God's War

something in her language. She was going to need more water. Her skin was loose and dry.

Raine made no move toward Rhys.

Nyx tensed. She kept her hold on Nikodem’s collar. She wanted to throw her into the gully and be done with her.

Nyx licked the sweat from her upper lip. The sun was low in the sky. She saw something glinting up there on the hill, maybe ten yards up.

She heard a shot.

Nikodem jerked and crumpled. Nyx let her fall. Another shot rang out. Khos yelled at her. His gun went off.

Nyx leapt into the gully, and as she jumped she pulled one of the poisoned needles from her hair and flung it at Raine.

The needle bounced right off him, but he clawed at his left breast and stepped back. By the time he recovered, Nyx was up over the lip of the other side of the gully. She grabbed Rhys by one arm and one leg and yanked him down with her. They tumbled back into the ditch in a hail of sand and gravel.

Shots sounded behind her, close. She heard a dog bark. She regained her feet and turned just in time to see a brown dog leap at her.

Nyx dropped low and reached behind her. She pulled her sword from its sheath in one clean stroke with her good hand and brought it down in front of her. The dog met the blade, and another shot from the other side of the gully felled the dog. It collapsed at her feet and choked on its own blood while shedding hair and slowly half- morphing back into the form of Dakar.

Nyx heard a soft cascade of sand and stone behind her and turned with her blade to see Raine bearing down on her, sword drawn.

She put herself and her blade between Raine and Rhys. She heard more shots. Somebody was going to run out of bullets.

Raine hacked at her. She stepped left, caught the blow. She had to use both hands on the hilt to push him back. He outweighed her and he had the higher ground, but if she tried to reverse their positions she would leave Rhys unguarded.

She saw a blur of tawny blond lope up at her right. Khos had shifted. The dog grabbed Rhys by the ankle and started dragging him.

Nyx stepped back and tried to find solid footing on the gully floor. Raine swung again. She parried and moved her feet. Boxing and sword fighting were their own sorts of dances, but you learned the footwork for one and you knew how important footwork was for the other.

She thrust forward and ducked and moved again. The problem with Raine being bigger was that she couldn’t take many heavy blows. And she was missing two fucking fingers on one hand. She needed to avoid those blows at all costs.

For Raine the problem with being bigger was that he couldn’t move as fast as she could.

She danced back toward the other side of the gully. Raine pulled his knife again and came at her with both blades.

Nyx stumbled on a twisted bit of wood. She crouched and blocked a blow from above. Raine cut toward her with the knife in his other hand.

Nyx was already too close to the ground. She rolled and caught him around the legs. He toppled, and she used her grip on him for leverage. As he fell, she shot back up and thrust her blade down.

He twisted and rolled, and then she lost her feet.

Raine dropped his sword and used his free hand to take her sword hand by the wrist. He struggled on top of her, trying to pin her so he could use the knife.

Nyx caught his wrist in her bad hand and wrapped her legs around his torso. Stones bit into her back. Dust clogged her mouth. Raine’s sweat dripped into her face.

She pushed herself up on her right shoulder and rolled him over.

She let go of the sword—it was too long, this close.

Beneath her, Raine was a barrel of heat, fat, padding-thick muscle. He stank of old leather and fermented wine and the distasteful funk that was Raine—a scent altogether too spicy, too strong, like a musk that had gone sour.

He had her by one wrist, but with her other hand she had his left wrist, the one with the dagger. He gritted his teeth. She kept him locked between her legs.

While they grappled, she heard a distant sound. Somebody calling her name. A wasp landed on her arm. Another buzzed past Raine’s head.

And she realized there was only one reason Khos would have shifted in the middle of a firefight.

Bullets could kill dogs as well as people.

But bugs were tailored to go after humans.

Fucking magician.

Raine’s expression was grim, and sweat poured down his darkening face.

Bugs. Well. Let him send bugs.

I have lived through worse, she thought, and she said it aloud, bit through the words: “I’ve survived worse than you.”

“You have,” Raine gasped, and he made to roll her again. “But in the end I realized I made you, and because of that, it’s my duty to end you.”

She twisted her other hand free and grappled for the dagger, two-handed now.

They rolled again along the gully floor. The blade cut the inside of her left arm. She pushed back.

He was on top of her again. Her arms shook as she held him away. His free hand came down on her throat. She pressed her chin down and pushed her body back a half inch, enough to get a breath.

“Look at what you’ve become,” he said, and he was sweating into her face again, big salty drops that fell onto her cheeks, her lips. The veins in his neck stood out. “Do you realize what you’ve become? You have no honor, no purpose. You bleed others for money with no idea of the consequences. What a fool you are to think that killing this woman solves anything at all.”

His grip tightened on her throat. She stabbed her foot into the sand again and pushed back, caught her breath.

“And you’re a fool for thinking that killing me is some kind of epic duty,” Nyx said.

How many men had made her? Her brothers, by dying? Yah Tayyib, by rebuilding her? All those dead boys whose heads she brought back to the clerks? Raine, by teaching her how to drive and how to die? Tej and Rhys and Khos and all Raine’s half-breed muscle? They were just men. They were just people. They had made her as surely as Queen Ayyad and Queen Zaynab, Bashir, Jaks, Radeyah, and her sisters had. Her hordes of sisters, Kine and the bel dames and the women who kicked her out of school for getting her letters fucked. No, she could have gone either way; followed all or none of them. It wasn’t what was done to you. Life was what you did with what was done to you.

“You didn’t make me,” Nyx gasped. “I made myself.”

She released her bad hand from the dagger and wrapped her fingers around Raine’s face. She shoved her thumb into his eye. Press and pop. She dislodged the eye from the socket and punctured the orb. Blood and fluid leaked into her face. He jerked away from her before she could severe the optic nerve. The eye bobbed against his face.

Raine swore. He grabbed at his smashed eye.

Nyx heard a buzzing sound above her, and something dark moved across the sun.

Nyx jabbed her knee into Raine’s side and pushed him over again. He started to bellow at her, just nonsense. She couldn’t make anything of it over the buzzing of the bugs and pounding of her heart. She wrapped both hands around Raine’s knife and plunged the dagger down at him. He pushed back at her. She leapt off him suddenly, rolled left, and grabbed his forgotten sword. It was better than hers.

He’d lost his vision on that side, and while he tried to scramble to his feet and turn his head to catch sight of her, Nyx took up the blade and brought it down where he still floundered in the sand. The blade slid right through him, through fat and muscle alike. She pressed into him until the hilt lodged against his chest and the length of it buried itself in the sand.