Hera Read Online Free PDF Page B

wall surrounding the complex stood easily
fifteen feet tall – almost three times her height. She glanced over
her shoulder, making sure nobody had seen her, and took a deep
breath to steady her nerves. Unwinding the thin steel cable from
around her waist, she stepped back. Then she threw the grappling
hook up the wall, pulled on it to secure it, and started
climbing.
    She’d done similar exercises on the training
grounds in Bone Tower, but then she was not facing charges of –
what? insubordination? treason? What was the penalty for that?
    Forcing her mind back on track, she climbed
higher, the cable scorching furrows into her palms and fingers even
through the gloves, until she reached the top and breathed out.
Artemisia spread in rows of narrow buildings and dark alleys. A
sour stench hit her nostrils.
    With no more time to take in the view, she
pulled up the cable, threw it on the other side and quickly
descended until her boots hit the sidewalk.
    She was in the harbor suburbs of
Artemisia.
    A jerk on the cable freed the hook and she
wrapped the wire around her waist once more. Keeping a steady
tread, she walked into the shadows of an alley, shrugging her coat
back on and drawing her gun. She had only been in purely Gultur
cities before – Dakru City, which was the capital, and Bone Tower,
the sacred citadel. They had tall white buildings, trees and lakes
and temples with carved doors and statues. Flowers bloomed in the
gardens and their scent filled the air.
    Artemisia reeked. Hera had even smelled it
from the transport helicopter as they had approached the town that
morning – rotten meat, like a one-day-old corpse, sourness and piss
– but now she gagged on it and pressed her sleeve over her nose.
The buildings, blackened by the soot of dakron fumes, looked
dilapidated and decrepit, their windows broken. The streets were
narrow and filthy, covered in trash – some of it organic but mostly
packages and torn bags. She shuddered when a huge rat ran along a
wall and dived into a gutter.
    It must be only the harbor
neighborhood , she told herself and gripped her gun more
tightly. Surely other parts of the town looked – and smelled –
better.
    There was the shuffle of feet, and something
whizzed past her ear. What in the hells? She threw herself
sideways, and the second dart, for that was what it was, hit a wall
and ricocheted, striking the cement with a hair-raising
screech.
    Shaking with shock and anger she got to her
feet. Whoever was there would soon regret this pitiful attack. She
took aim, her pulse racing, but never got the chance to fire. A
whirlwind of hands and feet and high-pitched voices stormed her.
She knocked a bony hand aside with the handle of her longgun and
kicked at a leg before she even realized who these persons
were.
    Children .
    She turned the muzzle of her gun in a circle,
zeroing on face after emaciated, small face, and her breath caught
at their stench, their blackened feet, their shredded clothes. Children living on the street? They crouched as if about to
attack, and she steadied her aim on the tallest one who seemed to
be their leader.
    “Go away and I will not kill you,” she said,
proud her voice did not waver. The boy’s eyes hardened, then
softened as he glanced around him. Aha, a weakness . “You do
not want the others to die, do you? You’re responsible for them.
Take them and go.”
    He surprised her by lifting his chin and
taking a step toward her. “We need food and water and medicine.
Come on, give us what you got and we go.”
    “I have nothing.” And that saddened her, she
realized with surprise, because they looked thin and hungry. Did
their whole family live on the street? Mortals were raised by their
mothers and fathers, she knew, being born so much weaker than the
Gultur. She tried to imagine growing up with Tefnut – a hand
caressing her hair and an arm around her shoulders – and a rare
feeling of jealousy closed up her throat. “Where are