Page 50 of City of Stone and Silence

The connection cuts off abruptly, and the pressure on my chest vanishes. I open my eyes to see the huge lizard-thing staggering sideways, hammered by bolts of blue-white Tartak force strong enough to make even that monster give ground. Thora has risen to her knee, the wreckage of the smaller lizard strewn around her, thick crimson rivers staining her hunting leathers and pattering to the ground. One of the thing’s claws has laid her cheek open to the bone, white peeking out under a gory hanging flap of skin.

Jack skids to a halt in front of her, shadow boiling around her feet. She grabs Thora’s hand, trying to pull her up, but the other woman shakes her off.

“Go!” Thora says. Every word sprays blood across Jack. “Get out of here!”

“Go to the Rot,” Jack screams. She pulls harder, but Thora is a big woman and Jack is skinny as a rake. “Get up!”

I feel someone grab me from behind, pulling me unceremoniously to my feet. Zarun.

“Time to go, Deepwalker,” he says.

“Help…” I look around, past the slick of blood from Safiya’s mutilated body. The rest of our fighters, those still on their feet, are falling back toward the door. The huge monster-lizard rights itself and struggles to stand. “Help Thora.”

Zarun shakes his head. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

“I … can walk.” I gather my legs under me and push myself to my feet. It hurts, every motion stretching my powerburned skin, but I simply refuse to let the rising ocean of pain close over my face. “Help. Her.”

Zarun’s eyebrows go up, but finally he nods and runs for Thora. Between him and Jack, they get her up, and half-carry her toward the door, leaving a trail of blood. I follow them, moving as fast as I dare, legs shaky underneath me. If I fall again, I know I’m not getting back up. Bodies are strewn across my path, mixed with rotting chunks of lizard. Ylla lies facedown in a vast pool of blood, her throat torn away.

Behind me, the monster has regained its feet. I expect it to come charging after us, but instead it ducks its head, one side bubbled and scarred from Safiya’s final burst of fire. The few remaining smaller lizards cluster around it, watching us, but making no move.

He’s letting us go. I look up at the balcony, but the faceless figure is already gone.

If not for Aifin’s sense of direction, we’d never have found our way back to the entrance. The Jyashtani boy leads the way back out through the maze of corridors, until we emerge onto the face of the ziggurat. The sun is setting, painting the world golden as it descends toward the horizon.

At the base of the ramp, I call a halt. Most of the others collapse at once, but I stay on my feet, fearful that if I stop moving I won’t be able to start again. The pain is subsiding, a little, but I’m no stranger to powerburn, and I know that it won’t be long before the fever sets in.

Even so, I’m better off than some of the others. I do a quiet head count and come up with eleven.

“We didn’t…” I cough, and close my eyes for a moment. “Leave anyone? Anyone who was…”

Zarun shakes his head. He seems intact, though from the way he’s cradling one arm I suspect he’s suffering from powerburn as well.

“Ylla’s dead,” he says dully. “Vargora, Emmie, Mokash…”

“I didn’t see Safiya,” someone says. “On the way out.”

“Safiya—” My gorge rises. “Safiya’s dead.”

“Rotting Blessed,” someone else mutters.

“Zarun,” I say, taking a few steps away.

He comes over. Close up, his copper skin has faded to gray, and he looks nearly as dead on his feet as I feel.

“How many can walk?” I ask him.

“Aifin’s all right,” he says. “Bohtal. Kotaga. A couple of the others are torn up, but they’ll manage.” He lets out a breath. “Thora’s going to die.”

I look over at the big iceling woman. She’s leaning against a tree, breathing shallowly, as Jack attempts to bind her wounds with strips of her own rapidly shrinking garments.

“It’s a miracle she made it this far,” Zarun says. “We can’t carry her all the way back.”

“She’s your pack leader,” I mutter.

“And a damned good one.” He shakes his head. “But that’s not going to keep her from bleeding out, or stop those punctures from festering even if she makes it through the night.”

For some reason I remember Shiro—poor, stupid Shiro, who looked the wrong way and got a knife in the gut for his trouble. I’d killed him myself, a quick thrust to the heart. All the mercy I could offer, I’d told Hagan.