Blade and bone, p.34
Blade and Bone, page 34
Three came toward Kanar.
He kept himself positioned in front of Morgan. She still hadn’t moved. He had no idea why, but he kept his focus locked on the three. Two fell before they even had a chance to fight. His blade dropped the next one as well.
Morgan cried out.
Kanar jerked his head around, whipped a knife in that direction, and then spun, driving his sword to the other side.
Tayol was in front of him once more, surrounded by more bodies than Kanar expected. How many had he killed?
“You’re harming your own people,” Kanar said, realizing what was happening. The operatives were staggering. Some had already collapsed. Most simply seemed immobile. “Your ceremony is killing them.”
“No. We are growing stronger. They will recover.”
Kanar looked down. He had a hard time thinking these men were going to get back up.
Tayol’s gaze went to the black blade. “I heard the stories but never would have known. Such a weapon. Do you know the truth of its making?”
“Witchcraft,” Kanar spat.
The man grinned. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no.”
The survivors hadn’t recovered enough, which gave them space now. As Kanar attempted a feint forward, Tayol shifted, sliding from one foot to the next and positioning himself in such a way that he prevented Kanar from moving and easily fighting.
“It’s Alainsith,” Tayol said. “Impossibly old.”
Kanar almost looked down at his blade but resisted the urge.
“Your king collects them.” Tayol sneered. “Why should we not have the same opportunity?”
Kanar couldn’t wait any longer. He was aware of power building. He had no idea how he could feel it, only that it was there. This ceremony would be complete, and then…
Stone cracked around him. A massive gap in the floor opened.
Increasingly, Kanar suspected that the citadel would crumble.
Tayol started toward him, his hand moving in a pattern of witchcraft. Regardless of what he might deny, that was the magic he used.
Kanar darted toward him, but Morgan cried out. He spun.
Tayol paused, flicking his gaze from Kanar to Morgan. “Her blood is on your blade.”
“That should be yours,” Kanar said.
“Oh, you say that as if you care about her. Her blood, like that of so many others, taints that blade. But it brings you strength. You fear it, though you should not. Why fear something that can give you so much power? The hegen understand. Of course, they’ve always understood only a fraction of what’s possible. They don’t have the capacity to understand more.”
“And witchcraft?” Kanar asked.
He had to keep Tayol talking. If the man continued to talk, then he wasn’t fighting. Kanar wasn’t sure what he was going to have to do to defeat him, only that it would have to be soon.
He had to disrupt this ceremony. Regardless of what else he did, the ceremony had to be stopped.
“Witchcraft is merely knowledge,” Tayol said. “It’s how that knowledge is used and applied that matters. Do you think the hegen view what they do as witchcraft?”
Kanar faltered for a moment.
“Do you think we should be forbidden from that knowledge? We can stop that use of power.”
“You intend to use that same power!” Kanar yelled.
Tayol darted forward.
Kanar blocked it by raising his blade. He caught the wand on the edge of it, and the sound of metal rang out.
Pain shot down Kanar’s arms, and he tried to brace himself for the sudden blow, but it was too difficult. His arms shook. As much as he tried, he couldn’t fight.
And yet Morgan was behind him, crying out softly.
Morgan.
The girl he had met all those years ago, the woman who had challenged him, tested him on his logic, and proven that he couldn’t think things through quite as well as she could, but who had also shown that she wanted him to. She had pushed him to be something more than what he was, had thought he had the potential, and had demanded that he prove it.
Morgan.
If he failed, he knew what would happen to her.
He couldn’t fail.
He wouldn’t fail.
Kanar drove his blade forward. Tayol blocked him, blow for blow, strike for strike, and doubt crept in. The Blackheart, stopped by this man?
He’d heard himself referred to as great so many times that it had gotten to him. He had come to believe it about himself and had come to think of himself in the same way. But he wasn’t that great.
At this point, he wasn’t even good. If he couldn’t save Morgan, if he couldn’t protect her, what was he? Who was he?
Kanar focused, squeezing the sword.
When he did, he felt something different. At first it was a subtle shift, almost as if it were imagined more than real. It was as though some part of the sword had changed for him, but he knew that wasn’t the case. The sword itself hadn’t changed—but the effect of the sword and how it connected to him had.
And it did connect to him. He had always known that. The blade had changed him. Kanar tightened his grip on it, feeling that power, and he braced for what was within.
Witchcraft.
Or perhaps not. Maybe what Tayol told him was true. If so, it wasn’t witchcraft at all. It was nothing more than Alainsith magic. That was a natural power, much like hegen magic was.
Could witchcraft itself even be natural?
He would have to ponder that later. Right now…
Right now, he lunged toward Tayol and drove his blade out.
They began a dance. Kanar had never been bested in sword battle. Ever since he’d been gifted his blade, he had never known anyone equal to him. It wasn’t arrogance that made him feel that way, it was confidence that he had earned.
But it was also confidence that came from knowing what he did about the blade.
Even the simple act of unsheathing the sword left him feeling invincible.
But he wasn’t.
