Page 55 of Brimstone
We passed door after door. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades as I pumped my arms, pushing harder.
Ten.
Nine.
“Wait,” Carrion panted.
Eight.
“The plan. Why didn’t you tell me what came after the hall?”
Seven.
“Because I knew . . . you wouldn’tlikeit,” I grunted.
Six.
Five.
“Fisher?”
Four.
“Fisher, why are we sprinting straight for that window?”
Three.
He started to slow, but I grabbed him by the back of the armor Renfis had lent him, and I held on tight.
Two.
“Pick up your fuckingfeet, Your Highness,” I snarled.
One.
I threw him out of the window.
Howling, dry wind ripped at my clothes as I launched out of the damned thing after him.
“Fuck you, Fisher!”Even hurtling toward the ground at a rate of knots, the smuggler still didn’t shut up.
I reached for Carrion and a rope made of smoke and flashing black sand erupted from my hand, zipping through the air and lashing around the male’s ankles.
Below, the tops of faded red tents rushed up to greet us. Grains of sand stung my eyes, but I kept them open so I could judge when to act.
The fall was easy.
Quick.
Sixty feet from the ground, I reached for my secondary magic and prayed that it answered. It was fickle and often off wandering when I called. Luck was on my side today, though. I pictured a vast net stretching across the wide street below, and the crosshatched rope began to lash and twine across the gap.
It anchored to the roof of the building on the left. One corner of it anchored to the building on the right—
Shit.
Carrion hit the net. The rope sagged in the middle, cushioning his weight. By the time I landed after him, the anchor point on the roof of the right building was hanging on by a thread.
It snapped.
