He pulled on the reins, stopping the wagon. Climbing down he walked toward Kate purposefully. She took a step back, but he kept moving forward until he stood in front of her. Taking her hand, he pulled her along with him, walking until they were fifty yards away, hidden by trees and thick underbrush. He was half a head taller, which meant he had to look down at her from such a close distance. “Is that what you want? You think that coming with me will change the past? That we can have a second chance, or that you can change me?”
She turned her head away in denial, “No. I know there’s no going back.”
“Yet you think to abandon your son, and your husband, for what?”
“When you left the first time, fifteen years ago,” she began, “I was devastated. It was years before I finally accepted it, and then you returned again. You agreed to a deal that you thought was certain death to return, and when you left you were certain you’d be dead in your next fight. Now you’re taking my only sister, and the only thing I have left of you, back to that place. She’s young, and she’s scared, and you’ve already admitted she may have to fight for her life. You expect me to let you walk away a third time?”
The look in her eyes pierced him, but he drew on his anger to shield him from the softer emotions that lay deeper, “What exactly do you think you’ll be when you get there?”
“It won’t matter,” she said. “As long as I can help her, or them. They’re only children.”
“You’ll be a slave, Kate, and once they put that collar on you, there’s no going back. Believe me on that, for I’ve tried. Not only will you be a slave, but you’ll be considered near worthless since you have no power. They call those the ‘nameless’ back in Ellentrea, and they are universally bullied and abused. The only thing you possess of value are your looks, and those will only bring you trouble. The only currency among the slaves of the She’Har is sex, but you won’t be able to trade it, they’ll simply take what they want from you.”
Her face blanched as he spoke, but her stubbornness remained, “You said the collar prevented that.”
He sneered, “Only the most common form of penetration, there are plenty of other ways to seek pleasure—or to violate someone.”
“I saw how you were with them yesterday. They wouldn’t dare…”
“I am the first one you should be afraid of,” he growled. “Go home.”
“Or what?” she said, scowling back at him.
In Ellentrea the only way to react to such defiance was with violence or submission. His self-control snapped, and his hand shot out, catching her by the hair at the back of her head. He wanted to hurt her, but rather than strike her, he channeled his rage in a different manner. Leaning forward, he twisted her head to one side and bit her ear, hard.
She yelled, pushing at him with her hands, but she was trapped. One knee came up, seeking to wound him where it would count most, but he had expected that, twisting to one side. He kicked her feet out from under her and let her fall to the ground.
Before she could rise he was on her, pressing her down. She was helpless. The beast within him rose, demanding he feed it. Blood and ashes, he thought. Blood and ashes. Emerald eyes stared up at him as she stopped fighting.
A single tear escaped, falling to the ground.
He went still. He was hurting Kate. He was hurting the only woman who had ever truly cared for him. To make her go home, he reminded himself, but he knew that was a lie. He wanted her. Forcing her to go home was just an excuse.
She pushed him off as she sensed his hesitation. “Is that it?” she demanded, “Don’t you want to prove how evil you are? Can’t you finish the job?”
He looked away, “I will hurt you far worse than this.”
“What? You’ll bite my other ear?! You’ll pretend you’re going to rape me? I’m not afraid of you!” She was as furious as he had ever seen her.
Somehow he had lost control of the situation. Fifteen years he had been among the She’Har, regularly inculcated with cruelty and indifference, and yet it had only taken Kate fifteen minutes to strip away the years and leave him feeling like the uncertain boy he had once been. For a moment it was Tyrion who was merely a memory. Daniel Tennick stared at the girl he had once loved beyond all hope, and the pain of everything he had done threatened to overwhelm him.
No, no, no, no—no! She had to go home.
Kate was watching his face intently, her anger vanishing as she saw the muscles around his lips begin to tremble. Daniel’s face was twisting, shifting, as if a wave of grief had abruptly struck. The hard uncaring veneer was crumbling, and beneath it lay an ocean of suffering. He’s about to lose it, she thought. The realization brought feelings of both triumph and fear. Her ‘Daniel’ was still in there, but she was also worried he might collapse, utterly broken.
Suddenly she was the one who was uncertain. Her intuition told her she had two courses. Take him in her arms, and he would dissolve. If there was one person his inner child looked to for forgiveness, it was her, and if she granted it—it might start an avalanche. He was vulnerable. The only way his soul could ever begin to heal was in her arms.
But it might also completely undo him. Would he fall apart?
The other course was obvious. Rebuff him. Hurt him. A sharp treatment with the sort of cold cruelty he had learned to expect would probably snap him back into what had become his normal mindset. Only hatred could summon the devil.
Daniel felt her eyes on him as his world crumbled. Everything was spinning out of control. He should never have come back. His father’s words echoed in his mind, I wish you had never been born. What was he doing? Kidnapping his own children. It seemed like the grandest folly he had ever committed. They hated him. Everyone hated him. His legs felt weak, and a moment later he found himself on the ground.
The logic he had relied upon no longer made sense, and then he felt them.
Several points of brilliant aythar, approaching from the direction of Colne. Somehow they had gone around, probably during the night, searching the outlying regions around the town. Now they were advancing from the town itself. The wardens were coming.
They would try to take the children. He was sure of that. They were un-collared and he had no She’Har with him to make a claim for the Illeniel. How many will die if I fight them with all of these children present? He couldn’t fight. He didn’t want to fight.
