Unarmed and completely vulnerable.
Jess tried to control his shaking. Though he knew he ought to be frightened, his trembles were more from adrenaline, eagerness to take the fight to the enemy. He was angry, he realized. Angry that he’d been dumped, once again, into a situation beyond his control, and with utter disregard for his survival. Angry that Glain, Wolfe, and these comrades he’d tried so hard not to care about might pay the price again.
He saw a target on the rooftop, aimed, and fired, and saw the impact. Someone went down, just a dim shape against the glare. Good. He aimed again, fired, and missed, but got a hit on the next shadow that appeared.
He cast a quick glance toward Glain and Wolfe, just to be certain they were still secure; Glain was in perfect form, face calm, eyes bright as she aimed and fired, and every shot counted. The sheen of the greenish Greek fire against her skin made her look almost like an automaton herself . . . except for the slight contented smile on her face.
Glain had found her perfect moment, it seemed.
Jess ignored Tariq’s movement from his post nearby at first, thinking his comrade was looking for a better firing angle up. But he watched him, anyway, out of instinct and the sense memory of getting shot in the back. Tariq wasn’t looking up at their attackers, he realized after a second. His squad mate was staring straight at Glain and Wolfe, and the steps he took from cover were angled to put him clear of Glain and give him an open shot on Wolfe’s unprotected body.
Jess didn’t believe it, not instantly. He comprehended, but belief came a second later, as Tariq raised his weapon. Wolfe, without armor, without protection, wouldn’t be as lucky as Jess had been in the same situation—and this was no shock-weapons exercise. Half-strength rounds could maim and kill . . . If Tariq was armed with half-strength at all. Somehow, Jess knew in a flash that he wasn’t.
Tariq had been ordered to kill Wolfe.
Jess felt it in his gut, a conviction so strong he didn’t question where it came from. Tariq, who’d been given orders to fire on his own squad before, might not even know what he was doing was wrong. He might be completely innocent.
He would still be the instrument of a Scholar’s death.
Jess realized he didn’t have enough time to reach Tariq and warn him or spoil his shot. There were no good options.
He raised his weapon, aimed, and fired before Tariq pulled his own trigger.
His squad mate, his friend, collapsed against the wall with his mouth a dark O of surprise, and the weapon slid out of his hands to crash on the cobbles.
Then Tariq sagged down to a sitting position, hunched and breathless from the shot Jess had placed right in the center of his chest, and his face turned a terrible creamy shade just as his eyes fluttered shut. Not dead. Please, God, don’t let him be dead. If the Greek fire was real, maybe all the ammunition was real as well. But he’d put it into armor, not flesh. Jess didn’t see blood, which was one small mercy. I didn’t have a choice. It was either Tariq or Wolfe.
Jess scrambled from his position to Tariq’s side and pressed his fingers to the young man’s neck. He found a pulse, and pulled the young man to the shelter of a doorway before taking a zigzag pattern toward Glain and Wolfe.
Glain had seen the whole thing, and she swung the barrel of her gun toward him as he neared. “Stop!”
“I saved Wolfe’s life, you idiot!” he shouted back, and ignored her to hug the wall beside the Scholar. Jess faced out, blocking Wolfe from any more possible friendly fire from that angle. “This isn’t just an exercise!”
“Really?” Glain snapped. She sounded lightly annoyed, as if someone had taken the last croissant from the tray at breakfast before she could reach it. “I saw what happened. Tariq was aiming straight for Wolfe. Did you kill him?”
“No.”
“Good. Then he can answer questions and get a taste of my boot.” She sounded extraordinarily good-natured about it, which was a little chilling. She cast a lightning-quick look over her shoulder into the darkened interior of the shop and called, “Helva! Is it clear in there?” No answer. She glanced at Jess, then said, “Take him in. Carefully.”
“You’re sure?”
“Whatever’s in there, it’s safer than here. They’re moving to new positions. They’ll have us soon.”
Two of their comrades—not counting Tariq, who might not be part of their squad at all—were down, not moving, and as he scanned the rooftop opposite, Jess realized she was right: the firing from up there had stopped, though they’d thrown another container of Greek fire that was belching gouts of flames and toxic smoke toward the cloudless sky. Distraction, while the attackers gained new firing positions. Inside the shop was safer.
Jess grabbed Wolfe’s shoulder, but the older man shook himself free with an acidic look Jess remembered all too well from classes. “I’m fine, Brightwell,” he said.
Jess drew his small sidearm and handed it over. Wolfe looked at the weapon with what Jess was almost sure was longing, then shook his head. “If I’m not armed, my death’s much harder to explain,” he said. He turned and scrambled lithely through the broken window, avoiding the sharp edges, and dropped inside. Jess cursed under his breath and shoved the hand weapon back in place before following. He didn’t manage to avoid all the shards, and felt the hot kiss of a cut along one cheek as he plunged after Wolfe.
He found Wolfe only a step inside, standing very still, and Wolfe’s arm went up to block his path when he would have pushed forward. “No,” he said quietly. “Wait.”
“Why?” Jess was acutely aware that his back, Wolfe’s back, was to the open street, and took a step slightly toward the man, to try to block a shot if one was coming. “Get to cover!”
“Listen.”
Jess heard it then: the soft moan of someone in pain. It had been Helva who’d come in here, he remembered; he hadn’t heard her signal clear. “Get down!” Jess barked, and shoved Wolfe behind the fragile shelter of an overturned table. “Stay there! Glain, Helva’s down!”
Glain’s voice from outside sounded clipped and calm. “Secure the Scholar first.”
“Secured,” he said, and fixed Wolfe with a look. “Stay that way. Sir.”
Jess took out a small sealed bottle, twisted the cap, and shook it, and a soft yellow glow formed inside as chemicals mixed. A milder version of Greek fire—a reaction that produced light but not explosion. He held it up and off to the side, in case someone should be aiming at the glow, but though a few bullets still flew outside, nothing came his way.
He saw Helva down near the back of the small, cluttered room. Her eyes were open and she was still breathing; he could see the rise and fall of her chest. “Helva!” She didn’t move, not even to turn her head toward him, though he thought her gaze shifted his way. Whatever was wrong with her, it was serious. Jess pointed at Wolfe. “Stay here.”