The Drowning City - Amanda Downum [108]
She’d ridden to the mountain dozens of times, but never walked there, let alone run. Her sandals chafed her feet raw, and she didn’t know how her legs kept moving. She thought she glimpsed someone in front of them, but it was hard to be sure through the darkness and flicker of the wards. The posts glowed fiercely, not their usual soft light; Zhirin doubted that was a good sign.
The ground sloped steeper and steeper as they neared the stair, and they scrambled and slid with every step. She heard hoofbeats again, close behind, but the riders would have to abandon their horses to follow any higher.
They hit the stairs and ran faster, despite stubbed toes and burning thighs. Someone was definitely climbing ahead of them, and they were gaining now.
“Wait!” Zhirin’s breath failed and she had to shout again.
The person paused, a slender silhouette against the witchlights.
“Xinai!” Isyllt called.
Another few steps and Zhirin recognized the mercenary. White as bone in the cold light, eyes lost in shadow. Isyllt’s ring blazed and Zhirin glanced around as if she might see the ghost.
Steel gleamed in Xinai’s hand. “Stay back.” Her voice was rough, cold as her blade.
Isyllt hesitated, one foot on the next step. “Don’t be a fool, Xinai. The mountain isn’t some little spirit you can tame. It’s not like the nakh.”
“Go, necromancer. This is none of your concern. Consider your life a gift for bringing me home.”
Isyllt’s breath hissed through her teeth. “You’re possessed.”
“No, just reunited. Leave, before I decide to take that ring away from you.”
Zhirin looked from Xinai to Isyllt. She had to stop this, but her mouth was too dry for words.
Footsteps scraped on stone below, and the tension broke and reformed. Isyllt cursed. Then golden witchlights blossomed all around them as Imran and Asheris climbed onto the landing.
The five of them stared at one another for a long moment, then Xinai bolted. Not up the stairs but down, dodging lithely around the startled mages.
“Kill the necromancer,” Imran said to Asheris. “I’ll take care of the Dai Tranh.”
Zhirin looked at Isyllt, whose face was a mask in the eerie light.
“Go on,” she said, calm and brittle.
Zhirin hesitated for a heartbeat, but her courage broke and she fled down the path after Imran and Xinai.
She caught up with them at the next landing. Xinai’s daggers gleamed, and Imran’s magic hung around him thick enough to make Zhirin’s skin tingle. He didn’t spare her a glance, but a tendril of power licked at her.
“Go home, girl,” he said. “And for Vasilios’s sake, I’ll spare you.”
Zhirin barely saw Xinai move before a dagger flickered toward Imran. Only to clatter to the stones a yard shy of its target. He gestured in turn and Xinai stiffened and stumbled, one hand rising to her throat.
Zhirin stared as the woman’s face darkened, her own hand lifting in unwitting accompaniment. She could help Isyllt while Imran was distracted, or climb to the crater and try to stop the Ki Dai. The mercenary had chosen this.
But she couldn’t walk away. People had already died tonight, ancestors only knew how many, Dai Tranh and Tigers and whoever else was unlucky enough to be in the way. More would doubtless die before dawn. But she couldn’t walk away from this.
“Leave her alone.” Her voice nearly broke.
Imran frowned and glared over his shoulder. “I told you to go.” He’d probably never had an apprentice talk back to him before; it nearly made her laugh.
“And I told you to let her be. Killing her won’t stop the others. Worry about the mountain.”
“Don’t dictate priorities to me, girl. The rebels are the danger here—and after tonight, we won’t have to waste our time with them any longer.”
She didn’t argue, only drew her magic to her. The incredulous look on his face was almost worth what was sure to be her quick demise. The river was too far away to answer her here;