Landmoor Page 15

  A dark-bearded soldier lunged for the weapon, trying to topple Thealos with his size. Thealos darted right and the blade seemed to slice on its own accord, scoring through the chain shirt like an axe biting into bark. It felt a little like borrowing someone else’s reflexes. The soldier howled with pain as the blood gushed from his side. Another movement, and Thealos met it, snapping the long sword thrust at him like brittle glass, and kicked the man down. The Silvan magic roared through him, hot and icy at once. There were Kiran Thall everywhere, coming at them from all sides. Flent swung the axe furiously, trying to keep them from Thealos’ back.

  “Too many!” the Drugaen huffed, swinging his axe desperately. “Where’s the banned garrison!”

  Behind the mob of panicking patrons and Bandit soldiers, the air filled with the battle yells of the Crimson Wolfsmen. Four other gleaming short swords joined the fray, cutting through the ranks of the Kiran Thall. Toward Thealos. There were too many people, hardly enough room to avoid getting hit.

  “The Shaden! Kill the bloody Shaden! Kill them all!”

  Flent lost his footing in the slick blood-stained floor and went down. The Kiran Thall swarmed him, their tapered blades thrusting down at him. Thealos was alone.

  Then the knight shoved Secrist through the huge window, shattering it, and the fight spilled into the streets.

  * * *

  The blow caught Thealos unprepared. Dark spots danced in his eyes, making it difficult to distinguish between enemies. His lip was bleeding from the stray punch, and he felt the sword gash into his side. He managed to flop to the floor as the soldier swept the sword down, trying to cleave his head in half. He tried twice to strike the soldier, but the man was too well trained. Thealos looked back at the window and tried to scramble towards it to escape into the street. He saw others taking advantage of the exit and fleeing into the side alleys.

  “Give it to me, Shaden!” the soldier snarled, dislodging his weapon from the smashed wooden table and charged at him again. Thealos was dizzy with pain and fatigue, but he’d managed to keep himself away from the mob of Kiran Thall who had turned to fight the Wolfsmen. His arm went quickly numb from the shock of the blows. The blade of Jade-Shayler held the attacker off, but the weapon’s magic couldn’t match the skill of his foe. Thealos’ rolled quickly sideways to avoid another stroke and hurried back to his feet.

  Quickly, Thealos ducked away, trying to get out of the man’s reach. He was almost to the window. But the soldier’s lust for the magic drove him after Thealos relentlessly. “Give it to me! Ban you, Shaden! It’s mine!”

  A deathscream cut into the tavern and stabbed Thealos’ ears and eyes like knives. The blade in his hand flared brighter than a torch, consuming him in a sheet of pulsing blue flame. The scream echoed in Thealos’ mind, and the smell of death stung his nose. A Shae’s death. For an instant, he felt death’s kiss on his cheeks, then everything in motion stopped under a cracking of rich thunder. It wasn’t thunder from a storm – it came from across the tavern and filled the leaf-blade in Thealos’ hand. One of the Crimson Wolfsmen was dead. He couldn’t see the body, but he felt the man’s final gasp of pain. The blade had reacted to it like lightning, encasing Thealos in a ball of glaring light. Thealos stood helpless for a moment, feeling the strength of the magic intensify. It wasn’t Earth magic – he’d felt that many times. It was different, stronger, more frenzied. Images of the Wolfsman’s life whipped past him, bonding him to the sword, to the memories. It was stronger than anything he had felt in his life. A bond. A communion with the dead. For an instant, all of the Shae in the tavern were one, Thealos with them. He could see things through their eyes and they could see through his.

  When the shock of thunder was spent, the whirlwind of the tavern resumed.

  The Kiran Thall stumbled away from Thealos, covering his eyes from the glare of the sword. Thealos could see the other Wolfsmen attackers in his mind even though they were still surrounded by enemies. They were just as aware of him as he was of them and charged forward, eager for the kill, whipping through the crowds of soldiers with lethal efficiency. There was no way they were going to let him escape. He was their charge, their mission. The Council of Elders in Avisahn wanted him in prison.

