The Wrath and the Dawn(49)

Don’t kiss me, Khalid. Please . . . don’t.

“They’re here! I’ve found them!”

Khalid grasped her hand in his, and they took off down the alleyway once again.

“We can’t keep running,” he said over his shoulder. “We might have to stand and fight, eventually.”

“I know,” she huffed back.

I need a weapon. I need a bow.

She began scanning everyone in sight for a quiver or a possible bow left strewn against the side of a building, but all she saw was the occasional shimmer of a sword. In the distance, she noticed a burly man with a huge, straightbacked bow across his body, but she knew there was little chance of getting it from him quickly. And it was even less likely that she could draw an arrow on such a large bow.

It seemed a futile exercise.

Until she finally saw a young boy playing with his friends in a back alley.

With a makeshift bow and a quiver of exactly three arrows lashed to his shoulder.

Shahrzad tugged on Khalid’s arm, yanking him farther into the alleyway. She crouched before the boy, lifting the hood of her cloak.

“Can you give me your bow and arrows?” she asked breathlessly.

“What?” he replied in surprise.

“Here.” Shahrzad offered him the five gold dinars in her cloak. A veritable fortune in the eyes of the boy.

“Are you crazy, lady?” the boy said, his mouth agape.

“Will you give them to me?” Shahrzad pleaded.

He passed the weapons to her without a word. She placed the money in his dirty hands and threw the quiver over her shoulder.

Khalid observed this exchange, his eyes tight and his mouth drawn.

“Do you know them, miss?” The boy glanced behind Shahrzad.

Khalid whirled around, unsheathing his shamshir in a single metallic rasp and knocking the black rida’ from his brow.

“Get out of here,” Shahrzad said to the boy and his friends.

The boy nodded and took off, his friends scampering alongside him.

Somehow, the group of men Shahrzad and Khalid had managed to offend numbered seven. Of this seven, three showed signs of obvious injury, while the other four appeared at a loss of pride more than anything else. Not counting money, of course.

And money counted for a lot.

At the sight of Khalid with his sword at the ready, several of them withdrew their own piecemeal weapons.

Without a word, Khalid advanced.

“Gentlemen!” Shahrzad cut him off. “This seems a bit—premature. I believe this whole situation can be attributed to a misunderstanding. Please accept my sincere apologies for our part in the matter. In truth, this is between myself and the . . . gentleman with the questionable manners from earlier.”

“My questionable manners? Why, you shrewish bitch!” The young man stepped forward.

“That’s enough!” Khalid raised his shamshir into the moonlight, its silver edge glistening with menace.

Poised to kill.

“Stop!” Shahrzad’s tone verged on desperation.

“I said, that’s enough, Shazi. I’ve heard enough,” Khalid said with deadly inflection.

“Yes. Let him do as he pleases, Shazi. Seven to one? I like our odds,” the imbecile continued.

You have no idea what you’re saying. The second-best swordsman in Rey will cut you down, one by one. Without hesitation.

Then the imbecile lifted his rusted scimitar from its sheath.

At that, Shahrzad nocked an arrow to the sinew and loosed it, all in one swift motion. It flew in a perfect spiral, despite the bow’s humble origins and the arrow’s mud-stained fletchings.

And it pierced clean through the imbecile’s wrist.

He howled in agony, dropping the scimitar to the ground with a resounding clang.

Before anyone had a chance to react, Shahrzad had fitted and nocked another arrow onto the string. As she pulled it tight, she felt something give in the sinew.

Oh, God.

Nevertheless, she stalked past Khalid, the arrow held in position against the side of her neck.

“This is where all of you were sorely mistaken. It was never seven to one. And I strongly suggest the seven of you take to your heels and return home. Because the next one who draws a weapon—the next one who takes a single step forward—will find an arrow through his eye. And I can assure you my friend is even less forgiving.”

At the sight of movement to her left, Shahrzad swiveled quickly, her grip on the bow tightening. Again, the sinew unraveled by her ear.