Alien Shores (A Fenris Novel, Book 2) by Vaughn Heppner Page B

silently.
    Her eyes showed curiosity, interest perhaps. She opened her mouth, and he wondered what she meant to ask.
    Skar appeared then, limping into view. “Cyrus,” he shouted. “Can you hear me?”
    Cyrus could only stare.
    “He is under a terrible spell,” the woman said. She glanced toward the flames. “Do you want me to put him out of his misery?”
    “No!” Skar said.
    “The fire grows,” the woman said, as if making an argument.
    Skar snarled, and he pointed a finger at her. “We’re carrying him out of here.”
    “Impossible,” she said. “The fire grows and will become wild in minutes. We will be lucky to save ourselves.”
    “You’ll carry him,” Skar said in an ugly voice. “My left leg feels as if it’s burning. I saved you from the belly of the demons. Now you owe me your life.”
    The woman stared at the shorter soldier. Cyrus wondered what went on inside her head.
    “Yes,” she said. “You speak the truth. We will take turns carrying him. I will do so first because I am unhurt.”
    She turned her back on Cyrus and bent down. Skar grabbed Cyrus under the armpits and hauled him onto the woman. She adjusted for his weight. She was stronger than she looked, and grabbed his dangling arms. She was lithe and beautiful, and he felt the strength in her.
    Now, for the first time, Cyrus saw the fire in full bloom. Orange flames leapt into the air. The flames jumped and crackled, heading in the direction of the wind. The three of them would have to flee toward the antigravity sled’s landing zone, heading into the wind.
    The woman shoved up. Cyrus could feel her strain. Then the soldier and the primitive began to run through the grass, carrying Cyrus away from danger.
    They were in the race of their lives.

    The paralysis wore off by degrees. Cyrus felt tingling in his fingers and toes first as the flames’ heat scorched his back. His clothes smoldered, and it felt as if the skin there melted.
    “Turn around,” he said through half-frozen lips.
    The woman shouted, and she dropped Cyrus, letting him tumble from her back and smack onto the ground. With a bound, she was several feet away, with a stone-bladed knife in her hand. She stood trembling.
    “What are you doing?” Skar shouted.
    “He spoke to me,” she said.
    “Help me,” Cyrus said. The fall hurt, but he was terrified of the approaching fire. He could feel the heat on his face and saw flames leaping and crackling skyward.
    Skar scrambled to him, dragging Cyrus from the fire. “Put him on my back,” the soldier said. “Now we’re going to move.”
    Sullenly, the woman sheathed her knife and helped deposit Cyrus onto the soldier’s back. Skar ran like a machine, his short legs moving like pistons. The tall, individual stalks blurred as Cyrus passed them. Before long, the woman panted, with sweat glistening on her face.
    “You are more powerful than you look,” she said.
    “Save your breath for running,” Skar told her.
    Eventually, Cyrus made it easier for Skar by holding on instead of Skar hanging onto his dangling arms. Finally, the soldier and the woman burst out of the spindly grass and onto the plains. The roaring flames crackled behind them. They staggered for another hundred meters. Then Skar slid Cyrus off his back. The soldier stretched out, closed his eyes, and promptly fell asleep.
    The woman fell onto her hands and knees, gasping for air. Drops of sweat dripped onto the ground.
    Cyrus slowly moved his arms and legs. He felt numb in places, but he was beginning to feel normal again.
    “We can’t stop here,” he said.
    The woman lifted her head, staring at him. With her tousled hair, she was achingly beautiful.
    Struggling to a sitting position, Cyrus asked, “Do you have a name?”
    “Are you a demon-spawn?” she asked in a raw voice.
    “No. I’m human just like you.”
    “Then why are you so pale and thin?”
    “Different skin color is all.”
    She shook her head. “Your pale skin shows your weakness,