  Thealos knew he had to leave. The Kiran Thall were strong, but the Wolfsmen were stronger now; the bond with their fallen comrade had renewed them. Thealos felt a pull, a windstorm against his back, an energy he’d never experienced. The soldier’s eyes in front of him widened with shock as Thealos met him stroke for stroke, inch for inch. It was as if he’d handled the leaf-blade all his life. Thealos cut the man once, twice, slashing his armor open. Thealos pressed towards him, hungry for the kill. He couldn’t stop himself. He didn’t want to.

  “The garrison!” someone shouted. “The garrison is coming!”

  As the soldier turned to look, Thealos had him, driving the short blade all the way through, burying it to the hilt. Warm blood splashed on Thealos’ hand as he jerked the sword up and out, letting the soldier crumple to the floor. He stared down at the body and then looked up.

  The leader of the Wolfsman quaere was staring at him in fury. He could hear the man’s thoughts. That weapon doesn’t belong to you!

  Thealos ran to the window and vaulted outside, cutting his hand on a shard of glass on the sill. He knew he was bleeding, but he barely felt it. If the Wolfsmen caught him, it was all over. His encounter with Tannon, this fight in the Foxtale – for nothing. They were distractions from his real goal. He had to get to Landmoor.

  The sea wind on the pier whipped fiercely at Thealos’ clothes. He saw the garrison jogging down the street, armor and weapons jangling. The Kiran Thall were making for their horses, falling one after another to the knight who defied them all. He cut them from their horses, spilling their bodies into the street. Hearing the stamp of hooves, Thealos turned and saw the charging gelding, almost too late. Thealos was hit from behind, shouldered roughly by the horse.

  As he lay on his back in the street, just beyond the reach of Secrist’s sword tip, he knew he had come very close to dying. The horse loomed over him, its foul breath snorting puffs of steam in the night air.

  Secrist’s eyes met his coldly. “You’re dead, Shaden,” he spat, giving him a look of hatred. “No matter where you hide!” Whistling, Secrist called the other Kiran Thall to ride and jerked the reins roughly, galloping into the night-filled streets. “Ride! Ride!”

  Thealos got to his feet quickly. He wanted to chase the man and cut him down with all the others. The magic burned furiously inside him. He could still see through the eyes of the other Wolfsmen. Then he saw himself in their eyes. Turning quickly, he faced off as the leader of the Crimson Wolfsman emerged from the window. Holding the blade of Jade-Shayler before him protectively, Thealos backed into the alley near the inn. Wrapped in the thick night shadows, he retreated from the commotion of the inn-room brawl.

  A moment later the Wolfsman leader was there. His eyes were flinty and blue, like a mountain framed against the sky. He joined Thealos in the darkness of the alley. Even in the dark, even at night, Thealos could feel the other Shae’s presence.

  “Thealos Quickfellow,” the Wolfsman said angrily in Silvan. “I am Xenon, Watcher Lor of Sol. You are under arrest by the Shae Council of Elders for high treason. You will come with me and stand trial before the Sunedrion.”

  “I have not been charged with treason,” Thealos countered in Silvan, backing away, keeping his distance. He felt the magic in his arm, but something was not right. It retreated back into the blade. Abandoning him to the wind and the pain at his side and hand.

  “You defile that weapon by touching it! You are not a Crimson Wolfsman. You were not trained in the magic. You are nothing but an unskilled barter. A boy. Now set that blade down, or I’ll make you.”

  “No,” Thealos replied, shaking his head. He backed slowly towards an alley. “I can’t go back with you. Not now. There is danger for the Shae, I must…”

  “You h
ave no choice, Quickfellow. This is not something you can run from anymore. You will answer for your crime, for the most serious of crimes! I have no respect for Kilshae, and oathbreakers are the worst. You are a craven and a rebel. Stand and face your crimes, boy. You’ve run far enough!”

  Thealos felt a prick of awareness on the back of his neck. A whisper that someone was there, just behind him.

  “I don’t see him running from you, son of Keasorn,” Jaerod said in perfect Silvan. His black cloak rustled softly. “He chose to leave Avisahn. He chooses what he must.”

  The Crimson Wolfsman studied the Sleepwalker for a moment. An instant. Then he came at Jaerod like a whirlwind.

  Jaerod shoved Thealos aside, a hard blow that sent him off his feet and onto the cobblestones. Thealos twisted around, his shoulder throbbing, and watched the Sleepwalker evade the Wolfsman’s blows.

