Keely helped herself to the dead guard’s sword and slid it into her belt, then gestured toward Daena. “Can you carry her?”
He could, but…. “What about you?”
She grinned tiredly. “I’ll go ahead. You just have to keep up.” She patted him on the bicep. “I’ve been wanting to see some of that famous Apollyon strength in action.”
He snorted. “We’ll be behind you.”
“Eh.” She shrugged, eyes gleaming in the growing light. “I can picture it.”
Gods. She was magnificent.
Tor looked across at Daena, her hunched shoulders and uncertain eyes. But when he raised an eyebrow, she nodded. He turned and waited, and, after a brief pause, she climbed onto his back without complaining.
A whistle blew across the woods. The dead guard’s partner. Checking on his missing comrade. Bollocks. “Time to go.”
“Yes,” Keely agreed as the flames licked along the log. They had to reach the top of the gorge before the fire took hold and swept upward.
Tor settled his grip around Daena’s thighs, holding her securely. Keely started to run and he followed.
They joined the narrow path of the gorge a few feet up from the beach to find a guard already running fast toward them. He stumbled to a surprised stop as Keely lifted the crossbow and shot him without hesitating.
Keely slung the crossbow over her shoulder, and they ran past the downed guard, not stopping. Another death. Gods.
The path rose ahead. It was dark with the fire behind them, the footing treacherous and unstable as they fled up the twisting path of the gorge.
The scent of pine trees hung heavy in the air, but below it, at the back of his throat, Tor could still feel the rasping tickle of smoke. He heard Keely panting ahead of him, bent forward as she pushed herself up the slope. On and on. Their footsteps thudding on the soft ground.
How much farther? He tried to remember the journey down, to reverse it in his mind.
Daena clutched him tightly, but she still bounced uncomfortably, her weight dragging him backward, upsetting his balance, and he sweated as he pushed himself harder. Faster. Always following Keely. Keeping as close as he could. She was carrying another person. He could do the same.
They were somewhere close to halfway up when he heard a flurry of heavy wings and a black shadow landed heavily on the path ahead. A Mabin guard, lifting a crossbow of his own.
Tor pulled to a hard stop behind Keely, Daena clinging to his back like a monkey. Keely lifted her crossbow and two soft thwaps broke the silence as they both fired.
The Mabin grunted heavily, and then there was a loud crash as he fell, tumbling away to the side. But it wasn’t loud enough to cover Keely’s soft curse. “What the fuck have they all got against my bloody arm?”
Tor lowered Daena to the ground and ran to Keely. Gods. She was holding her hand over her arm, her breath shuddering as she gritted her teeth.
She was hurt. Again. He wanted to howl and roar and pull down the world. Instead, he forced himself to stay calm, to keep himself under control, as he asked, “How bad is it?”
“A scrape,” she said tersely.
A scrape? Gods. He’d seen what she was like the last time she was shot. If Keely said it was a scrape, she was lucky to still have an arm.
“Tell me the truth,” he demanded.
Keely groaned. “It sliced through the muscle. Hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”
“Here.” Daena pulled a small knife out of her satchel, sliced away a strip from the hem of her dress, and quickly helped Keely to wrap her arm. Keely flexed it a few times and grunted. “It’ll do.”
The rough scent of fire rasped more heavily at the back of his throat, and he turned to look down the path.
A dark red glow flickered below them in the distance. The trees were catching. Fuck. The gorge would soon become a chimney; the wind that howled up its length pulling the flames up faster than they could ever dream of running.
Keely caught his gaze and then spun back to the path. “Let’s go.”
He lifted Daena onto his back once more and followed Keely. Up they ran, panting and sweating. The orange glow of the fire behind them lit the path, and they ran faster, leaping over roots and scrabbling over stones. Their breath rasping and panting. His lungs burning.
