Page 32 of Rook
A roaring wall of flame erupted at the northern edge of the camp, leaping thirty feet into the air. The heat from it washed over her face even at that distance, and she instinctively ducked lower against the ground. An alarm blared through the camp, a high-pitched wailing that set her teeth on edge.
For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then two slavers broke away from their positions, running toward the conflagration with fluid, predatory grace. A third followed, moving more cautiously.
The rest remained at their posts, including the guards at the prisoner tent.
Come on, Sasha silently urged. Take the bait.
Anxiety coiled in her stomach. What if Rook's plan wouldn't work? What if she was stuck up there, watching uselessly while he fought alone?
A massive explosion ripped through the air, so violent it shook the ground beneath her. She clapped her hands over her ears, wincing as a shower of debris and sparks rained down on the camp. The remaining slavers shouted to each other in their strange, guttural language, voices sharp with alarm.
One by one, they abandoned their posts, racing toward the growing chaos at the north end. Even the guards at the prisoner tent seemed torn, their heads swiveling between their duty and the battle unfolding in the distance.
Sasha watched with her breath held, muscles tensed and ready to move. She was still waiting for Rook's signal. Her body vibrated with the need to rush in, to help, to do something, but she knew rushing without coordination would only make things worse.
The slavers in front of the human's tent were arguing. Sasha watched as one turned and ran towards the chaos.
One down. One left.
She could handle one.
Then three booms, one right after the other.
Her sign.
Sasha was moving before her brain fully registered the signal. She slid down the loose dirt of the canyon wall, half-climbing, half-falling, her hands grabbing at sparse vegetation to slow her descent. Rocks tumbled beside her, a miniature avalanche that she prayed wouldn't attract attention.
Her boots hit the canyon floor with a jarring impact that shot pain up her shins. No time to recover. She darted from shadow to shadow, crouching behind stacks of metal crates and the curved walls of alien tents. The smell of smoke and something chemical hung thick in the air, coating the back of her throat.
Every few seconds, she froze, listening for footsteps or alien voices. The sounds of battle grew louder from the north end, punctuated by what could only be Rook's roars of challenge.
She pulled out her gun with shaking hands.
Steady. You need to be steady.
She crept forward, keeping low, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. More explosions rocked the camp, and she saw slavers running toward the source, their forms silhouetted against the fiery glow. More than she'd expected. It seemed like they were all converging on the northern perimeter.
With a jolt, she realized why: they all wanted the glory of taking down a dragon lord. Rook wasn't just a threat, he was a prize.
She wasn't going to let that happen.
Sasha rounded the corner of a tent, her mind fixed on the prisoners just yards away, when a solid wall of muscle slammed into her. She stumbled backward, raising her gun on pure instinct as she found herself face-to-face with one of the slavers.
His eyes widened, glowing yellow with shock that matched her own. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other, frozen in mutual surprise. Then his hand rose, fingers splaying as a weak, sputtering flame flickered to life in his palm.
Sasha didn't think. Her finger squeezed the trigger.
The gun kicked in her hand, the report deafening in the close quarters. The slaver's head snapped back, a look of stunned disbelief crossing his features before he crumpled to the ground.
He went down hard.
Bile rose in Sasha's throat, the sudden need to barf. Oh, god. She shot him.
Her hands trembled violently now, the gun suddenly too heavy. She'd never shot anything but paper targets. Never seen that moment when a bullet found flesh, when life drained from eyes.
But she couldn't stop. Not now. Not when she was so close.
She staggered a few feet away, dropped to her knees, and vomited onto the packed dirt. Her stomach heaved, emptying itself in painful spasms. When there was nothing left, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, the sour taste lingering on her tongue.