  Xenon was a trained Lor. He had been training since before Thealos had learned to read, and probably before Jaerod was even born. The short blade whipped around in dizzying strokes, slicing and stabbing at the black-clothed human. There was a frenzied haste to it, a hunger to kill so deep that Thealos recognized it in his eyes. The human would fall quickly. He was no match for the skill and training of a…

  Xenon went over backwards, flipping, landing hard on his back. The Wolfsman blinked, stunned, and was on his feet instantly, slashing out again. The Sleepwalker waited for him. Jaerod moved like tidewater, his hands out and away from his body, his feet mercurial as he shifted his stances to avoid the hail of blows. He moved subtly, deftly, just enough so that the weapon passed harmlessly by him. The cloak followed his movements, snapping at the wind. Xenon struck again and again. He missed every time. In a quick reach, Jaerod caught the Wolfsman’s arm, locking it painfully at the elbow and hurled him into the wall of the Foxtale. He struck it hard. Blood dribbled from a cut at the warrior’s temple. Xenon didn’t flinch, but flung himself at the black shadow, high low – high again. Every move and technique meant to bring his opponent down.

  “Jaerod, behind you!” Thealos warned as the second Wolfsman joined the attack, coming out from beneath a dark awning into the alley.

  The Sleepwalker didn’t falter. He zigzagged around Xenon and put himself between them and Thealos. He faced two now, weaponless, his hands slightly apart as he studied them. Both came at him with a howl of fury and went down in a heap as the Sleepwalker ducked down, swept one down with a clip at the ankle and rose again, striking his palm under the other’s chin. Xenon gasped with the jolt and reeled backwards, clutching his neck and struggling to stay conscious. Twisting sideways, Jaerod dropped down, hammering the flat of his hand against the other’s neck. The Shae blacked out and slumped in the street.

  The Sleepwalker rose slowly, his eyes never leaving the injured Lor. Xenon panted, clutching his throat and wheezing with pain. “The garrison,” Jaerod reminded Xenon pointedly. The advancing soldiers had filled the street outside the Foxtale. It was only a matter of time before they flooded the alleys too. “The Shae queen would be furious to know that Crimson Wolfsmen were involved in a ravinjon in Sol tonight.”

  Xenon glared at Jaerod. He also replied in the king’s common. “Then we will meet again, human. And when we do, you will die.”

  “All die in the gods’ due time. And only then.”

  Thealos stared in amazement as the Crimson Wolfsman Lor heaved his unconscious comrade over his shoulder and stole deeper into the shadows before the first ranks of the Sol garrison reached them. Thealos looked at Jaerod, rubbing his throbbing shoulder.

  The long sword dangled from the Sleepwalker’s hip still enfolded in the slender leather sheath. Untouched.

  * * *

  The Foxtale was in shambles. Broken tables and smashed chairs littered the main hall. Posts that supported the ceiling were splintered and the cross-beams sagged. Blood and ale lay in puddles on the floor. Many of the patrons had been trampled or stabbed by the Kiran Thall attack. The dead were brought out to the wharves by the city soldiers, lined up, and covered with blankets to be taken to the garrison coroner. But those who had started the encounter had paid the heaviest toll. Barely half of the Kiran Thall had escaped with their lives. The tavern keeper, Roye, was furious and surly as he complained in guttural harshness to the captain of the damage that was done. Thealos watched them from a chair, tenderly massaging his shoulder. The cut on his side had stopped bleeding.

  “If you were going to start a fight on this side of the river,” Jaerod said, feeling the bone of Thealos’s shoulder. “You should have waited for me to get here first.” He took Thealos’ arm and bent it, testing the soundness.

  “But I didn’t…” Thealos stammered and realized the Sleepwalker was only teasing him. His grey eyes glinted with amusement. He groaned as Jaerod popped his shoulder back into place. It hurt like fire, but at least he was alive. “I thought those Wolfsmen were going to take me back to Nordain. Thank Vannier you came when you did.”

  Jaerod nodded and rose, observing the damages. “You can thank him when you say your prayers tonight. Tell me what happened.” He pulled out the damp bag of Everoot.

