blow before Valin got his bow between his stomach and Simon’s sword. Simon still drew blood, but not nearly enough to drop the man permanently.
Simon didn’t glance back at the hourglass. He didn’t need to; only a few seconds had passed. He would either kill the Incarnation and pass, or die. In that light, failing to earn the ghost armor didn’t seem like such a problem.
Valin struck at Simon with the butt of his bow, forcing Simon to back off a step. He didn’t want to—his only hope lay in continuous attack—but if he had remained close, the Incarnation would have simply bludgeoned him to death and accepted his stomach wound in return.
But the Wanderer was pursuing him now, rushing at him and swinging the bow two-handed like a hammer, and now he was on the back foot again, forced to swing wildly and turn each of Valin’s attacks. If he had been using Azura, the Incarnation would have been too close, inside Simon’s reach. But maybe if he could find a way to back up and into Azura, he could scoop the longer blade up and use it to create exactly the right distance…
There was a sharp, burning pain on the backs of his thighs, and he stumbled and landed flat on his back. The rest of the Nye essence flooded out of his lungs in a starlight cloud, the world lurching back to normal speed.
Above him, the Incarnation’s black-and-silver eyes stared pitilessly into his own. One chain-shrouded arm drew back the steel cable, and a white arrow traced itself in midair, pointed straight at Simon’s chest.
“What do you want, Simon?” Valin asked.
Simon almost didn’t hear the question. He scrabbled backwards on his elbows, pushing his heels against the grass, trying instinctively to get away. Maybe if he could reach Azura, he could launch another attack, or even slip out of the room until his Nye essence recovered…
Valin drew the string of his bow back farther, and Simon froze. “ What do you want?”
“I want to live!” Simon blurted, trying to stay as still as possible even though he was propped up on trembling hands.
The Wanderer leaned over his bow, the mirrored circles of his eyes gleaming. “Why?”
Simon hesitated. Did Valin want an answer from him? What did he want to hear? How was Simon supposed to get out of this without a doll or the mask?
Valin made a disgusted sound and kicked Simon hard in the ribs, leaving a flash of pain that flooded Simon’s gut even through the steel. His body flipped over with the impact, landing face-down in the grass, and Simon curled up around his stomach.
He heard the creaking of a steel cord bending, and then something was burning his neck. It was actually burning, as though Valin had pressed a red-hot poker against the base of his skull. Simon squirmed, pressing his cheek into the soil to escape that horrible pain, but the Wanderer rested a heavy foot on Simon’s back. He simply couldn’t move enough.
He smelled char and smoke, and realized with horror that they must be coming from the burning hairs on his neck.
Simon couldn’t help but keep thinking of a way out. That was what he had made of himself. He’d spent almost two years of relative time inside Valinhall, and in all that time he had embedded in himself a core belief: death was everywhere, all the time, but there was always a way out.
He didn’t give up. But somewhere, deep in a place that he didn’t like to think about, he realized that this was the end. He couldn’t help but picture the arrow, burning through the base of his skull, leaving a mutilated corpse for the Nye to find. The Agnos family would eventually realize he had died. They might put up a headstone for him here…it had never occurred to him before, but he wouldn’t be buried next to his family. He would be here, in a Territory with only a handful of Travelers, and no one to remember him.
Would Leah care? Would Alin even notice? What about Kai?
Still, part of him kept thinking of tactics— maybe I could summon a little Nye
Simon didn’t glance back at the hourglass. He didn’t need to; only a few seconds had passed. He would either kill the Incarnation and pass, or die. In that light, failing to earn the ghost armor didn’t seem like such a problem.
Valin struck at Simon with the butt of his bow, forcing Simon to back off a step. He didn’t want to—his only hope lay in continuous attack—but if he had remained close, the Incarnation would have simply bludgeoned him to death and accepted his stomach wound in return.
But the Wanderer was pursuing him now, rushing at him and swinging the bow two-handed like a hammer, and now he was on the back foot again, forced to swing wildly and turn each of Valin’s attacks. If he had been using Azura, the Incarnation would have been too close, inside Simon’s reach. But maybe if he could find a way to back up and into Azura, he could scoop the longer blade up and use it to create exactly the right distance…
There was a sharp, burning pain on the backs of his thighs, and he stumbled and landed flat on his back. The rest of the Nye essence flooded out of his lungs in a starlight cloud, the world lurching back to normal speed.
Above him, the Incarnation’s black-and-silver eyes stared pitilessly into his own. One chain-shrouded arm drew back the steel cable, and a white arrow traced itself in midair, pointed straight at Simon’s chest.
“What do you want, Simon?” Valin asked.
Simon almost didn’t hear the question. He scrabbled backwards on his elbows, pushing his heels against the grass, trying instinctively to get away. Maybe if he could reach Azura, he could launch another attack, or even slip out of the room until his Nye essence recovered…
Valin drew the string of his bow back farther, and Simon froze. “ What do you want?”
“I want to live!” Simon blurted, trying to stay as still as possible even though he was propped up on trembling hands.
The Wanderer leaned over his bow, the mirrored circles of his eyes gleaming. “Why?”
Simon hesitated. Did Valin want an answer from him? What did he want to hear? How was Simon supposed to get out of this without a doll or the mask?
Valin made a disgusted sound and kicked Simon hard in the ribs, leaving a flash of pain that flooded Simon’s gut even through the steel. His body flipped over with the impact, landing face-down in the grass, and Simon curled up around his stomach.
He heard the creaking of a steel cord bending, and then something was burning his neck. It was actually burning, as though Valin had pressed a red-hot poker against the base of his skull. Simon squirmed, pressing his cheek into the soil to escape that horrible pain, but the Wanderer rested a heavy foot on Simon’s back. He simply couldn’t move enough.
He smelled char and smoke, and realized with horror that they must be coming from the burning hairs on his neck.
Simon couldn’t help but keep thinking of a way out. That was what he had made of himself. He’d spent almost two years of relative time inside Valinhall, and in all that time he had embedded in himself a core belief: death was everywhere, all the time, but there was always a way out.
He didn’t give up. But somewhere, deep in a place that he didn’t like to think about, he realized that this was the end. He couldn’t help but picture the arrow, burning through the base of his skull, leaving a mutilated corpse for the Nye to find. The Agnos family would eventually realize he had died. They might put up a headstone for him here…it had never occurred to him before, but he wouldn’t be buried next to his family. He would be here, in a Territory with only a handful of Travelers, and no one to remember him.
Would Leah care? Would Alin even notice? What about Kai?
Still, part of him kept thinking of tactics— maybe I could summon a little Nye
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