Page 110 of Vasmora

Kazhimyr exhaled a groan. “West tower.”

“What’s that?”

“You asked about my post. West tower.”

The guard’s frown deepened. “There ain’t no west tower.”

As he reached for his sword, Kazhimyr acted on instinct, throwing out his palm. A bolt of ice shot from his hand and pierced the guard’s neck. Terror flashed across his wide eyes and the soldier gripped the end of the bolt, gasping and gagging as the blood dribbled and froze at the wound.

Smiling, Kazhimyr raised his hand, only then noticing a tingling at his wrist where the band had faded.

The curse had been broken.

The soldier collapsed to the ground, armor striking the stony floor with a hard thud. The jangle of keys snagged his attention, and Kazhimyr reached for the ring clipped to his trousers. Key after key, he shoved them into the lock, until one finally turned and clicked.

The expanding door hissed like a long exhale, and he swung it open to a wave of warm humidity that dampened his skin. Searching the darkness, Kazhimyr found a hunched form hobbling toward him.

In one breath, he shot forward, drew his dagger, and propped the blade under Dravien’s chin.

The other man’s split lip trembled, breath wheezing in and out of him, as if his face was covered in wet burlap.

“You’re a fucking traitor,” Kazhimyr’s words lashed out. “You told them where to find Dolion.”

He peered back at Kazhimyr from beneath wet strands of overgrown hair. “I didn’t want to. They gave me Nilmirth. I had no choice.”

“I don’t give a damn.” Kazhimyr pressed into the hilt and broke skin.

“I’m still alive!”

Kazhimyr paused, studying him.

“Dolion must still be alive, too. I’m still indebted to him. If he were to perish before the debt is fulfilled, I perish, as well.”

“Is it truth you speak?” Kazhimyr was skeptical of the so-called debt, seeing as a horrible fate was supposed to befall the Elvyniran for not having carried out his promise to bring Zevander back safe.

“It is. Were he to perish, I would die. The gods would have it no other way.”

The assassin held the blade there a moment longer, his instincts goading him. “And if you were to die. Would he be harmed?”

“I suspect not, but I can’t be sure.”

Kazhimyr ground his teeth and shoved Dravien aside.

When the light finally touched the Elvyniran’s face, Kazhimyr grimaced. Perhaps a horrible fate had befallen him, after all. Gods be damned, he hadn’t seen him since they were first imprisoned. The face he stared upon right then was barely recognizable, with swollen eyes and lips, a gash that extended across from his right eye to his left jawline. One ear had been torn away, and patches of his hair looked to have been yanked out, the exposed skin there glistening and raw.

He stumbled forward, but Kazhimyr’s anger still burned too much to help him. “Kill me, if that’s what you intend. I’d much prefer it to her punishment.”

Tempting, and he would’ve done so without hesitation. “Are you not aware she’s practically dead?”

Dravien’s eyes wavered with tears. “Dead?” he whispered.

Kazhimyr jerked his head toward the fallen soldier. “Don his armor. Quickly.” His words seemed to break Dravien’s focus, and he nodded, clutching his arm as he hobbled past him, his fingers bruised and twisted at unnatural angles where they must’ve been busted. How the bastard intended to get undressed and dressed was a mystery Kazhimyr didn’t bother to ponder, as he headed toward the adjacent corridor to keep watch. The clamor of armor had him inwardly groaning. Perhaps he should’ve left him in that chamber.

Once dressed, Dravien hobbled toward him, still cradling that damned arm.

“Walk like a soldier,” Kazhimyr barked. “Or you aren’t getting out of here alive.”

To his credit, despite whatever pain he might’ve suffered, he straightened himself and lowered his arms to his side.