Tayol jabbed with his wand and seemed to move faster. It was starting to glow and took on a faint yellow that emanated from the end of the long, slender rod. The color moved along the surface, glowing with symbols that Kanar realized now were in the Alainsith language, which he’d seen on buildings throughout Reyand. Dark ink stained the symbols. Blood.
Alainsith blood.
Tayol flew forward. The wand slammed into Kanar. He staggered back, pain starting in his abdomen and blooming through him, but he wasn’t bleeding. He tripped, his feet tangling as he spun the blade around.
“You see the difference,” Tayol said, watching. “You wield an Alainsith relic, while I am using their power. This will stop war for good.”
Tayol turned and dipped the wand into a small chalice. It had to be filled with more blood.
Morgan, seemingly fully released from what held her, staggered toward Tayol, who turned and drove the wand into her belly.
His eyes widened as her gaze turned to Kanar.
There was nothing he could do.
Chapter Thirty-One
HONAAZ
“What the fuck is going on?”
A wall of Dogs blocked them from moving up the street, and Honaaz wanted nothing more than to lower his shoulder and make a run at them. He wasn’t about to do that on his own, though. The tall bastard might offer a measure of protection when it came to dealing with the Dogs, but Honaaz would much rather have Lily fighting alongside him. That was a thought that should have left him shitting his pants.
“It seems the Dogs have gathered here,” Jal said.
He sounded more intrigued than bothered by all of this. How could he not be more annoyed? Honaaz was. In fact, he was starting to think that he had made a serious mistake in following Reims here.
The tavern in Sanaron had been cozy. He could have stayed right where he was, winning a few rounds, losing a few more, but having access to decent ale. Not good, but decent enough.
But there had been too many Dogs there as well.
“You think?” Honaaz grunted. He tried whistling again, but there wasn’t any answer. “Why isn’t she coming back? Isn’t this how your team talks to each other? Whistle one way, then another, and you follow where the person is leading?”
That was what it had seemed like to him, but maybe he had it wrong. When they had fought before, the whistle seemed to be a big part of it.
“She must have gotten distracted,” Jal said, looking up, but Honaaz knew he wasn’t going to see anything.
Lily was gone.
She’d climbed up to the rooftop to check what they might have to deal with up there and hadn’t come down again. Had Honaaz not watched her fight a few times, he might be concerned for her. Might.
“She got distracted. Reims got distracted. Seems to me the entire team is just one big fucking mess. And you pulled me into it.”
“I believe you let yourself get pulled in,” Jal said.
Honaaz shook his head. “Fuck,” he muttered.
“That’s how I’m feeling too.”
Honaaz readied an attack. At this point, he didn’t know what good it would do other than get himself killed, but he also didn’t want to sit back and wait while the Dogs came at them.
Jal whistled.
Lily didn’t respond, but there was an explosion somewhere nearby. A burst of air, a rumble, and debris that shot into the sky.
Below it all was a strange growl. The sound set the hair on his arms on edge.
“What was that?” Honaaz said.
Jal smiled tightly as he swung his bow from side to side in front of him. “That’s our signal to get moving.”
“Right. Care to tell me where we’re to get moving to? Better yet, how? We’ve got probably two dozen Dogs in front of us.” Some of them were hidden behind the buildings, and he couldn’t get a clean count. ”We’ve got to get up there somehow”—he motioned to the citadel—”and Lily has gone and run off.”
“You’ve got it right,” Jal said with a grin.
The tall bastard actually smiled.
Then he whistled again. The sound came out differently than when Honaaz whistled, and there was something to it that seemed a little somber.
“We really should get moving, as Kanar would say,” Jal said. “We aren’t going to want to be here when the berahn arrives.”
“What’s a berahn? Some kind of warrior?”
“An animal. Let’s just say they are most decidedly deadly. Not to me. I don’t know if it would leave you alone. I think I could send word to it to guide it away from you, but I’d rather not take the chance. I’ve decided you aren’t all bad.”
“That’s what I tell women.”
Jal smirked. “Oh, I think Lily knows.”
Honaaz shot him an annoyed look, but Jal had already spun away.
“What about the Dogs?” Honaaz asked, looking toward some of the buildings but not sure what they would have to do. “You’re not worried that they’re going to chase us?”
“We just need to give it some space. Let the berahn have its run. Then we can go into the citadel.”
The creature howled again, closer.
What was coming?
Jal worried for his safety. Having seen him around other animals, Honaaz decided the smart thing to do would be to listen to Jal.
So he followed.
“What’s going to happen to the Dogs, exactly?” he asked as he caught up to Jal.
They cut around one of the buildings, and Honaaz looked up to the sky, checking the position of the sun. It hadn’t moved that far. They still had time before it started to get dark, though increasingly he was thinking that he might want to be done with this job—and this place—before it became completely dark.
“Are you worried about them?” Jal said.
“Not the Dogs.”
“You shouldn’t be worried about the berahn either. The Dogs won’t even see it.” Jal looked over to him and the smile that normally clung to his face was gone, replaced by a serious expression that looked out of place. It was the way Reims usually looked. “The berahn are known as silent killers for a reason.”
