The conscripts huddled together around a small fire a few paces away. Samara glanced at Evander, and his chest hurt. He remembered when he was first sent to war—that battle cut a trench between childhood and manhood, and he’d lost touch with the boy he left on the other side.
Samara was about to wade into a bog of nightmare; someone had to hold aloft a light for her to follow. Make sure she didn’t sink into the muck. Not Evander, of course, but someone.
Haldir kicked Evander’s foot, and he started out of his doze. His neck and shoulders stiff, he sat up and waited for the headache that always greeted him upon waking, and its absence made him oddly unnerved.
“What in Roz’s nest are you doing here, Haldir?” Evander asked, standing and facing the big man. They hadn’t spoken on the journey, because Haldir had a shotfire barrel pointed at Evander’s head and insisted he be silent. But Evander wanted answers, so he risked it.
“The dracologist in Allagesh fired me,” Haldir said, drawing a shotfire from his belt and playing with the hammer. “After that whole scene with the hydra. I’m Sennalaithic by birth.”
Evander scanned his uniform, trying to determine his rank. “That explains how you’re already a colonel.”
“I’m talented,” Haldir snapped.
“You mean your father bought your commission.”
Haldir swung his fist, cracking Evander in the temple. It was a clumsy blow, and Evander could have dodged, but he chose not to. The Cobblepine conscripts were watching, weighing. If he established his own animosity toward Haldir, perhaps he could earn their trust. So he fell with an exaggerated cry. Hera’s left and center heads lifted, the right one nuzzled at him. He stayed down.
The conscripts crouched in silence, their faces eager, curious.
Dizzy, Evander stumbled to his feet.
Haldir pulled his shotfire and shoved it against Evander’s chest.
The sight of the little weapon brought back the image of Lysander’s head bursting, and a chill rushed down Evander’s spine, but he just raised one eyebrow and crossed his arms.
“Are you bloody serious?” he asked.
“I can make an example of you.”
Evander let out a short laugh. “Killing that kid in Cobblepine wasn’t enough?”
A slow smile spread across Haldir’s face, then he chuckled and shoved the shotfire into his belt. He half turned away, then spun and sank his fist below Evander’s ribs. The breath rushed out of Evander’s lungs, and he crumpled to his knees, stunned. Haldir followed the blow with a kick to Evander’s kidney. With a cry of pain, Evander fell on his face in the grass.
All three of Hera’s heads lurched up. Her lips curled away from her fangs, and a low growl rumbled in her throat.
A grinding click sent a shock through Evander, and the cold bone barrel of Haldir’s shotfire touched his temple.
The Cobblepinions jumped up, protesting.
Evander heard Samara shout, “Dragon skinning murderer!”
They pressed forward, toeing the threshold of a riot. Soldiers ran from the camp, shouting, trying to regain order.
Evander could feel the mounting terror and fury radiating off Hera. He needed to get up and stop her before she killed everyone. Before she killed him.
Bodies piled onto Evander, wrenching his arms behind his back, pushing his face into the sand. Someone’s knee ground against his spine, between his shoulder blades. Another shotfire touched the base of his neck.
The Cobblepinion conscripts’ shouts rose to a cacophony of swears and jeers, Samara’s voice shrill above the others, “Leave him alone! Dragon skinning Murderers!”
Rosemary cried out, “You can't kill all of us!”
And Ignatius boomed, “Justice for Lysander!”
Ropes chafed Evander’s wrists. He couldn’t breathe. His head spun, and he feared he might pass out as the commotion hit a fever pitch, and Hera thrummed. Mentally, Evander groped past the crowding fog in his head and channeled magic toward her. She calmed, lying down and curling her head in like a giant, hairless golden retriever.
“Bournemuth!” a commanding voice shouted. “What are you doing?”
Evander didn’t dare move.