  Thealos related the experience as quickly as he could, mentioning the Crimson Wolfsmen watchers and how the Kiran Thall had provoked the fight by wanting to hang the knight. Jaerod’s eyes darkened and he nodded, listening. He withdrew a bit of Everoot and pressed it into Thealos hand. The Silvan magic wrapped him in its warmth, healing the cut on his side and the gash on his hand, leaving him complete and whole once more. The feelings washed over him in warm waves, soothing and soft

  “Fury, but that feels good,” Thealos sighed, staring at the vibrant moss in his hand.

  “I need to speak to the garrison captain so we can leave. Wait for me.” The Sleepwalker approached the tavern keeper and the soldiers and began talking to them.

  Thealos lowered his fist, savoring the dregs of the magic. He quickly looked around the room and saw Ticastasy tending the fallen Drugaen. The serving girl pressed a bloodied rag against his barrel chest in an effort to stanch the bleeding. Flent’s face was paler than sapwax, and his breathing came in ragged gasps. Thealos was sickened at the sight. The soldiers had hacked him even after he’d fallen. He lay in a puddle of blood.

  “How is he?” Thealos said softly, coming up behind the girl and squatting low next to her.

  “Thirsty,” the stocky Drugaen replied with a broken grin. He grit his teeth with pain. “’Stasy thinks… if I drink anything, it’ll come spilling out on my shirt.” He seized up in a cough and blood dribbled down his lip. “But I’d rather leak ale…than blood.”

  “Sshhhh,” the serving girl muttered, putting a fresh cloth on his chest. “I sent Norrie running for a Zerite, Flent. He’ll help you, just stay awake. Please, just stay awake a little longer!”

  Thealos stared down at the Drugaen. He was in agony. How he’d survived the battle at all, Thealos didn’t know. He wondered if he had looked this bad when Jaerod found him in the gully. His heart panged at the thought. “Let me help him.”

  The serving girl looked at him with a surge of hope. “Are you a healer?”

  “My people are.” He looked down at Flent and then at the girl. Opening his hand, he showed them the stump of Everoot.

  “What is that?” she asked, staring at it warily.

  The Drugaen looked past Thealos, as if seeing something behind him. His eyes glazed over and his head drooped low on his chest. He was fighting to keep his eyes open.

  “Flent!” she gasped, clutching his shirt front and shaking him. “Don’t you give up on me. Stay with me!” Her eyes brimmed with tears.

  With the Everoot in his hand, Thealos pulled the bloody cloth away and pressed the vibrant moss against the deep gash. He felt the magic surge, rush from the plant into the Drugaen’s limp body. The Earth magic spread slowly from his hand. It wasn’t the same reaction as when Jaerod had used the plant on him. It was weaker now, not as refreshed, but the results were the same. Flent gasped
once, twice, his chest heaving – eyes wide.

  “What…what are you doing?” the serving girl demanded, alarmed.

  “Don’t fight it,” Thealos soothed. “It’s all right.”

  Color returned to Flent’s bloodless cheeks. His hand filled with strength as he gripped Ticastasy’s arm, squeezing it so hard she winced. Her eyes widened with shock. His chest rose and fell, long and slow. A timid grin spread over his mouth. The bloodstained clothes were still there. But when Thealos lifted his hand, the gaping wound on his chest was gone. And so was the clump of Everoot.

  “Thank Achrolese!” she whispered in surprise. “Thank Achrolese, you saved him!” She squeezed Thealos’ hands fiercely. “Thank you, my lord. Thank you!”

  Thealos’ shoulders sagged with relief and he couldn’t help but smile. He’d never saved someone’s life before. With all the death that night, it felt wonderful.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized, “What a wretch – I’ve got blood all over you!” Grabbing a fresh towel, she cleaned his hands.

  Flent sat up slowly, letting out a deep sigh, and looked at his bloodstained clothes. Ticastasy tossed down the towel, looked at the Drugaen sternly, and then wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t you ever do that again!” she said, half-choked with tears.

  He smoothed her hair. “I’ve never let any man hit you, ‘Stasy.” His eyes narrowed. “If he comes back to Sol again, I’ll split him nose to navel. I swear it.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I didn’t know what else to do, Flent.”

  Thealos looked at her with a frown, remembering. “You provoked him. Deliberately. Why?”

  Her eyes flashed. “So I could slip into the kitchens and send the cooks running for the garrison. I don’t need to answer to you…”

  Thealos touched her arm to calm her. “I’m glad you did. You surprised me, that’s all. You knew that Kiran Thall?”