The Forgotten Way (Champions of the Crystal Book 6)

Chapter 7: Out of Time

Everything seemed to slow down. Sabrina's breath caught in her throat as she thought about all the things she had left undone and unsaid—to Scotty, to Mara, to Tirqwin and Khediva, to Ford, to everyone. She thought about Scotty's children she would never see.

And she thought, I will not go quietly.

She didn't plan, just reacted. A burst of adrenaline brought her to her feet, despite the grip on her hair that threatened to tear it out by the roots. With a shout, she kicked out at the nearest of her captors and tried to throw the one holding her off balance by lunging back against him. It was a short, nasty fight, and Sabrina was streaked with blood when it was over. She wasn't the only one, though. The thought gave her a glimmer of satisfaction that was almost worth the pain.

The leader yelled until everyone was back in place. Then he faced the recorder again, speaking more quickly, obviously angry. He gestured to Sabrina, then turned and stepped to one side, presenting his profile to the recorder without blocking its view of her. He said one short sentence, and his followers shouted it back. Then he raised the long knife.

Sabrina had had occasion to ponder her last words before, so she was surprised to realize, now that the moment had come, she didn't have anything to say. She had fought, but she had lost. She wasn't dying for a cause, at least not her own. It seemed unbearably unfair.

She looked her executioner in the eye, determined not to make this easy for him. When he came close enough, she spat at him. He gave her a feral grin and thrust the knife forward.

Sabrina's eyes closed involuntarily as gore splattered in her face, and when she fell to the floor she was surprised that it hurt. Her ears rang. It took her a moment to realize that it was blaster fire rather than the imminent loss of consciousness.

"Get up. Hurry!" Ford said, pulling on her arm.

"Untie me," she replied, rolling a little so he could see her bound wrists.

"How badly are you hurt?" he asked, pulling in vain at the knot.

"I don't know. Fractured rib, maybe."

He stopped and looked closely at her. "A little concussion too, I'll bet."

"Wouldn't surprise me. You almost left it too late. Where's Stecklan?"

"He'll be along. I set a diversionary fire on the other side of this camp, so these fellows won't be getting reinforcements, but we have to hurry."

Sabrina managed to sit up and nearly passed out as she realized that she was wearing bits of the leader's brain. "His knife," she said faintly.

Ford picked up the knife, wiped the handle dry, and cut the rope. "Okay. Just breathe. Don't throw up; you're already a mess."

"Gee, thanks."

Ford carefully helped her to her feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah," she breathed, looking around. The four men were obviously dead, with gaping close-range blaster wounds to the head. She swallowed hard; it seemed unlike Ford to kill so deliberately. "When did you get to be such a good shot?"

"I've practiced," he said grimly.

She looked at him for the first time. He seemed older to her in the stress of the moment, his faced lined and his eyes flat and hard with anger. They softened a little as he looked at her, and his crooked grin emerged. "You're a sight for sore eyes, Sabrina. Do you want to change clothes? You can have my tunic."

"Thanks." She began pulling at her blood-soaked outfit, then stopped, wincing in pain. "Uh, on second thought, let's just go."

"You can't wear that. They have tracking animals," Ford said. "Can you lift your arms?"