Her breath was coming hard, painfully, as her lungs labored.
She could hear the pound of hoofbeats.
Nasim's men were tearing toward them from the camp.
Faster. She had to go faster.
Where was Kadar?
She risked a glance over her shoulder but saw only Nasim.
Kadar . . .
Only a little farther. She had to reach the edge--
Nasim's hand fell on her shoulder.
She jerked away.
So close, and he had the sword.
Terror rained through her.
If her pace slowed, she would die.
"Stop," Nasim muttered.
If she stumbled, she would die.
Wear him out. Make him unsteady.
"Why are you trying to catch me? You're an old man. You're weak. You'll die soon. You'll never have the grail."
She heard an explosion of rage behind her.
All right. It was time.
Her pace slowed. The point of the sword touched her back as he lunged.
She fell to the ground and rolled toward him.
He grunted as he tripped and stumbled over her body.
She heard him scream as he tottered over the edge of the cliff.
He tried to step back.
"No!" She launched herself forward at his knees.
He went over the cliff, his hands clawing, clutching. They closed on her hair. Agony tore through her as strands were ripped from her head.
He fell through space.
And she saw the twisted terror on his face.
"Quick." Kadar was lifting her to her feet. "They're coming!"
The assassins.
