The Sun Dwellers

When I charge, I count on the fact that Trevor is an experienced fighter, that he’ll read my mind, that his brain has calculated the odds of various strategies and come up with the same idea as mine.

Not exactly.

Just before my slashing sword co

Luckily, both of our minds continue to work overtime, still plotting and pla

Before we’ve come to a complete stop I raise my sword above us. Just in time, too, because my original enemy is slashing down with his sword. Clang! The blow is so powerful that it sends shivers through my hand and wrist and I almost drop my sword. But somehow I manage to hang on, barely keeping the guard’s blade from piercing my chest.

Trevor, now sword-less, is not idle. As soon as I block the attempted kill stroke, he uses my shoulder as a wedge to launch himself off of, catapulting himself onto the back of the behemoth guardsman. Using every ounce of my strength, I push back with my sword, forcing my attacker away from me. It works, and the guy stumbles back, tripping on the fallen form of his comrade, who has Trevor’s sword sticking out of his chest. Perhaps Trevor’s plan was better than mine after all.

I leap to my feet in one swift kicking motion, move in on the final enemy, who’s on his back, bucking and writhing as if trying to escape some invisible enemy. Where’s Trevor? Other than the two downed guards—one dead, the other twitching as if in mortal pain—the hallway is empty.

Then I see them: two hands wrapped around the guard’s neck from behind, splotched red and white, squeezing. The guard is still squirming, his hands pulling at the fingers, but less forcefully now. His white face is tinged with blue, his eyes bugging out.

I’m half in awe, half disgusted by the scene, as the guy flops two or three more times before going still. I stand frozen, expecting the dead body to rear up, possessed supernaturally for a final battle, but it remains as motionless as one of the Nailin statues in the gardens.

“Get ’im offa me,” Trevor grunts beneath two hundred and fifty pounds of muscle and flesh.

I’m tempted to leave him underneath, but he did just singlehandedly take out two impressively large men in a most creative fashion, so I bend down and push the body off him, as requested.

He’s smiling, an unusual—and if I’m being honest, sort of freaky—reaction to having just killed. “Oh, hi,” he says. “I didn’t realize you were still here. It felt like I had to do all the work myself. And it was almost as if I was fighting three people.” Maybe having Trevor on my team isn’t so good after all.

“He would have taken both our heads when we were on the ground if I didn’t block his sword,” I say.

“He was your responsibility. And we wouldn’t have been on the ground if you hadn’t decided to tackle me.” Trevor’s still smiling.

“Never mind,” I mutter, determined not to let him get under my skin. “Good work,” I add grudgingly.

“What do we do with them?” Tawni asks, rejoining us.

“Leave ’em,” Trevor says. “We don’t have time to be hiding bodies.”

“Bad idea,” I say. “We don’t know how long finding my father will take. If the alarm is raised we’re screwed.”

“Fine,” Trevor grunts, grabbing one of the guy’s feet, the one with half a sword sticking out of his chest, and starts dragging him down the hall. “You get the other one.”

I clutch the choked guard’s legs and start pulling. Ugh. It’s like pulling a truck full of raw iron ore. Tawni brings the discarded swords and follows us through the first door we come to—one of the hundred or so visitor apartments that are used for important guests. Luckily, it’s unlocked, but I’m pretty sure Trevor wouldn’t have hesitated to kick it in if required.

It’s also recently been occupied, probably one of the many guests attending tonight’s party, with clothes strewn haphazardly on the bed—here a shimmering green gown, there a tiny black dress; a handful of white lacy things that I can only guess as to the purpose. The aftermath of a very picky woman trying to decide what to wear to the ball.

We dump the bodies at the foot of the bed, hide their swords in the bathtub behind the curtain: a big surprise for the woman when she comes back to her room. Tawni’s reading the guards’ papers when we ready ourselves to leave. She’s frowning.

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s a trap,” she says, her face awash with terror. “He knows we’re coming.”

Adele

The long employees’ corridor in front of us is empty. As Roc expected, no one is using the loading dock tonight. We’re more likely to run into action as we approach the throne room.

For just a moment I wonder about how Tristan and Tawni and Trevor are doing—there’s a twinge of fear in my stomach—but then I shake it off, refocus on the task at hand.

We pass through a set of double doors, moving out of the sterile white of the maintenance hallway and into the plush luxury of the government offices. The floor is shiny, black marble, likely recently hand-polished by one of the many servants. The walls are stone, but not like the stone walls I’m used to. Into these walls are chiseled ornate designs, almost mystical. There’s a ball of fire—the real sun maybe?—raining down chariots of fire on the earth below. The chariots are driven by men with horns, wielding multi-pronged whips. Clearly it’s a war scene, but a war against whom? On the earth, directly in the path of the falling chariots, are people with spears and knives, looking wholly inadequate to face off against the fire chariots and whip-wielding, horned invaders. In fact, many of the people are fleeing, their weapons dropped during their hasty retreat.

The entire scene is a blur as we stride past, and I’m left wondering as to the significance and purpose—if any—of the artist’s stonework.

We also pass a number of beautiful, dark brown wooden doors. Behind some of them there are voices, heavy discussions that likely involve power, money, and the pursuit of both. As we rush on my heart beats faster and faster in my chest as my expectation of being discovered rises with each step.

When we turn the next corner, I gasp, as the hall appears to go on forever, cut straight and true—there’s no way we’ll make it to the end of this corridor unseen. Yet Roc starts down it, seemingly unconcerned, and I have no choice but to follow my guide. As it turns out, the hall is so long it ca

After going through the first atrium, I assume we’ll take this corridor all the way to the throne room, but Roc has other plans. Upon reaching the second glassy co