Logan turns to look at me, his blue eyes lit with something I now recognize as uniquely mine. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
The torch is embedded in the heart of the tree, far below the tall canopy of branches. He strikes flint at it, and fire blazes immediately, throwing shadows over his face as he waits.
I melt back into the forest a few yards, far enough that I can’t be seen by anyone approaching Logan, but close enough that I can still see and hear what is going on, and climb into a tree. It takes two hours, but we finally see the Commander and the eight surviving members of his Brute Squad stride across the perimeter toward the tree.
It’s too easy. Surely the Commander suspects treachery. He knows Logan escaped. He must wonder if Melkin could really carry out his assignment against me. And yet he walks toward us as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, and seconds later, a team of guards slide out of the eastern Wasteland and converge on Logan.
No wonder it took two hours. The Commander needed time for his guards to exit the gate, enter the Wasteland, and circle around behind us. It’s a trap, but we knew it would be. The Commander never meant to keep the one who delivered the package alive. We just never realized there would be so many. Logan thought the Brute Squad would be all the Commander deemed necessary to take down the one insignificant person delivering his precious package.
Logan turns, sweeps the ranks of guards behind him with a glance, and tightens his grip on the staff.
We’d planned for Logan to fall back during the confusion of the Cursed One’s arrival, but there are too many guards behind him. He has nowhere to go. He can’t call the Cursed One and survive unless he shimmies up the oak and starts tree-leaping. In our planning, that was a last resort, as there are too many ways that could end in disaster. The moment he diverts his attention to climbing the tree and avoiding the lit torch sticking out of its belly, the Commander could kill him. Any one of the guards could kill him. No, he’ll need to talk his way out. Find a way to use the device for leverage. Maybe admit it’s a fake and get the Commander to leave him alive because he knows where the real one is.
All of those are flimsy excuses for a plan. They won’t work. Any of them. I can’t think of a way out, but surely Logan can. He always can. I strain to see him past the three rows of uniform-clad backs between us.
The Commander reaches him, but stays several feet back. Logan is looking at the ground, but I see the moment he comes up with a plan. His shoulders straighten. He lifts his head, throws back his hood, and looks the Commander in the eye.
Then he slams the staff into the ground.
My fury at the Commander dissolves into terror for Logan. He hasn’t made a new plan. He’s called the Cursed One with almost no chance of escape, and now he’s going to die in front of me.
My fingers shake as I snatch the device out of my cloak pocket.
The Commander laughs, a cruel sound smearing the morning air with malice. “Logan McEntire. I suppose you think I’m surprised to see you instead of Melkin.”
First two buttons together turn the beast east. Bottom two buttons turn it west. I wish my hands would stop trembling.
Logan holds up the fake device. “I brought what you want. But it’s going to cost you.”
The Commander’s smile is full of hate. “No. It’s going to cost you.” He waves the guards forward. Swords gleam, an impossibly thick row of sharp silver teeth reaching for Logan. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to me. To all of Baalboden. It’s been nineteen years of waiting for my investment to pay off, and I can’t wait to rid my city of the stench of you.”
I forget the device for a moment as the Commander’s words sink in, and Logan goes pale. What does he mean, he’s been waiting for this? No one knew when Logan was born that one day he’d be in this position. A tremor runs through the earth. I can’t think of the Commander’s words right now. I have bigger problems.
My hands are clammy as I grip the device. Top and bottom buttons send it north. All three send it south.
The ground shakes. A distant roar surges closer. The guards stumble to a halt and look around, fear on their faces.
“You’re going to die.” Logan’s voice rings out clearly.
The Commander’s smile snags on his scar and morphs into a predatory mask. He lunges for Logan, snatches the fake tech from his hands, and backs away. The guards back away as well, their swords raised as if they can protect themselves from what’s coming, but there are still too many of them between Logan and safety.
The ground cracks. The guards run. The Commander laughs. And Logan turns to leap into the oak tree as the Cursed One explodes into the air, black scales clinking together in deafening harmony, his mouth already spewing orange streams of fire.
Clumps of ground, roots, and branches fly through the air, a shower of debris that knocks a few guards flat on their backs. I check for the Commander’s location, and try to breathe through the panic seizing my chest.
North. I need to send the beast north. My mind goes blank for a crucial second, and the creature roars at the oak tree, sending the entire thing up in flames.
“Logan!” I scream, racing along my branch toward where I last saw him.
He’s already leaping clear. The guards behind him have abandoned their positions and are running for their lives. Logan races into the forest, sees me, and yells, “North! Send it north!”
My fingers find the top and bottom buttons before my brain can translate the thought. The beast surges toward the Commander as he flees toward the northern edge of the city’s Wall. Fire leaps from the creature’s mouth. Two members of the Brute Squad are incinerated and then crushed beneath the thing’s monstrous length as it races forward. Now nothing stands between it and the Commander.
