“And we’ll kill them,” Cinder said.
Another nod.
“Do we have to kill them?” she asked.
“It will be a mercy,” Mercer told her. “Wound a man and leave him to bleed out here in the middle of nowhere? That would be a slow, painful death.” He shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t wish that even on Hardin.”
Cinder glanced around at the crags of grim rock. “I guess I see your point.”
Drake stretched out close to the fire and rolled himself in his blanket. Trix sat munching on dried fruit and cheese. The had air turned bitter cold and the fog rolled back. Stars glimmered in a soft black velvet dome overhead.
Mercer finished his axe and then warmed jerky over the fire. He asked, “How much further? To the money?”
Cinder hitched her shoulders up. “Hard to say. It’s difficult to tell distance here. I can’t say if we walked ten miles today, or twenty.”
“Closer to ten,” Mercer told her.
Cinder frowned and ran rough estimates in her head based on her memory of the map and the numbers, using the distance from Tanthus to the wall as her starting point. She said, “Another fifty miles. Maybe more.”
“Four or five days,” Mercer reckoned. “Depending on terrain.”
Trix gazed at the rocky outcroppings and deep valleys stretching under the light of the moon. “More like seven. That’s unforgiving land with no water in sight.”
Mercer nodded. “And it’s bound to be cold.”
“Well,” said Cinder. “We’ve made it this far.”
She laid down close to the fire, rolled in her blanket, and tried to sleep. Dozens of thoughts raced through her head in an endless loop. What if Hardin and his crew won and Mercer lost? What if they killed the others and took Cinder hostage, forcing her to show them the way to the money? What if she couldn’t find the money? What if she had come all this way, through everything she’d been endured, only to be killed this close to the finish line? She tried to push those worries out of her head, but it was no use. Instead of sleep, she laid there shivering in the cold, imagining worst-case scenarios.
The attack came in the quiet grey hours shortly before dawn, just as Mercer predicted, but not in the way he expected. Sparrow, creeping over the dark ground under the light of the fading stars, had spotted Trix’s first trip wire. He cut the thin line and, knowing Trix would have another, went slowly until he came to the second booby trap. He quietly cut the second line while Hardin and Kid Creole waited with their weapons in hand. When the second trap was disabled, Hardin took the lead, motioning for the others to follow. He slipped out of the arch, staying close to the wall to avoid whatever greeting card Drake had left for them. Then they moved in a wide circle across the dark landscape toward the dying fire and the four sleeping forms outlined by the glowing embers.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Mercer lay dozing with his head propped against his sack. His axe lay across his legs and his blanket kept out the worst of the cold. He had downed a half cup of bitterroot after the others laid down to sleep and the tart concoction kept him alert, but left him feeling sluggish, the way he always felt after a firefight— physically exhausted, but mentally keyed up. He spent most of the night staring up at the stars, watching their slow progress across the heavens—hard to believe they weren’t real stars, only a computer model—and thinking about what happened after they found the money. He looked from Cinder to Trix and back. Trix was a good player, there was nobody Mercer would rather have next to him in a fight, but jealously and bitterness was eating her up inside. She had lived a hard life, and it had turned her into a hard woman who used her looks as a weapon. Cinder was idealistic and clever—it took a lot of guts to come this far, even if she would never describe herself as brave—and she was pretty in her own way. Mercer would have expected her to be a librarian in the Real, spending her time with her nose stuck in a book, too busy with Proust to realize the grade school boys were checking her out through the stacks.
He liked her. No denying that. Even if he wasn’t ready to admit it to Trix. Did Cinder feel the same about him? Or was he simply a strong man to protect her on her way to pick up the money? What about the dance? Did it mean what Mercer thought, or was he reading into it? And the kiss in Eternal Night? Had that been more than simple relief at realizing she was not alone? If she was attracted to him, what then? Admitting he had feelings for Cinder would mean the end of the group. Trix would leave, for good this time, and without her there was no crew.
