Terrified, Heath blasted him with shadow, hoping to blind him long enough to race in and take Lorack.
The move only worked for a few seconds, but it allowed Heath to slide across the cobbled walkway and yank Lorack behind him.
“Goddess’s tit. Where did they come from?”
“I don’t know, Lo, but you should have looked before you jumped,” Heath raged. “The Escala won’t stop until they’ve found you. We can’t lead them back to the others.”
“Take them to the outskirts of town and back in. Maybe we’ll lose them in the maze.”
It was pointless, but they couldn’t just let themselves be captured. Without Heath and Lorack, the orphans would be alone to fend for themselves. Heath grunted, kicking his feet as fast as he could. Daemon architecture was high, without low-standing entry points or windows. With the overcast sky, the best visibility came from magicked lights hovering every few feet. He’d be stuck on the ground until he could find an abandoned residence to race up to. Thinking quickly, Heath cast a shadow around him and his friend, darkening the corners they slid into.
“Keep after them. I can smell them headed this way. Find a tracker to mark their signatures.”
Gods dammit.
Without using his magic, Heath and Lorack would be sitting ducks, but with each second of magic use, he increased the trail they left behind. They streaked around the bend, heavy footsteps following them.
“Lorack, split!”
“I’m not leaving you.”
“I’ll draw their attention toward the square. They can’t fight with complete freedom there. Go!”
“Don’t do this.”
“Don’t argue with me. Go now.”
Heath pushed Lorack with all his strength before he spun and ran back toward the Escala. They didn’t disappoint, already lifting their spears to attack him. Gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down his brow, Heath slid under a cart and darted into the alley behind it.
There has to be something. Think!
Doors shut as he ran, the citizens hearing the war cry of the Escala. But Heath didn’t let up. He couldn’t. The longer he kept them occupied, the better chance Lorack had of getting away.
Finally.
He slammed through the makeshift wooden door and bounded up the stairs. For twenty years he’d kept the orphans safe, trained them, provided them with shelter. He was not going to lose now.
“Xaerelathimtorhil,” Heath commanded, creating his sword from his darkest shadow. It gleamed like a dark, starry night, and he felt better having it in his hands.
Armed, he tucked into a darkened corner, wrapping glamour and shadow around him.
Come on, bastards.
He noticed the Escala’s gauntlet first—the bright gold unmistakable—before the warrior came completely into the room. Heath moved in silence, using skills he’d honed for years—things he would never teach the children—to slide through the air and cleave the Escala’s head from his shoulders.
One down.
Already moving, Heath continued up the stairs until he reached the second floor where windows were. Once on the sill, he scanned quickly for some way out. A small outcropping may be enough to take his weight. He prayed it would be and jumped.
Hovering in the air, shadow dancing around him to camouflage with the sky, he saw an Escala bear down on Lorack.
No!
Heath changed course, slamming into the wall and slipping to the ground again. Bruised, his bones vibrating from head to toe, Heath shook his head and forced himself forward. Lorack would die. He raced harder, screaming out his war cry as he swung his sword.
The Escala met him with the shaft of his battle axe, but Heath would not be deterred. He used his shadow to make it appear as if he was darting in and out of the living realm, flashing only close enough for a single strike before backing out of the way.
“Run, Lorack!”
