Free Captive by Sarah Fine Page A

done his usual healing as soon as Malachi had staggered back to the Station several hours earlier, but something about the wound was still bothering him. He wondered, not for the first time lately, if he was losing his edge. If he was becoming more frightened of dying, of having to start his time in the dark city all over again, especially now that he sensed he was so close to getting out.
    He clenched his fists. This was ridiculous. He shouldn’t even be thinking about this. Especially now.
    Has Juri found what he was looking for? Clarence asked, shuffling around out of Malachi’s view.
    He thinks so. We won’t know until we break all the way through .
    A bead of sweat trickled down the back of Malachi’s neck, becoming ice cold as he turned Sil’s words over in his mind. Until we break all the way through… so near the Sanctum, which was nestled against the eastern wall of the city, connected to all the other realms…
    What if the Mazikin were trying to break out?
    He leaned forward, straining to translate the mumbled grunts and coughs and gasps, to find out exactly where, exactly when, exactly how …then realized that what he was hearing wasn’t words at all. Sil had the blonde up against the wall and was thoroughly entangled. And Clarence was watching, his mouth half-open.
    Malachi rolled his eyes. He wasn’t sure he had the patience or the stomach for this. What he needed now, more than ever, was information.
    He drew one of his knives from the sheath at his thigh and kicked the closet door open.
    Clarence screeched and bolted for the stairs. Malachi sent the knife flying in his direction, but the surprisingly fleet-footed, old Mazikin narrowly dodged the blade because Malachi’s attention was primarily focused on Sil. The Mazikin leader stumbled back from the blonde, his pants gaping open, looking stupid and startled. Malachi drew his scimitar, and then hesitated.
    He needed Sil alive.
    Sil’s eyes flashed with fear and rage as Clarence galloped up the stairs and disappeared into the night. The blonde screamed. With a snarl, Sil grabbed her by the arm and shoved her toward Malachi, who kicked her out of the way and got to the base of the steps before Sil could, cutting off the escape route. Unfortunately, the diversion had given the Mazikin a chance to grab a scimitar of his own. One Malachi recognized as belonging to Issam, a Guard who had been ambushed and killed a few weeks ago.
    The blade whipped toward Malachi’s face. He blocked and stepped in close, resting the blunt edge of the weapon against his forearm as he guided it back and forth against the frantic swings of the overmatched Mazikin. Sil grunted and squealed, unable to get any advantage or distance, since Malachi outweighed him by at least fifty pounds and had about six inches of height on him. The Mazikin’s pants had also slipped down around his hips, further constricting his movement.
    Malachi grinned. “Would you like me to allow you to make yourself decent?”
    Sil spat at him. Malachi was ready and leaned away, so the venomous droplets flew over his shoulder. With a wrenching twist of his blade, Malachi disarmed Sil, but at that moment the blonde landed on his back. In the second it took him to knock her off, Sil made it up three stairs. Malachi caught him by the ankle and jerked. The Mazikin banged his chin on a cement step and yelped. Still holding on to Sil, Malachi kicked the blonde in the head before she could get up again. She hit the cinder-block wall and slid to the floor, unconscious.
    Malachi sheathed his scimitar, and then slipped the muzzle from the clip at the back of his belt. He pressed his knee against Sil’s back, crushing the wiry Mazikin against the stairs.
    “That was a dirty trick, Captain,” Sil hissed as his jagged fingernails scrabbled against the thick leather bracers on Malachi’s forearms. “You have no sense of decorum.”
    Malachi chuckled as he muzzled the creature and pulled the stiff leather mittens