The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 42

At once, a gasp of pain escapes my lips and I stagger back.

The point of a sword is lodged in my shoulder. As I watch, it is slowly withdrawn and I marvel in wide-eyed fascination at the patch of blood that forms. I look up, taking another step back as the King emerges from the shadows. His broad form slips free of the passage, trapping me in the bunker.

I lurch backward, clutching my injured arm. My fingers come away covered in blood. I stare past my blood-soaked hand and up at the King, tall and imposing as he moves purposely toward me, the red-tipped sword grasped tightly in his fist.

"I might have known you would find me down here." His pupil-less eyes are cold, bulging wide and filled with fury. "You couldn't leave well enough alone, could you?"

I stumble on my weak leg and my back smacks hard against a wall. I stretch out my arm and grapple madly for the entrance, wincing when I find it out of reach. The King glances over at the rust-coloured stain my blood-drenched fingers leave on the stone, licking his fleshy lips.

"Why won't you just die already?" he snarls. "I can't understand it. How is it that an ignorant commoner has come to be the greatest bane of my existence?" He adjusts the sword in his hand, levelling the deadly tip at me. "Tell me, Runner. What do I have to do in order to finally be rid of you?"

My eyes flick down and up again. "My family is dead because of you."

His nostrils flare, the ends of his grey moustache pulling tight across his cheeks. "You will join them."

"It doesn't matter," I tell him. "You can kill me, but I promise you that it won't make a bit of difference. The people have revolted; they don't want you anymore. Get used to this tomb, Francis. It is the only place you are welcome." Behind my back, I grip my dagger in a trembling hand.

The point of the sword rotates at my throat but I keep my eyes trained on his, directing every ounce of hate and pain within me into his soulless eyes.

"Insolent peasant," he rasps.

I note with satisfaction that some of the colour has drained from his face.

"You don't realize what it is you have done." His deep voice is strained. "You are ignorant of this world. The people need a leader. Without me, they are nothing. You have unleashed a roving pack of mindless drones on this city, and sooner or later they will turn on each other; it is only a matter of time."

"You misunderstand me." I grimace and clutch more tightly at my shoulder, ignoring the sensation of something running between my fingers. "They will have a leader—it just won't be you." I draw a breath, gathering my strength. "You have been revealed for who you truly are: a failure. You're a heartless coward, hiding in the cellar of a ruined Palace. Your own people have cast you out and will kill you on sight. This is what your cruelty and selfishness has wrought. You have no one to blame for your downfall but yourself."

An inhuman cry escapes his lips and he lunges at me, arcing the sword toward my heart. I bring my dagger up and parry his blade, sidestepping him and diving to the ground. He stumbles, tripping over my flayed legs before he rights himself and stabs downward madly.

I turn onto my back and parry again, bringing my elbow up and smashing it into his cheekbone. My shoulder tears painfully at the movement and I roll away, desperately trying to scramble out from under him.

"You bitch." He staggers back, recovers quickly and swipes again, raking the sword across my side.

I kick out, connecting with something solid as I fight to get back on my feet. My hands lose purchase on the slick stone and I switch tactics, trying to use my back as leverage against the wall in order to rise. I look up to see the King limping back in my direction, his sword raised and glinting in the dim light.