Page 56 of Lucifer's Mirror
I just have to hold on a little while longer. Then I can curl up in a ball on solid ground and whimper.
Below us, the land comes into focus. First, hills and trees take shape, shadowy in the growing darkness. Then I see the trail we must have been following all this time. The grass is trampled, and there’s debris, but thankfully no more bodies. I raise my gaze from the ground and search the area ahead. There’s a haze of smoke in the air. Campfires? We must be close.
Thanouq must think so as well. He turns, circling for a minute. I’m so proud of the way I managed to stay balanced on his back. Then he swoops down, and I fall forward, pain shooting through my side, my face smothered in his coarse, thick mane. I stay where I am, breathing in his warm smell—like cats and birds and, underneath, man. Only when I sense the thud as he touches down do I push myself up.
I put on my brave face, unwrap my right hand from the leather strap, and give him a shaky thumbs up. He lowers himself into a crouching position, so he’s as close to the ground as he can get.
I fumble with the buckles of the harness; my fingers numb from gripping so tightly for so long, but finally, I get them undone. I sit for a moment, contemplating the best way to do this with the minimum pain.
Thanouq must sense my problem, as he spreads one wing, angling it downward, and I think I understand. I twist and grip it with both hands, swing out, and he slowly lowers me to the ground. For a moment, I hold on, not sure I can stand on my own, and he gives me time—bless him.
Finally, I unlock my fingers and stand on my own for all of about two seconds before my knees give out, and I collapse in an undignified heap. I close my eyes and try to get control of my ragged breathing. I feel a touch on my shoulders, and I open my eyes to find Thanouq—the man—standing there, a worried look on his face.
I lick my lips and swallow, then manage to get the words out. “I’m fine,” I croak. “Just a little stiff from all the holding on. Give me a moment.”
He nods but still looks worried. I slip the backpack from my shoulders and place it on the ground. Then I push myself slowly to my feet, clamping my lips on the scream that threatens to escape. I shrug out of the jacket and force myself to peer down. There’s no blood oozing through my shirt, which is good. I unstrap the harness and glance up to find Thanouq watching me, his gaze intent.
“You didn’t have to do this,” he says.
“Yes, I did.” I cast him a quick smile. “Anyway, agony aside, I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. Who gets the chance to fly on a griffin? Thank you for carrying me. And you were right—I wouldn’t have made it on horseback.”
“You’re tougher than you look.”
I shrug my shoulders, then wince as pain shoots through me. “Not so tough.” I look around for somewhere to collapse and head to a rock that looks like it might make an okay backrest. I gingerly lower myself to the ground and sit with my legs stretched out in front of me. I’m not moving again for a long, long time. But now that I’ve stopped moving, the cold is seeping into my bones, and I shiver.
Thanouq rummages in the backpack and pulls out a blanket and a bottle. He lays the blanket across my knees, then pulls the cork from the bottle and holds it out to me.
Brandy. I almost snatch it. I’m going to be a complete lush at this rate. But I’ll worry about that later. I take a gulp and almost choke as the fiery liquid burns down my throat. But I’m tough, so I take another, then hold it out to him. He’s been doing all the work, after all. He takes a swallow.
“So what now?” I ask. “Do we just wait for the others?”
He nods. “But I’m going to take a look at the encampment once it’s fully dark.”
“Is that safe?”
He shrugs. “I’ll be careful.” He hands back the bottle and sits down next to me, his long legs stretched out.
I give him a quick sideways glance. He’s staring into space, his shoulders hunched; he looks like he has the weight of the world on his shoulders. And I guess he does. He’s the hereditary ruler of this place, after all. He must feel responsible for the shitty mess it’s in. On the other hand, it’s not exactly his fault.
“Do you know anything about these slavers?” I ask.
He gives a snort. “You could say that. I grew up in one of the slave camps, far to the north.”
“I’m sorry.” I bite my lip. I seem to be saying that a lot, and it’s so inadequate. “Were you born there?”
“No. When I was four years old, raiders attacked the village where my family was living. My parents died trying to protect me. It did no good.”
“What happened?”
“I survived,” he says. “They took us to a camp. A slave line like this one. Many died on the way—the old and the weak. But some survived. And I had friends who looked out for me. I was strong. The weak don’t endure very long in those places.”
“What do they use them for, the slaves?”
“Various things. If you’re lucky, some version of agriculture; otherwise, the mines—they’re a death sentence.” He’s silent for a moment. “Or if you’re really unlucky, you get sent to the shadowguard.”
I don’t like the sound of that. “What happens with the shadowguard?”
“What do you know about them?”
