feet from under him, rolled to her feet, and fled for the door.
The second and third corralled her, swords drawn. She couldn't see the general. Pivoting on her heel, she twirled away from the door, ran up the wall and along it, then sprang off and clubbed the nearest Scab in the head.
He went sprawling.
Blood oozed from a wound to her upper arm she hadn't noticed before. Now the gash throbbed with irritating pain.
Two more to go, if the general was gone. One on either side. Darsal feinted for the door, then banked right and darted around the taller, older Scab.
"Teeleh's fangs, stop her, you fools!"
A rope snapped tight around her throat and yanked her flat on her back, sword flying. Darsal's yelp cut short when she hit the floor. She twisted, scrambling to her knees as the Scab dragged her toward him.
Her nose rammed against large, heavy boots.
He picked her up by the collar, hefted her a few inches off the ground, stared at her for a moment, then set her down.
A pair of hands grabbed each of her arms and jerked them behind her back. Blood oozed down her arm. The throbbing pain returned. She struggled out of sheer bullheadedness as they held her wrists together and bound them.
Hopeless.
Elyon help Johnis and Silvie, or her own demise would be pointless.
Now she could see her captor: tall, lean, dreadlocks over his shoulders and down his chest. Gray eyes dull and cold. Morst splitting apart and gumming where his white skin had started to flake. He wore leather battle gear and his sword strapped across his back, two throwing knives on each thigh as Silvie would have worn them.
General Marak.
He stared at her. Then his face cracked into a stern, humorless smile as he motioned to the two youths behind him. "Take her away."
JOHNIS AND SILVIE REACTED AS ONE AS SOON AS DARSAL was down the hall with the Scab calling after her.
Silvie flung the dead Scab's cloak over Johnis and tucked her knife into her waistband, out of sight.
Time to play Scab thug and albino prisoner.
They found a ladder and shimmied down.
Something crashed from Darsal's direction far behind them now. A Scab thundered curses.
"Elyon help her," he whispered, pressing the stolen sword against Silvie's throat. "Move for the atrium. Right."
He guided Silvie toward the atrium. Checked his waistband, just to be satisfied. The book was still there.
Johnis swept his gaze from side to side down the hall. Winged serpents guarded each doorway, lonely silver and black opal sentinels with leering red-glass eyes. The one outside the main room was larger and stood above a kind of incense altar. Pungent aroma wafted after them.
Polished wooden floors with blue carpets lined the hallways. He saw Teelehs winged serpent image, hangmen dangling from bowl-shaped torch stands blazing on the walls, and crossed Horde swords above Horde shields and crests.
The hall looked like a private sanctuary for Teeleh. A palace chapel.
"You're cutting me," Silvie whispered through clenched teeth.
He loosened his grip. Her light skin had reddened where he'd grabbed too tightly, and a thin cut lacerated her neck.
Two Scab acolytes in white rounded the corner and marched abreast down the hall toward them, swinging incense. Behind them stormed a priest in a pointed hood.
Sucrow!
He froze. Then bolted to his right, dragging Silvie with him.
"Get them!" Sucrow screamed.
He released Silvie's wrist and fled out the front door, down the whitewashed temple steps. Side by side they vaulted a low railing and sprinted down a hard-packed dirt road.
"Which way?" Silvie asked from his side.
"Alley!"
He cut to his right between two mud huts. The sounds of barking dogs chased them south. Barracks ahead on the left, with the lake to his right-west.
"This way," he panted, cutting right again.
He leaped over a box lying in the street. Past Horde children playing with a vine jump rope. The children's mothers shrieked and called them away from the crazy albinos racing past.
On past
The second and third corralled her, swords drawn. She couldn't see the general. Pivoting on her heel, she twirled away from the door, ran up the wall and along it, then sprang off and clubbed the nearest Scab in the head.
He went sprawling.
Blood oozed from a wound to her upper arm she hadn't noticed before. Now the gash throbbed with irritating pain.
Two more to go, if the general was gone. One on either side. Darsal feinted for the door, then banked right and darted around the taller, older Scab.
"Teeleh's fangs, stop her, you fools!"
A rope snapped tight around her throat and yanked her flat on her back, sword flying. Darsal's yelp cut short when she hit the floor. She twisted, scrambling to her knees as the Scab dragged her toward him.
Her nose rammed against large, heavy boots.
He picked her up by the collar, hefted her a few inches off the ground, stared at her for a moment, then set her down.
A pair of hands grabbed each of her arms and jerked them behind her back. Blood oozed down her arm. The throbbing pain returned. She struggled out of sheer bullheadedness as they held her wrists together and bound them.
Hopeless.
Elyon help Johnis and Silvie, or her own demise would be pointless.
Now she could see her captor: tall, lean, dreadlocks over his shoulders and down his chest. Gray eyes dull and cold. Morst splitting apart and gumming where his white skin had started to flake. He wore leather battle gear and his sword strapped across his back, two throwing knives on each thigh as Silvie would have worn them.
General Marak.
He stared at her. Then his face cracked into a stern, humorless smile as he motioned to the two youths behind him. "Take her away."
JOHNIS AND SILVIE REACTED AS ONE AS SOON AS DARSAL was down the hall with the Scab calling after her.
Silvie flung the dead Scab's cloak over Johnis and tucked her knife into her waistband, out of sight.
Time to play Scab thug and albino prisoner.
They found a ladder and shimmied down.
Something crashed from Darsal's direction far behind them now. A Scab thundered curses.
"Elyon help her," he whispered, pressing the stolen sword against Silvie's throat. "Move for the atrium. Right."
He guided Silvie toward the atrium. Checked his waistband, just to be satisfied. The book was still there.
Johnis swept his gaze from side to side down the hall. Winged serpents guarded each doorway, lonely silver and black opal sentinels with leering red-glass eyes. The one outside the main room was larger and stood above a kind of incense altar. Pungent aroma wafted after them.
Polished wooden floors with blue carpets lined the hallways. He saw Teelehs winged serpent image, hangmen dangling from bowl-shaped torch stands blazing on the walls, and crossed Horde swords above Horde shields and crests.
The hall looked like a private sanctuary for Teeleh. A palace chapel.
"You're cutting me," Silvie whispered through clenched teeth.
He loosened his grip. Her light skin had reddened where he'd grabbed too tightly, and a thin cut lacerated her neck.
Two Scab acolytes in white rounded the corner and marched abreast down the hall toward them, swinging incense. Behind them stormed a priest in a pointed hood.
Sucrow!
He froze. Then bolted to his right, dragging Silvie with him.
"Get them!" Sucrow screamed.
He released Silvie's wrist and fled out the front door, down the whitewashed temple steps. Side by side they vaulted a low railing and sprinted down a hard-packed dirt road.
"Which way?" Silvie asked from his side.
"Alley!"
He cut to his right between two mud huts. The sounds of barking dogs chased them south. Barracks ahead on the left, with the lake to his right-west.
"This way," he panted, cutting right again.
He leaped over a box lying in the street. Past Horde children playing with a vine jump rope. The children's mothers shrieked and called them away from the crazy albinos racing past.
On past
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