Sooner or later Mercer would have to make a choice. He closed his eyes and tried to make himself comfortable. The night was wearing on and soon the first rays of dawn would be creeping over the hills. Maybe Hardin had decided to wait. Or maybe he had lost their trail in the wilderness.
The bitterroot was wearing off and a deep lethargy started to come over Mercer. He teetered on the edge of consciousness, toeing the line between dreams and wakefulness, strange visions capering in his head. He was just easing into a fitful sleep when an alarm bell started to peal inside his head. The small hairs on the back of his neck stirred and he sensed, more than heard, movement. His eyes snapped open in the dark to see Hardin standing over him, sword raised overhead.
Mercer rolled and shouted at the same time. His booming voice echoed over the hills, leaping from rock to rock, and yanking the others from sleep. Hardin’s blade came down where Mercer’s head had been only seconds before, biting into his bag with a heavy thwack! The thick canvas split. Dried jerky and hard tack spilled out. Mercer came up in a crouch and brought his axe overhead in time to block a vicious swipe that would have taken his head off.
Kid Creole had Cinder by the arm and a dagger across her throat. Sparrow got the drop on Trix, stabbing at her with his long sword. The fact that she’d been sleeping with her weapon across her chest saved her life. Sparrow didn’t see the blade under her blanket and his weapon glanced off the steel. Instead of piercing her heart, he stabbed her ribs just below her right breast. Her leather armor absorbed the worst of the damage and her ribcage stopped the blade from hitting anything vital. Trix let out a harsh gasp of pain and outrage. Her curved sword flashed like a striking cobra. The edge licked Sparrow’s belly and he stumbled backwards, shrieking, as his guts spilled out over the ground.
Drake planted his staff and used it to lever himself up with a grunt of effort. Kid Creole Jerked Cinder off the ground and used her as a human shield. The ambush, that should have taken out the fighters before they had a chance to mount any defense, had gone bad, and now he was stuck with a hostage while Sparrow screamed his head off, trying to hold his guts in, and Hardin battled Mercer—a game they had played before.
Sparrow grabbed at the intestines pouring out of his lacerated belly, but the slimy ropes kept slipping through his fingers, coiling on the ground with wet plopping noises.
Trix cranked herself into a sitting position, one hand clutching her side, and hacked at Sparrow. Her blade bit into his shoulder and he pitched over on the ground with a shout of pain. His arm hung at a grotesque angle and a spray of dark, coppery blood hit Trix in the face. She leapt to her feet and brought her sword down again. She could have taken his head off; instead she chopped at his arms and legs while he screamed for mercy.
Mercer fell back under the vicious onslaught of Hardin’s flashing sword. It was another moment before he was able to shrug off the surprise and mount an effective counterattack. Then the battle moved the other way, Hardin retreating and Mercer advancing. Steel met in ringing clashes and sparks flashed.
Between thrusts, Mercer grunted out, “You always thought you were better than me, Hardin.”
“I am better than you, Mercer!”
“But you never learned to watch your back,” Mercer told him.
By that time, Drake had leveled his staff at Hardin and croaked out, “Krotha Nitcu Ovartu!”
There was a jolt of electricity and an invisible force slammed into Hardin’s side. It wasn’t much, just enough to catch hi
m by surprise and double him over. Then Mercer’s axe came down on his head. The heavy blade split Hardin’s skull with a wet crunch. His knees buckled and his sword slipped from lifeless fingers. A dark pulpy mass oozed out of his broken skull over the ground.
Sparrow looked like someone had fed him through a wood chipper. Trix stood over him, her sword soaked in dark blood and bright red droplets on her face. She was cut and bleeding. One hand was pressed to the rip in her armor and her mouth turned down in a frown.
“Stay back!” Kid Creole shouted. He pressed his dagger to Cinder’s throat and said, “I’ll cut her!”
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Cinder cringed at the cold touch of the blade against her skin. She could smell Kid Creole’s body odor, ripe from days spent in the wilderness, and feel his breath on her neck. His heart was pounding powerfully hard against her back and his hands shook.