“But it’s not silent. I hear it,” Honaaz said.
“Because it wants us to.”
“You’re saying these things are smart?”
Jal nodded. “Deadly.”
“So you’ve trained them before.”
“Oh, you can’t train a berahn. They work with you, or they don’t.”
Curiosity overcame Honaaz, despite Jal’s warning. He’d never heard of berahn. The howl sounded something like a wolf, and he knew they had unique wolves in this land. He’d seen evidence of them, even though he wasn’t much of a tracker or hunter. Out on the sea, a man didn’t need those skills. He could fish with the best of them, but following some creature overland was not his skill.
What kind of strange connection to animals did Jal have? It had to be something supernatural, but if that were the case, why would Reims keep him around? He hated all things magical.
The berahn howled again. It was getting closer. Now it was near enough that Honaaz noticed a mournful note within it. Almost as if it were a warning.
Jal continued loping along the street, weaving between buildings at a rapid clip. He paused, looking back toward Honaaz, then whistled again. It wasn’t the same whistle that he used to call to Lily. This was the one he must use to reach out to the berahn. This was a whistle meant to summon.
The silent killer.
The look on Jal’s face was one that Honaaz had never seen on him before. He always seemed so jovial, full of life, amused by everything. The look he wore now was not one of amusement. It was like Jal was trying to force himself into maintaining that cheerfulness. The berahn made that difficult, or at least seemed to.
There was another explosion. Dust flew into the air, and Honaaz coughed.
The citadel was getting destroyed.
It was a fucking trap, and Kanar Reims had brought them into it.
The sound came again. Honaaz shivered.
The Dogs had not chased them. He’d half expected that they would pursue, but there had been no attempt to do so. The Dogs had merely tried to cut them off and keep them from getting too close to the citadel. They’d wanted to divide but not conquer.
Honaaz frowned. He looked up at the massive tower, looking for any signs that might give him a clue as to what was going on, but when the berahn howled again, he knew it was time to hurry.
“Fuck,” he muttered, then went racing after Jal until he caught up to him.
Jal had his bow unslung, with three arrows gripped in his other hand. Honaaz glanced at the quiver. Only a single arrow remained. At that point, Jal would only be another fighter, just like him and Lily and Reims.
When Honaaz had first joined the team, he would’ve said that Jal was the least effective fighter. Having seen the tall bastard with his bow, however—the way he dipped it down to attack, cracking men in the legs, the arms, and the skull as if it were a staff—he had revised that opinion.
Everybody on this team was a good fighter. He was, too, but he still didn’t know if he belonged.
Kanar Reims had brought him along for a reason.
Was it so he could be left behind?
A job like this often required a sacrifice. Honaaz had no interest in being that, and certainly not for a man like Reims. He would make damn certain that he got out of here. He would make damn sure that he got paid as well.
“How long before it attacks?” Honaaz asked.
“We might want to climb,” Jal said.
Was that a look of worry in the corners of his eyes?
“Why?”
“Well, as I said, the berahn are smart and deadly and have a reputation as silent killers. They make choices about who they will bring down. They might leave one man alive but then slaughter dozens. They typically leave the Alainsith alone, along with anyone who uses magic, witchcraft or otherwise. So they would leave the hegen be.” He glanced behind him. Honaaz suspected he was thinking of Lily. “But none of that is what’s really bothering me.”
“Get on with it. Tell me what’s bugging you.”
“I think there’s more than one.”
Honaaz pursed his lips and looked toward the citadel. “How can you tell?”
“They have a certain call. You start to identify it the more you hear it, and I can hear at least two distinct calls.”
“At least two,” Honaaz repeated.
“There might be a third.”
“Gods, Jal. What the fuck is going on here?”
Jal shook his head. “I don’t know.” His expression suggested that he was telling the truth.
Honaaz motioned with his daggers towards one of the nearby buildings. “Let’s get going. We can make like Lily and scale the roof. You can hold out and see if you need to use any of those arrows.”
The three arrows took on a different meaning now.
They weren’t for the Dogs.
They were for the berahn.
One for each that Jal thought he heard. He would never harm an animal, though, so why would he prepare to now?
“Put those away,” Honaaz said. “I don’t know what got into you, but those creatures aren’t coming for you. They were answering you.”
“I don’t know if they were or not,” Jal said. “I’ve tried to call to them, but…”
“Is that how you got away from the Dogs before?”
Jal met his gaze, one hand raised so that he could start to climb. He still clutched the arrows. Honaaz was tempted to pull them away, stuff them into Jal’s quiver, and force him to act like he should, but there was that edge to his eyes. That serious expression bothered Honaaz.
“I lured the Dogs away,” Jal said. “I thought that was all I was going to have to do. I didn’t know they would send more.”
“You called the berahn to them?” Honaaz asked.
“It wasn’t my intention. I thought it was a pack of wenderwolves that would scare them away.”
“Well, it doesn’t seem like you are all that broken up about what happened to them.”
Jal sighed. “I know what they would’ve done if they caught us.”
“They did catch us.”
