The Champion by Morgan Karpiel Page B

glare, catlike as he crossed the distance, a sliver of metal glinting from his fingers. Her guards were rushing up behind her. The scholar was yelling, a desperate warning, a distant call from a faraway place.
    The thief raised his hand, then paused, his eyes widening through the prism of colored light. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She saw the recognition form in his gaze, a falter in his movement, a flash of surprise, then horror. He can see it…he can see me.
    He froze, his lips parted, his lashes glossed with light.
    “Let it be done!” the Grand Vizier growled from behind her. “Kill them. Kill them all!”
    Kill?
    The thief’s gaze cut to the guards on the catwalk then he was on the rail, leaping up with the spin of blades flashing from his hands. She heard a scream of pain from the guards, a pistol shot, then he landed on the catwalk behind her, kicking her down on her knees.
    Nadira dropped to the grate, releasing a harsh cry. She flipped onto her back, seeing him as a silhouette against the glow, brandishing a pistol he’d taken from the guards. Gunfire rang from the metal, hard echoes ricocheting between the catwalks. He disappeared from sight, chasing after two men who were already fleeing from him.
    She heard more screaming, a thud of bodies crushed together and falling from steps. Beneath her, the rings of mirrors began to spin, their slow circling flashing light through the metal grate. The war machine emitted a snapping hum, a warning as dire as any she’d ever heard.
    “Close the doors!” she yelled through her teeth.
    The scholar stared at her in panic.
    Shaking her head, she pushed up from the grate and ran for the bloom of lenses. She grabbed onto the rail and leaned out over the churning machine, forced to close her eyes and feel for the diamond in the brightness. Her gloved fingers slipped over its facets and she cried through her teeth, dislodging it from its metal setting. It came away with a clink, the intensity through the mirrors fading as if a cloud had blocked the sun, the rings beneath her now spinning without power.
    Nadira staggered back and collapsed to her knees, the diamond gripped tightly in her hand. She drew a ragged breath.
    “The Grand Vizier,” Isban sputtered. “He ordered your death. The guards… he…”
    “He escaped.” The thief reappeared on the catwalk, breathing hard, his face tight with anger. “On that gray nag of his. I tried to shoot it down, but there were too many inconvenient scholars in the way. He’s headed for the gate along the outer wall.”
    The scholar stared at him open-mouthed, his skin drained of color.
    The thief gave a half-shake of his head. “So now, you must go and give the order to close it.”
    “Close…”
    “The soldiers under his command will spare no one.”
    “There is bell, for alarm, and—”
    “Go ring it.”
    The scholar looked at Nadira, begging for reassurance.
    “On the order of your sultan,” she said. “Ring it.”
    Nodding, the old man pulled himself up from the grate and hurried down the catwalk.
    The light from the machine had faded, shadows returning to the maze of walkways around them. Water poured from a ruptured pipe along the wall, showering over the railings, threading silver in the darkness.
    “And you,” the thief hissed, closing the distance between them. Grabbing onto her wrists, he drew her up from the grate. “Who are you? Not a sultan. Not a slave.”
    She bit back the pain, his hold on her wrists far too tight. “I am Nadira, once favored of the Sultan.”
    “Where is Osman?” he roared.
    “In the catacombs, under the palace,” she yelled back, facing the fury in his eyes. “Dead for years.”
    “Years…” He shook his head, releasing her in disbelief.
    From outside the tower, a bell began to ring, its clang echoing across the stone yard, quickly followed by more clanging bells, shouting voices.
    “I didn’t kill him,” she said.
    “No?”
    “I didn’t poison him. I