As the sun makes its slow way to the western horizon, Azmar compares charts with others. I watch them, trying to understand their conversation, but I soon find my attention drawn to the canyon, wondering if any strange beast or monster will climb out of it, trying to see beyond its shadows to the river deep below. I can’t, even shielding the sunlight from my face. I search the other direction and think I see a glint of something where the canyon widens before it turns, but it could be a climbing bud or embedded stone. But I imagine it’s the river, that the canyon is clear and monster-free, and that I am in some long canoe, rafting down it, beyond the other trollis city and far from this land, to where the drought doesn’t reach. Where a city greater than Eterellis awaits on the other side of the world, and perhaps there, humans and trollis get along splendidly.
I snap from the daydream and catch movement not far down the canyon, on the east side, a shifting of shadows. Thinking it rare game, I stand on the parapet and peer outward, the sun glowing at my back. The shadows scatter and head away from the bridge, and in their scramble I see defined human arms, legs, and heads.
Azmar must have noticed, for he says, “Lark?”
I bite the inside of my lip, wondering what I should say. These trollis are engineers, though military trained . . . Would they harm these folk?
Did these shadows mean to harm the trollis, before I spotted them? What other reason would they have to hide?
“Humans,” I murmur, pointing. “There’s a band of them, there. They ran when I stood.”
Alarm crosses the faces of the engineers, and nearby, Homper springs to attention, pulling a club the length of my leg from his back. Several of the engineers drop their tools and notes. Even Azmar looks worried.
One engineer, named Dart, says, “Southwind formation, split three.” Then, to Homper, “Alert a rear guard.”
Dart is not one of Homper’s colleagues, but his caste is higher, so Homper immediately turns for the city and starts yelling to the guard barracks.
I jump from the parapet, heart thumping, worried I’ve just sent my own kind to their deaths. “Azmar?”
“They’ll be captured and questioned, if we can catch up,” Azmar says, low and quick, as half the engineers, armed with Homper’s weapons, rush in the direction the shadows went. “Hopefully they surrender and no blood will be shed.”
I clutch my hands to my chest. “But they haven’t done anything.”
Azmar looks at me with a sadness that presses like a yoke. “You and the refugees are anomalies. Humans don’t come to Cagmar. If they sought refuge, they would approach openly.”
I press my lips together. Most likely this troop was a band of spies. Possibly raiders too eager to wait for nightfall to approach. Part of me wishes I had not seen them.
Homper returns to the top of the bridge. Softly, Azmar asks, “Lark, do you stay or come?”
Cold energy pulses through my body. Stay in the safety of Cagmar, or run with the trollis? It might help to have a human with the party. An ambassador, of sorts.
“I’m coming.”
Azmar turns to Homper and nods, and the three of us take off after the first party. The bridge guards will follow our trail. The humans have the advantage—they were terribly close when they fled—but there is little cover to be had in this dry expanse, and dust clouds from their feet mark their path.
My legs crave the race and keep up decently well, though Azmar and Homper sprint faster. Skeletal brush scrapes at my legs as we push forward, Azmar in the lead, then Homper, then myself. I follow Homper’s path, and his thick, armored shins break the brush for me. My lungs have begun to burn when Azmar slows, then juts suddenly to the south.
“They split!” he calls over his shoulder, concern edging his voice.
I pull up to Homper’s side. “What’s wrong?”
Homper growls. “They know evasive tactics,” he says. Which confirms that these men are no refugees, but trained to lose pursuers.
A shiver slips up my arms. They are not my father’s men, are they? Surely he wouldn’t come to Cagmar to find me. Surely he would never believe he could break me out of the city.
Breathe, I tell myself. Azmar is here. I’ll be safe.
The land drops and rolls. We cross a broken bridge, a dried stream bed, a cemetery of dead trees that might have once been part of a forest. Their roots and branches make the chase more difficult, and I suck in great mouthfuls of air to keep my sides from stitching. I spot movement ahead; we’ve caught up, but the human band—or half of it—still has a good lead.
Azmar lets Homper take the advance and falls back to me. Between huffs, he says, “Can you do anything to help? Slow them down?”
The request rankles down my skin like sunburn. I look away. “I can only make them run faster.”
It’s the closest I’ve ever come to confirming anything special about me, but Azmar accepts what I say and continues running, pulling me to one side when the ground takes a sudden dip. I’d been so focused on him I don’t think I would have noticed it, and my ankle would have snapped had I fallen.
But there’s no time for gratitude. These humans are practiced runners with impressive endurance. Homper pulls a sling from his belt and swoops down to grab a stone as we pursue. He sends it flying overhead and misses, but his second attempt hits true. One of the humans drops. It takes a beat for the others to notice. One turns back, then another. The group splits, and we gain.
One of the runners pulls the fallen human to his feet. He wavers, then stumbles. Two of his companions rush to help. I count six humans in total.
We approach them, and when two of the six see us, they bolt after the group.
“Halt!” Homper bellows. “You will be taken for trespassing!”
The humans don’t respond with words. One pulls out an axe, another a dagger. Their glares flash to me.
I slow as I near them and put up my hands. “Please!” I wheeze. “We just have questions! Don’t fight or—”
The axe man shouts and runs at Azmar.
“Stop!” I scream. Azmar is unarmed save for a knife at his belt, which he doesn’t draw. He feints and grabs the axe man’s forearm, stopping the deadly blade. Behind him, one of the unarmed men puts the injured man’s arm over his neck and starts pulling him away from the fight.
Homper engages the man with the dagger. I cry, “Don’t hurt him!” just before an arm comes around my neck and hauls me back. Stars flash in my vision as the bruises I received from Grodd dance with pain. My frantic pulse beats between my thoughts. The two humans who just ran? Did the party split into three? Did they manage to hide among the dead trees?
Three humans, all men, rush out from behind me and charge, two for Azmar and one for Homper. Knives glimmer in their hands. I distantly think about what Unach said, that humans’ strength comes in their numbers.
I fight against the restraint. The man behind me says, “Let us free you!”
I throw my head back and feel it connect with his nose. He releases me, and I bolt forward, only to have his foot catch mine. My knees scrape on the hard, dry earth.
Azmar throws off the axe man and barely misses a jab from one of the knives.
“Let me go!” I grapple with the man, roll over, and kick him in the chest. He’s about forty, with dust clinging to every line in his face and seam in his clothing.
He growls at me. “Traitor!” he shouts.
I twist from his grip and scramble to my feet, then feel a hot pain stab down my thigh.
A knife. He had a knife.
The blood seeping through my ruined skirt rims my vision with fire. I am human. I am trying to stop the fighting. I am trying to help.