in what she’d do. She ran across the street towards Benna. He was still lying in
the dirt of the street, his head only a few inches from some stinking dog turds.
She scabbarded her dagger, got down on her knees, and rolled him over. He gasped
with terror when he felt her hands upon him.
‘It’s all right!’ she said softly. ‘Listen! Can you get up if I help you? I’ll
get you away!’
Sweat poured into her eyes as she looked towards the far comer. She could see
nothing, but if the hunters wore black, they wouldn’t be visible at this
distance.
Benna moaned and then said, ‘I’m dying, Masha.’
Masha gritted her teeth. She had hoped that he’d not recognize her voice, not at
least until she’d got him to safety. Now, if the hunters found him alive and got
her name from him, they’d come after her. They’d think she had the jewel or
whatever it was they wanted.
‘Here. Get up,’ she said, and struggled to help him. She was small, about five
feet tall and weighing eighty-two pounds. But she had the muscles of a cat, and
fear was pumping strength into her. She managed to get Benna to his feet.
Staggering under his weight, she supported him towards the open doorway of the
building on the corner.
Benna reeked of something strange, an odour of rotting meat but unlike any she’d
ever smelled. It rode over the stale sweat and urine of his body and clothes.
‘No use,’ Benna mumbled through greatly swollen lips. ‘I’m dying. The pain is
terrible, Masha.’
‘Keep going!’ she said fiercely. ‘We’re almost there!’
Benna raised his head. His eyes were surrounded with puffed-out flesh. Masha had