Page 104 of Starside

He does too. But it becomes all too clear that this isn’t his sword. It belongs to someone far stronger. He’s being allowed to use it.

Whose is it? The lord that’s supposed to be appearing any second?

I don’t ever want to learn the answer. I’m not going in that damned hole.

The mud keeps turning. The pit keeps deepening. My voice goes hoarse as I roar, battling the blade’s vise enough to fully turn.

And take a step.

The immortal inhales sharply. His eyes narrow. His skin cracks as he trembles, yellowed teeth gritted, battling my will. But I think about all the gods have taken from me. And my fury?

It’s deeper than this gorge. It could fill universes and galaxies and overflow the fucking ocean, and this immortal has no idea what he’s up against.

Because I will not back down. Ever. Even if it kills me.

I take another step, bellowing.

He bares his teeth at me.

I bare mine back.

He tightens his hold.

I lunge.

He loses his grip.

And I don’t hesitate. I rip my own weapon from his foot and thrust it through his chest in one smooth motion. He falls to his knees, taking me down with him. I reach for his blade—

But he reaches it first.

I wrench my metal from his ribs and retreat, panic gripping my heart. But instead of trying to kill me, he uses his final burst of strength to throw that sword into the hole. The dirt swallows it, before going still.

He slumps forward, dead.

Ears ringing, blood roaring, I stumble back, trip over a root, and hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from my lungs.

My muscles ache. I’m covered in blood and gore and dirt. I gasp for air, my pulse racing, late-afternoon sun scorching my skin.

This couldn’t get any fucking worse, I think.

Then Harlan Raker fills my vision.

He peers down at me with little concern. He’s not out of breath, from running to me. He isn’t already holding his weapon. No, if anything, by the set of his wide shoulders, he looks almost bored.

My voice is a choked rasp. “You were—you were just standing there?” He didn’t just conveniently arrive. No. He’s been here for a while, hasn’t he? I can almost imagine him leaned against a tree, arms crossed, watching as I fought for my life.

Doing absolutely fucking nothing.

Of course he ignores me. His head dips, and I feel his gaze like a brand as he looks me over. “How much of that blood is yours?”

“None of it,” I spit, glaring daggers at him, still trying to find my breath. He studies me for another moment. Two.

“Good,” he finally says. “Get up.”

19

Harlan Raker is such an ass. I could have been killed. And then what? Would he have just shrugged, cut down whoever killed me, and continued the journey with two swords on his back?