“Don’t make a move,” he barked. “Everybody stay where I can see ‘em, or I’ll cut her throat!”
Mercer wiped his bloodied axe blade on Hardin’s cloak and then closed the distance until Cinder could see the firelight dancing in his eyes. In a gentle voice, he said, “Let her go, Kid.”
Drake was warming up a spell. Cinder didn’t know what it was, but she could feel the air around him crackle with energy and see his lips moving as he muttered an incantation under his breath.
Trix inspected the damage to her side, winced in pain, and then covered the wound with one blood-streaked hand and returned her attention to Kid Creole and his hostage. Sweat beaded on her brow despite the cold, and her lips peeled back from clenched teeth. “Come on, Kid,” she said. “Give up. You can’t win.”
Cinder tried to hold very still, but her knees were trembling and her hands quivered like drunken butterflies looking for a place to land. The breath shivered out of her lips in short, jerky gasps. She shook so hard she feared she would cut her own throat. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t cut me, Kid. I don’t want to die. I don’t even want to be here. I just need the money.”
“We all need the money,” Kid said. “Shut up.”
Mercer took another step in their direction, slow and deliberate, not trying to be sneaky. Kid retreated a step, dragging Cinder with him. He jerked her arm, forcing her back. His fingertips dug into her skin like cruel talons and the knife jagged against her neck, drawing a line of blood. Cinder winced and let out a short whimper.
“Get back,” Kid shrieked. It felt like an ice pick through Cinder’s eardrum. “Get back, all of you! I’ll cut her.”
“No you won’t,” Mercer said.
“I will,” said Kid Creole. “I swear I will!”
Mercer shook his head and took another step forward. “You’re not going to kill her, Kid.”
Kid Creole let out an explosive breath and gave Cinder a shake, nearly slitting her neck open in the process. “I said get back!”
Mercer held up his left hand and made a show of putting his axe down. He let the weapon fall and the heavy blade thumped in the dirt. “There. Better?”
“Now Trix and Drake,” Kid Creole said.
Trix snorted. “Keep dreaming, Kid.”
Drake only shook his head.
“Without her you’ll never find the money,” Kid said.
“Think again,” Trix said. “She already told us where the money is. Due north of Tanthus. We don’t need her anymore.”
“Go ahead and kill her,” Drake said.
Cinder let out a whine. Her eyes went from Trix and Drake to Mercer. He stood like a statue cut from marble. His eyes were fixed on Kid Creole and his thumbs were hooked in his belt. Cinder felt a hitch in her chest. Tears welled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Her chin bunched and her lips trembled. She said, “Merc, please, I don’t want to die.”
“It’s true,” Mercer said. “We already know where the money is. Cinder let it slip. We don’t need her. But if you kill her, Kid, I’ll hack you to pieces and every time you log back in, I’ll be waiting at the docks to kill you again. You’ll be finished in the Realms. You understand me?”
“I’m not dying out here,” Kid Creole said, and then he started to cry too. “Not again. I can’t take it. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Yeah,” said Mercer. “I do.”
Kid Creole sniffed and his hand relaxed. He blinked a few times and said, “You do?”
Mercer nodded. “I stepped on a landmine in the Real. One minute I was leading my team along a ridgeline and the next thing I knew, there were bits of me scattered all over the Khorngal Valley. The docs saved my life . . .” He shook his head. “But that’s about it.”
Kid had calmed down some now. His grip relaxed, and the knife blade was no longer digging into Cinder’s throat. She thought about trying to elbow him and make an escape, but that only works in movies. She’d end up with her neck sliced open. That, and she was too stunned by Mercer’s admission to think of much else. Everyone was. Trix stared at him with a curious set to her face, as if everything had just clicked into place. Drake’s spell evaporated, and his bushy eyebrows crept up his forehead in surprise.
Kid licked his lips and shook his head. “I can’t die again, Merc. I don’t think I can handle it.”
“You don’t have to die,” said Cinder. “Just let me go and Mercer will let you live. Isn’t that right, Merc?”
