Page 91 of Mother of Death and Dawn

Moments of distraction. Seconds of opportunity.

“Run,” Sammerin panted. “I can’t control it. Its flesh won’t listen to me.”

I helped Ishqa get to his knees. He was barely conscious.

“Can you walk?” I grunted.

If he couldn’t, I didn’t know what we were going to do.

Another shriek cut through the air. I looked up and let out a gasp of horror. The creature had discarded another soldier, and now held Viktor in its grasp.

I was leaping after him before I could even think. But just as quickly, a familiar wall of warmth surrounded me. Max’s arm gripped me around my shoulders, pulling me against him.

“You can’t.” His voice was low in my ear. “I’m sorry. You can’t.”

By the time the words were out of Max’s lips, Viktor was in pieces.

“Let’s go!” A cart rumbled beside us. The long-haired man—Max’s brother?—was in the driver’s seat. He could barely control the panicking horse. “Now. Fast.”

Seconds, while that thing was distracted by the guards. The cart didn’t even come to a stop. We leapt into it. Ishqa barely managed to lift himself onto the incline, and Max and Brayan had to drag him onto the deck.

The base rushed past us as the cart rumbled over uneven paths, rattling after the increasingly frantic horse. We weren’t staying on the road.

Crack!The cart jolted as a wheel began to give out, caught on the uneven terrain. Ahead, the forest loomed. We would never make it. Even if we did, the cart couldn’t go there.

“We need to Stratagram out of here,” I said, voice raised. “Now!”

“I can’t,” Max said, looking down, and I followed his gaze to the blistering black Stratagram tattoos peeking from under his sleeve. My stomach fell. I couldn’t either. Not reliably. I still didn’t understand what determined when my magic worked or didn’t.

Across the base, the creature dropped the final dead soldier. Turned to us.

Max’s brother hissed a curse. He notched a bow, let an arrow fly.

It did nothing. The monster was now running.

CRACK!

The cart floor fell several inches as our frantic horse tried and failed to drag it over root-riddled dirt.

I peered over my shoulder. “Sammerin?”

He cringed. “I can’t take five people.”

“I can fly.” Ishqa could barely speak. He pushed himself slowly to his feet.

“No, you can’t—”

“I can,” he said, firmly. Then, to Sammerin. “Four people.”

Sammerin muttered a curse. He withdrew parchment.

The monster barreled towards us, shrieking, light collecting in its abdomen.

“Quickly, Sammerin,” I murmured.

“I know,” he snapped.

I grabbed Sammerin’s arm in one hand, Max’s in the other. Max hurled his spear from the back of the cart, a streak of fire at its tip, then he gripped his brother’s wrist, linking all of us together.

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