Page 41 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

They leave me in the tent. Two guards outside. One chewing bones. One asleep standing up.

Idiots.

I fish the hairpin from the lining of my boot with my tongue—thank the stars Vira taught me that trick—and angle my arms until I can wedge it into the override slot of the wrist shackle.

Pop.

Static jolts up my arm like a slap from hell, but the lock gives. My fingers are half-numb, but I still got one elbow and a chip on my shoulder.

I move fast.

One guard doesn’t even see it coming. My elbow catches him under the chin—bone crunches, teeth spray, his body folds like laundry. The second whirls, gun halfway up, but I slam my shoulder into his gut and drive him into the tent pole. The whole thing collapses.

Screams go up.

Too late.

I’m already running.

The desert hits me like a wall.

Wind like sandpaper. Heat like a furnace vent. I stagger, eyes squinting against the glare, lungs burning. The whole Slag Rider camp is moving—dozens of bikes, half-tracks, war machines stitched from scrap and sin, all mounted by ferals in rust-colored armor screaming like they’re born from war itself.

And right in the middle?

Afucking war parade.

Two mutant beasts dragging a fighting cage. Inside it, two warriors are hacking each other to pieces while the crowd chants in static-scrambled code.

“RAH-ZA! RAH-ZA!”

I bolt into the melee like a madwoman.

Slag Riders scream, point. One grabs for me. I duck under a swinging chain mace, leap over a pile of weapon crates, nearly get clipped by a skimmer with exhaust pipes belching blue flame.

“STOP HER!”

“FRACTURE THE LEGS!”

I slam into a merchant cart, knock it over, scatter engine parts across the dust. A gunshot whizzes past my ear. Too close.

Suddenly—bam!—I hit the edge of the convoy.

I’m pinned between two grinding machines, engines growling, sweat pouring, heart trying to punch out of my chest. A Rider spots me, grins like a hyena.

His blade is up before I can move.

I backpedal.

Trip.

He lunges.

And then thesky screams.

Aroarlike nothing I’ve ever heard tears across the canyon. Not an engine. Not a beast.

Both.