“Really?” Kid asked, a hopeful note in his voice.
Mercer thought it over, nodded. “Put that knife down and walk away, Kid.”
“You ain’t gonna come after me?” he asked.
Mercer shook his head. “No, I won’t.”
“You promise?”
“Promise,” Mercer told him.
Kid considered his position. His crew was dead and they were in the middle of nowhere. He looked from Mercer to Drake and then Trix. “What about you? You two won’t hurt me?”
Drake said, “Go on and get out of here, Kid, before we change our minds.”
Trix sheathed her sword and lowered herself onto a rock, still holding the gash in her side. Her face had turned paler than usual and her eyes were dull. “I don’t care what you do.”
“See?” Cinder said and held up her hands. “It’s okay. Just put the knife down.”
He took the knife from her throat and backed away. Soon as he let her go, Cinder rushed forward and threw her arms around Mercer. He wrapped her up in a hug and she buried her face in his chest, sobbing. Mercer said, “Walk away, Kid.”
He nodded, took a few steps backwards, and said, “Okay if I keep my knife? I might need it.”
“Yeah,” Mercer told him. “You can keep the knife, but do me a favor and find another crew to run with. Hardin is bad news. Sparrow isn’t much better. Those two always come to grief.”
“Thank you.” Kid gave a slow nod, turned, and walked off into the brightening dawn. The first rays of light speared the heavens like golden lances and the stars dimmed. They watched him go and then Mercer turned to Drake and said, “Drake?”
The caster threw a surly look in Mercer’s direction and then shrugged. “Fine,” he croaked and muttered an incantation. There was a change in the air. Cinder felt her ears pop, like the pressure equalizing after being on a long flight. Only then did she remember the trap he had set in front of the arch. Kid Creole would have walked right through it.
“I’m fine, by the way,” said Trix. Her face worked into a grimace and she stretched out on the cold, hard ground, shivering in pain.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
They gathered around Trix. She was cut and bleeding badly. Her face had turned an alarming shade of white, and sweat beaded on her brow. Her lips pulled back from clenched teeth. Drake handed her a small flask of healing potion, which Trix drank down in one swallow and then said, “I could use a drink.”
Drake handed over his flask.
Trix took a long swig before handing it back.
Mercer was already pulling bandages from his kit. Working together and trying to not to
jostle her too much, they unfastened the buckles on her black armor and peeled open her shirt. Sparrow’s sword had punched right through the leather and from the look of things, cracked a rip. Bright red blood oozed up from the gash in her flesh.
“Gotta stop the bleeding,” Mercer said. He produced a needle and a length of thread. Trix shivered at the sight.
“This is going to hurt,” Mercer told her.
“Get it over with,” Trix said through her teeth.
“Hold her down,” Mercer ordered.
Cinder grabbed one shoulder while Drake held the other, and Mercer pinched the ragged cut closed before pushing the needle through skin. Trix let out a long moan like a cat giving birth. Cinder closed her eyes, turned her face away, and focused on her breathing. Mercer stitched the wound with practiced strokes, pushing the needle through, pulling the thread taut, and then pushing the needle through again. Cinder wondered how many times he had done that in the Real on a bleeding soldier. Enough that he had gotten good at it. He was done in less than three minutes, and then he folded a piece of thick white gauze which he handed to Cinder. “Press that down on the wound.”
Cinder did and Trix shrieked out a curse. Blood immediately soaked through. The white square turned pink and then dark red.
“Keep pressure on it,” Mercer ordered.
Cinder put her weight down on the cut while Trix growled out a string of profanities. Mercer and Drake worked together to wrap a length of gauze around Trix’s rib cage. They tied it off to another loud and creative curse, then covered her over with a cloak. Drake gave her another potion. They only had three left, but everyone agreed Trix needed another if she was going to recover.
When they had made her comfortable, they walked a few paces from the fire and dropped their voices. Drake said, “This will slow us down.”
Mercer crossed his arms over his chest. “We aren’t leaving her.”
The Savage Realms Page 26
