you’re thinking?”
Punja looks around the room, taking each person in turn before he steps in closer.
“The Shaman must go,” he says in a whisper. “If he is gone, then the Maulavi lose most, if not all, of their power.”
“That is impossible,” I say. “You saw what happened already.”
“We have a pla?—”
“For the Shaman!” one of the men behind him yells as he leaps forward.
It happens in an instant. Before Punja can finish his thought, his eyes widen in surprise then he’s gurgling and falling towards us. The hilt of the knife in his back catches the dim light and glitters as he falls.
I grab Gweneth around the waist, spin, and run for the door.
21
GWENETH
It all happens fast. Punja is about to tell us how I can help then one of the Urr’ki behind him is yelling and brandishing a knife but before I can react Dilacs grabs me. His arm hooks around my middle, knocking my wind out in a whuff.
He barrels towards the door. I’m looking behind, watching Punja collapse to the ground. The one who attacked him is running towards us a gleaming blade in his hand. Khiara tackles him and the two of them roll across the dirty stone floor.
Dilacs growls. It’s a deep bass that rumbles in my guts. He bends almost in half with me still hooked over his left arm. He twists his body and I’m now half wrapped around his waist, clinging to him the best I can to try and help.
He hits someone. The person he shoulders aside spins past and falls to the ground with a yelp. The door slams open and we emerge from the hovel. Dilacs skids to a stop.
I can’t see what’s happening, but he lowers me to the ground. As my feet find purchase he keeps one arm across my stomach, holding me back. No, not holding me back, protecting me. A semi-circle of armed guards blocks the way forward.
“Give her to us,” one of them says. “By order of the Shaman.”
I’m too scared to be scared. Stupid, maybe. This is it. The Shaman and his Maulavi are about to take me away and I know what that means. I’ll never be seen again. It’s not a matter of if they will hurt me but how bad will it be before they kill me. But I’m not scared. Or I don’t feel scared. All I feel is numb.
Nothing seems very important. There is this strange sense of inevitability that kind of makes it okay. Like I knew I was on borrowed time and now that it’s all called due, well I’m more or less okay with it.
Dilacs, however, has a completely different reaction. His lips quiver then twist into a wicked grin and he laughs. It’s a deep, grumbling laughter that grows louder and louder.
The eight guards facing us exchange nervous glances. All of them that is except the one two steps ahead, their apparent leader. He watches Dilacs with an easy confidence born from superior force.
Fighting continues in the hovel behind us. I have no idea who is winning or what is happening in there, but I hope that Khiara is okay. I hope, dimly, that he’ll join us out here and shift the odds from nil to something slightly more in the range of not impossible.
What is it they say? Tajss provides, right? Well right about now would be a mighty fine time to provide. A quake could help. Lightning from the ceiling would be even better.
Dilacs laughter has grown louder and louder now shaking his entire body. He is guffawing and even I don’t know what’s happening with him. He slaps his thigh, shakes his head, and points at the leader.
“Oh,” Dilacs says, straightening and reducing the pealing bells of his laughing to suppressed chuckles. “You’re serious?” The laughter stops. Instantly. His face shifts from amused to deadly serious. “I’ll give you one chance.”
“One chance?” the leader asks. “Have you lost your mind? We outnumber you eight to one. Surrender and I will ask that the Maulavi be kind to you.”
