Page 162 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

Zander presses the square block and a passage opens up through the wall.

I take a deep breath and amble through, my form’s broad shoulders so wide, the metal armor scrapes across the stone. This beast body feels so real.

I stifle my gasp as a Saur’goth warrior steps out, his sword drawn. He’s the only guard at this entrance from what I can see, though, which is a bonus.

“You’re late!” he barks.

“I got lost.” It’s a vague enough response.

By his grunt, it seems like an acceptable one. “Report to command for your position.”

“Where?”

“The tower above the square.”

I stifle a curse. Exactly where I need to go, and where I saw the bulk of those hostages.

“What are you waiting for!” He’s already turning away.

“For him.” I step aside and Zander’s blade swings out, cleaving through the beast’s throat with a precise swing. The Saur’goth falls to the ground with a clatter.

A curt whistle sounds and our line moves stealthily inside, splitting in two rows and spreading out, looking for the next threat.

“Their general leads from the tower above the square. He will raise the alarm if he sees us,” Zander whispers.

“Oseph will take care of him.” Solange nods to one of her Shadows, who, she explained earlier is like Fatima, with an affinity to fire and a talent for manipulating the oxygen needed in that split second before the burn to freeze an individual.

“We move for the tunnels now. You know the plan.” Zander nods. “Good luck.”

She dips her head. “May the fates be merciful.” They vanish down the path.

Zander gestures in the opposite direction, settling his hand on my shoulder. The others follow suit until we’ve formed a train. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

The closest underground tunnel entrance Lord Telor mapped out is inside a bakery, only fifty feet away, but the alley to get there feels like five hundred as we step around debris and slain Islorians and over the sprawled legs of enemy warriors, asleep propped against walls. We may be concealed, but we’re not invincible—a fact I’m reminded of when I accidentally kick a Saur’goth’s boot, stirring them awake with a confused snarl.

The second we’ve stepped into the empty bakery, I release the cloak and sigh heavily.

Zander presses a finger to his mouth, then points to the shattered windowpane.

I fill the space with my gargantuan Saur’goth form while Jarek slides his palm along the brick wall, searching for the trigger.

“We could really use Lucretia right about now,” Zander whispers.

I agree, but hopefully the sylx is proving useful with gathering information in Cirilea.

A click sounds and a panel in the wall next to the oven swings open. Abarrane snaps her fingers to beckon us and then disappears down the narrow stairs.

“You will not fit like that,” Zander whispers.

I slide off my mask. “Neither will the Saur’goth soldiers, which means these tunnels are clear.”

He smiles, ushering me ahead of him. “Exactly.”

The five of us rush down, Elisaf shutting the secret door behind him.

“Not exactly.” I freeze at the bottom of the steps, Jarek herding me to stand behind him with a wordless swat of his hand against my thigh.

Abarrane is pinned against a wall with three swords aimed at her throat, her chest, and no more than an inch from her eye. Torchlight flickers in the tunnel, revealing a huddle of guards surrounding us. More guards stretch out beyond them, lining the wall. The air is rank with urine and sweat.

---