Orc’s Forbidden Claim (Red Planet Dragons of Tajss #33)

43. Khiara

43

KHIARA

I glance down and my stomach clenches tight as cold fills my veins. Someone is pointing right at me and a crowd is gathering. A guard runs down the street. There is no more time.

I put in all the strength I have left, digging deep and fighting to climb faster to the opening. Below, the sounds of the gathering onlookers are loud, but not loud enough to drown out the clinking of armor. Too much clinking to be only one guard.

The hooks on my right hand don’t penetrate. I drop down, slamming pressure onto my left shoulder this time. A thrown blade strikes the wall, barely missing. Heart racing, I have to move. Now.

Twisting around, I slam the right hand in, the hooks catch, and I pull myself up. One hand, then another. Another blade strikes close, making a ting sound as the stone reflects it.

Focus. Climb.

The edge of the opening is in sight. Two arm’s lengths. A projectile strikes against my back. It hurts, knocking my breath out, but I can’t stop. I get the fingers of my right hand over the edge, tightening my grip, I pull.

Up. Over. My chin clears the edge. Muscles strain, fighting exhaustion.

Pain.

Sharp.

Stabbing.

My fingers go numb, I can’t hold onto the edge, it slides free. I drop, my weight coming down onto the left shoulder. Twisting against the stone wall, I try to flex the fingers of my right hand, but they won’t respond. Wetness dribbles down the back of my arm.

Shouts rise from below. Three guards in a huddle, staring up. One of them rears back, taking aim, a blade in his hand.

I’m sorry Saylor.

His arm moves forward in slow motion. His aim will be true. I am certain of it.

The crowd surges, knocking into him. The blade flies wide, missing. The shouting grows louder, then the guards are surrounded.

“Run!” Muda screeches, his voice cracking.

He’s standing just outside the crowd that are climbing over the guards, stomping on them as they stampede around. I nod my gratitude to Muda who turns and runs, disappearing into the city.

Closing my eyes, I inhale deep, hold it then force my right arm to obey. The pain is sharp and instant, but the arm responds. I get a grip on the edge. Acting quickly, I get my left hand onto it too. Then I’m able to climb over and into the tunnel.

Climbing to my feet, I glance back. My people are fighting. Fighting for me, but more than that, they are fighting for themselves. The crowd disperses, leaving the three guards dazed on the ground, while those who attacked them rush away to anonymity.

I stumble down the tunnel, reaching over my shoulder as I do. My searching fingers find the hilt of a blade buried close to the shoulder blade. I could remove it, but that might be worse. I have no way to stop the bleeding that is sure to ensue.

Gritting my teeth, I break into a run. Every jarring step hurts worse, but my only hope is to get back to the Zmaj compound.

I am coming Saylor. I will not die this day.