“Yes.”
The torch is embedded in the heart of the tree, far below the tall canopy of branches. He strikes flint at it, and fire blazes immediately, throwing shadows over his face as he waits.
I melt back into the forest a few yards, far enough that I can’t be seen by anyone approaching Logan, but close enough that I can still see and hear what is going on, and climb into a tree. It takes two hours, but we finally see the Commander and the eight surviving members of his Brute Squad stride across the perimeter toward the tree.
It’s too easy. Surely the Commander suspects treachery. He knows Logan escaped. He must wonder if Melkin could really carry out his assignment against me. And yet he walks toward us as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
The hair on the back of my neck rises, and seconds later, a team of guards slide out of the eastern Wasteland and converge on Logan.
No wonder it took two hours. The Commander needed time for his guards to exit the gate, enter the Wasteland, and circle around behind us. It’s a trap, but we knew it would be. The Commander never meant to keep the one who delivered the package alive. We just never realized there would be so many. Logan thought the Brute Squad would be all the Commander deemed necessary to take down the one insignificant person delivering his precious package.
Logan turns, sweeps the ranks of guards behind him with a glance, and tightens his grip on the staff.
We’d planned for Logan to fall back during the confusion of the Cursed One’s arrival, but there are too many guards behind him. He has nowhere to go. He can’t call the Cursed One and survive unless he shimmies up the oak and starts tree-leaping. In our planning, that was a last resort, as there are too many ways that could end in disaster. The moment he diverts his attention to climbing the tree and avoiding the lit torch sticking out of its belly, the Commander could kill him. Any one of the guards could kill him. No, he’ll need to talk his way out. Find a way to use the device for leverage. Maybe admit it’s a fake and get the Commander to leave him alive because he knows where the real one is.
All of those are flimsy excuses for a plan. They won’t work. Any of them. I can’t think of a way out, but surely Logan can. He always can. I strain to see him past the three rows of uniform-clad backs between us.
The Commander reaches him, but stays several feet back. Logan is looking at the ground, but I see the moment he comes up with a plan. His shoulders straighten. He lifts his head, throws back his hood, and looks the Commander in the eye.
Then he slams the staff into the ground.
My fury at the Commander dissolves into terror for Logan. He hasn’t made a new plan. He’s called the Cursed One with almost no chance of escape, and now he’s going to die in front of me.
My fingers shake as I snatch the device out of my cloak pocket.
The Commander laughs, a cruel sound smearing the morning air with malice. “Logan McEntire. I suppose you think I’m surprised to see you instead of Melkin.”
First two buttons together turn the beast east. Bottom two buttons turn it west. I wish my hands would stop trembling.
Logan holds up the fake device. “I brought what you want. But it’s going to cost you.”
The Commander’s smile is full of hate. “No. It’s going to cost you.” He waves the guards forward. Swords gleam, an impossibly thick row of sharp silver teeth reaching for Logan. “You’ve outlived your usefulness to me. To all of Baalboden. It’s been nineteen years of waiting for my investment to pay off, and I can’t wait to rid my city of the stench of you.”
I forget the device for a moment as the Commander’s words sink in, and Logan goes pale. What does he mean, he’s been waiting for this? No one knew when Logan was born that one day he’d be in this position. A tremor runs through the earth. I can’t think of the Commander’s words right now. I have bigger problems.
My hands are clammy as I grip the device. Top and bottom buttons send it north. All three send it south.
The ground shakes. A distant roar surges closer. The guards stumble to a halt and look around, fear on their faces.
“You’re going to die.” Logan’s voice rings out clearly.
The Commander’s smile snags on his scar and morphs into a predatory mask. He lunges for Logan, snatches the fake tech from his hands, and backs away. The guards back away as well, their swords raised as if they can protect themselves from what’s coming, but there are still too many of them between Logan and safety.
The ground cracks. The guards run. The Commander laughs. And Logan turns to leap into the oak tree as the Cursed One explodes into the air, black scales clinking together in deafening harmony, his mouth already spewing orange streams of fire.
Clumps of ground, roots, and branches fly through the air, a shower of debris that knocks a few guards flat on their backs. I check for the Commander’s location, and try to breathe through the panic seizing my chest.
North. I need to send the beast north. My mind goes blank for a crucial second, and the creature roars at the oak tree, sending the entire thing up in flames.
“Logan!” I scream, racing along my branch toward where I last saw him.
He’s already leaping clear. The guards behind him have abandoned their positions and are running for their lives. Logan races into the forest, sees me, and yells, “North! Send it north!”
My fingers find the top and bottom buttons before my brain can translate the thought. The beast surges toward the Commander as he flees toward the northern edge of the city’s Wall. Fire leaps from the creature’s mouth. Two members of the Brute Squad are incinerated and then crushed beneath the thing’s monstrous length as it races forward. Now nothing stands between it and the Commander.
