But Safa would have known all the city’s weak spots after spending time there. She would have been able to lead the Empire forces straight through the city and to the gate without hesitation. Drayce ducked out of his hiding spot and started down the street again, heading toward the residence for the High Luminance. They should have gone after Safa prior to leaving Temit for Mrtyu, made sure she couldn’t cause any trouble when they left.
Drayce swore under his breath, but his train of thought was broken when a bullet zipped past his ear. He darted into the next alley, using the thick stone wall as cover as he squatted low and peered around the edge. A trio of Empire soldiers were running up the street, weapons drawn as they fired on anyone still on the street.
Biting on his lower lip, Drayce squeezed the trigger and killed two before the third figured out what was happening. The soldier returned fire, forcing Drayce to seek cover again. A muffled cry drew his attention away from the street. He peered down the alley to find that he wasn’t the only one using this hiding place. A boy in a dirty white robe was crouched against the wall, his thin arms over his head as if they could help hide him.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He couldn’t leave this kid alone on the street. Those Empire bastards would kill him if they found him.
And now he got why Rayne and Eno had remained behind. There was little they could do to turn the tide, but if they could buy these people some time to find a hiding place, maybe the New Rosanthe soldiers would be content with taking control of the political leaders of Zastrad and leave the ordinary citizens alone. Their main goal was the godstone. Why kill innocent bystanders?
But that still painted a giant target on Caelan. Drayce needed to get to him before shit really went sideways. He mentally winced at the image of Caelan losing control of one or both of the gods he was bonded to. This tiny town clinging to the side of the mountain would be leveled.
The scrape of a shoe on stone drew Drayce’s gaze to the street. The remaining New Rosanthe soldier had edged closer. With a smirk, Drayce put one bullet in the man’s foot and then a second in his forehead while he was screaming and hopping around on his good foot.
The street was cleared for now, giving him an opening to escape, but he wasn’t going alone. Drayce tucked one of his guns in his holster and inched closer to the kid. The boy whimpered and tried to make his body even smaller, pressing tighter against the wall.
“Hey! Come here! Let’s get out of here!” he urged in the friendliest voice he could muster considering the circumstances.
The small boy lowered his arms, his wide, tear-filled eyes darting from the corpse lying at the mouth of the alley to a sweaty, filthy Drayce. He tugged down his shirt so the kid could see his smile at least. He was harmless. Well, he had to appear more harmless than Eno or Rayne. Those two appeared as warm and friendly as an angry bear and a walking cactus.
After a couple of seconds, the child opened his mouth and a flurry of Zastrian tumbled from quivering lips. Shit. Drayce didn’t understand him, and the boy didn’t understand Drayce. When this was all over, he swore he was learning more languages.
Drayce smiled broadly and extended his free hand to him. “Let’s go home.” He jerked his head toward the street, trying to look reassuring and safe. He didn’t want to just grab the kid and tuck him under his arm as he walked along the street, but there was no way Drayce was leaving him here.
The coaxing and smile must have helped, because the boy unfolded his thin frame and ran to Drayce, slamming into him. He wrapped his slender arms around Drayce’s neck tight enough to strangle him while his legs circled his waist. Nothing short of the jaws of life were getting this kid off him, which was fine with Drayce. It meant he could use both hands to shoot if necessary.
He couldn’t have been more than eight or nine. Maybe five. Or six. Ugh. He didn’t know kids. Right now, he couldn’t even remember what it had been like to be a kid. At least he’d been lucky enough to not spend his younger years in the middle of a war zone. The kid’s tiny, hummingbird heart was pounding against Drayce’s chest. Tears soaked into Drayce’s shirt where his face was pressed to his shoulder.
With his empty hand, he patted the child’s back awkwardly. “I’ll get you home,” he murmured. It didn’t matter if the boy couldn’t understand Drayce’s words. He would hopefully understand the tone.