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Khiara and I support one another, taking the moment to catch our breath before the fight continues. The sergeant barks orders and the newcomers come forward. Armor clattering, weapons glinting. They are the superior force and they know it.
The ones we tossed aside are getting to their feet, joining with their fellows. I look at Khiara and chuckle.
“Brother,” I grunt.
“Seen worse,” he answers then he too is chuckling.
I rise to my full height and glare at the approaching soldiers.
“You’ve got one chance,” I order, my voice strong and booming despite the fact my lungs still burn and ache. I make my offer once again for those freshly arrived.
“One chance?” the Sargent scoffs. “Surrender and we’ll take you in peacefully.”
“Wrong choice,” I snarl and as one my brother and I charge the line.
They brace themselves for us. Dropping into partial crouches and raising clubs into a defensive position. We roar a wordless war cry of defiance. This is for Gwen. We will not go down without doing everything we possibly can.
The ferocity of our attack is enough to make the line waver. Some of them stumble, sliding back on ground slick with blood, a lot, if not most of which is ours. One of them loses his footing. He slips and my fist catches him under his exposed jaw.
It’s a momentary win. A burning instance of hope before they collapse around us and we’re forced back. Khiara is struck on the sides and then a blow to the head. He’s dazed, his defenses down, and a club is coming. I grab the wrist behind the swing. It slips free but I manage to deflect it far enough that it misses Khiara’s head, hitting him on the shoulder instead.
I miss a hit on me and pain blasts through my head. I stumble back. My vision is blurry and won’t clear, yet something is happening. They don’t press their advantage.
Khiara is at my side, keeping me up. He points, saying something, but the words don’t make sense. Refusing to add up. He thrusts his finger forward and I follow. The guards have turned away then there is screaming.
“Help,” Khiara says. “The resistance!”
A smile spreads over my face despite the pain.
“We have to get Gwen,” I growl.
“I’m with you, brother,” he says, and we charge.
24
GWENETH
Ithink I open my eyes, but nothing changes. It’s dark. Almost, somehow, darker than it was with them closed. My head throbs with every beat of my heart. I groan as I push myself up onto my elbows. A wave of nausea comes. I wait for it to pass before finishing sitting up.
I’m sitting on something hard. I fun my hands under my butt and decide it must be stone. It’s cool to the touch, so much so that the chill is soaking into my bones. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Perhaps the pain would be worse if I wasn’t so cold.
I put my hand in front of my face but can’t see a thing. I don’t want to risk hurting myself further, so I crawl with one arm thrust out to find any obstacles. It doesn’t take long to have the scope and understand that I’m in a cell. I knock over what feels like a bucket, and it rattles loudly, echoing off the stone walls.
A voice calls out when I do. I freeze in place, afraid to attract the wrong kind of attention. The voice speaks again, in Urr’ki, but it sounds different than what I expect. It takes me a moment to think through the pain and realize that it’s not a male voice.
“Hello?” I say in Zmaj. “Who is that?”
“You speak Zmaj,” the voice says.
It’s definitively female. It’s easier to recognize it as such in a language that is less harsh than the Urr’ki’s.
“Yes, yes,” I say, excitement building, but then I wonder if it’s a guard. Or if this is some kind of trap and fear follows in the wake of that. “Are you, uh, are you a guard?”
“No,” she says, but there is a rueful note in her voice. “Far from it.”
“Oh,” I say.
I shift myself around and hold my head between my hands trying to control the throbbing pain. A whimper slips before I can squash it. The pain is really, really bad.
