Page 109 of Given to the Black King

“Stay where you are.”

Torgan takes one step into the narrow rose walk. He is three strides away now.

The knife bites enough to sting.

He stops.

I feel warm blood move down my throat.

Torgan smells it.

His face empties.

The sergeant understands too late what that means.

I tuck my chin harder against the blade, catch his knife wrist with both hands, and stamp down on his instep. When his balance breaks, I drop my full weight and turn into the trapped arm.

The edge skates along the mail collar instead of opening my throat. His grip tears free.

I drop.

Torgan crosses the distance before I hit the ground.

One hand catches me. The other closes around the sergeant’s throat.

The man leaves his feet.

Torgan slams him against the wall once.

The knife falls.

Again.

Stone dust shakes loose.

“Torgan.”

He does not hear me.

The sergeant claws at his wrist. His face darkens.

I put my palm against Torgan’s ribs.

The contact makes his head turn.

“Alive,” I say.

The old blood looks through me.

“We need him.”

His fingers tighten.

“For me.”

The grip opens.

The sergeant drops hard and curls around his throat.