Everyone hated him, except possibly the woman who was studying him now, staring at him with a shocked expression. She has to go home. She can’t be here when they come.
“They’re coming, Kate,” he told her sadly. “Please, you have to go. They don’t want you. You’ll be safe if you aren’t here.” Staring up at her, he could see her aura wavering, uncertain, as if she was making a decision. “Please, go home.”
Panic struck her at his words. They’re coming. Kate made her choice. She spat on him, “Get up you fucking coward. Did you think I’d forgive you if you cried? I don’t give two shits about your feelings. You’re pathetic. Seeing you like this makes me sick!”
“You don’t understand, Kate…” he began, but she kicked him then, and he quickly realized he had let his shield lapse.
The pain in his side, combined with the look of disgust on her face, sent a wave of coldness through him. She was looking down on him, just like the She’Har, just like the wardens.
The bitch was looking down—on him.
Fury burned, and Tyrion stood again.
For a brief second he considered giving in to the impulse to kill her. That would be satisfying, but something stopped him. No, he would punish her. Let her learn the lessons he had. “You will regret that, slave,” he told her coldly.
Her demeanor changed, disdain replaced by fear. Tears started in her eyes, and this time they pleased him. She cast her eyes downward, letting her hair hide her features.
“Get back to the wagon,” he ordered. “We have to prepare for guests.”
Chapter 12
Fifteen teens, two adults
, and one wagon; there was no way they could move quickly enough to stay out of range. Tyrion could dampen his aythar as much as possible, but it would only delay the inevitable. The She’Har scouting party would find them.
He could probably close his mind completely, totally hiding his aythar, but they would still note the presence of seventeen people. Once they approached to investigate, it would only seem more suspicious when they realized he had been attempting to hide from them.
He scanned the youths once more. If any of them had begun to show signs of power, he might be able to use them, but there was still nothing. Gabriel Evans had flickering signs in his aura, but they were so weak he probably wasn’t even aware of them yet.
Tyrion’s saddlebag rested on the driver’s seat. He reached into it and took out the quarrel he had recovered from Branlyinti’s body and then handed it to Kate. “Load it and hope you don’t have to use it.”
She nodded, avoiding eye contact.
“There are riders approaching,” he said, raising his voice for everyone to hear. “I can count eight. They will probably be mostly wardens like myself, but they may have one of the She’Har with them, the ones you call ‘forest-gods’. They will seek to take you from me, by force if necessary.
He paused then, gathering his thoughts, and Gabriel Evans spoke up, “What are you going to do?”
Tyrion was surprised at the boy’s temerity. “I am going to persuade them otherwise. Quite possibly that will mean I have to kill them.”
Brigid piped up, “What if you can’t?”
He smiled, “Then I will see you all dead before I let them take you.”
Their faces blanched, many turning white.
“If that sounds cruel to you, that is because it is, but you have no idea of the sort of torments you will find at the hands of the She’Har and their servants. I consider it a mercy,” he told them. Searching their faces he went on, “None of you are ready to fight, nor do I need you to, but there is a risk that you may be injured or killed during this—discussion. Therefore I need you all to listen carefully and follow my instructions exactly. Can you do that?”
Some of them nodded, while others just stared at him dumbly.
That will have to be good enough, he thought. “I will draw a ring around the wagon, to create a strong shield. It should be enough to protect you. Those who are coming want to take you alive, so I doubt they will try to penetrate it. If they do, it will be in the hope that they can spook you into running. If we become separated, I cannot protect you. If one of them lays hands on you, don’t fight, but do not cooperate; feign unconsciousness, make yourself dead weight, force them to carry you. Otherwise, stay by the wagon, and if the circle is broken do not run.”
He turned away then and began etching a line in the dirt, forming a circle around the wagon. He kept it as small as possible, to minimize the drain on his strength, for he would have to keep some of his power focused on it during the fight that was to come. When he finished it was fifteen feet in diameter; just enough to encircle the wagon, the mule, the children, and Kate.
The party that was approaching had sped up, sensing his presence now. They were less than a mile distant and covering ground at an almost unbelievable pace. Tyrion had thought at first that they rode horses, but he could tell now that they did not. They had taken the shape of wolves, lupine bodies and long legs eating up the ground between them far faster than would be possible for a horse and rider in such rough terrain.
The Gaelyn Grove then, thought Tyrion. That explained the ease with which they had gone around the town and searched the countryside while remaining outside of his detection range. Taking the form of wolves or even birds had enabled them to travel far faster than other wardens. At least I know for certain what grove they all come from, he noted. Their tactic would have been unusable if they had included wardens with other gifts.
He walked roughly thirty yards from the circle and the wagon it would guard—once he empowered it. No shields yet, or I’m considered hostile by default. That meant he had to leave himself unprotected as well, even though he knew what the outcome would be. The difference now was not that he hoped to surprise them, but that he knew some would escape. He was in a defensive position this time, which would make eliminating all of them virtually impossible.
That was fine, though. This was a fight he could justify—so long as he could give an accounting that absolved him of initiating the conflict. That meant he couldn’t defend himself until his opponents had declared their intentions.
Eight massive wolves emerged from the underbrush and spread out before him. Seven of them sat back on their haunches, letting their long tongues hang out as they panted, while the eighth shifted, taking human form. Seconds later a human figure stood where the wolf had been.
Tyrion recognized the strange looking man who stood before him. Charlanum. The brown-skinned, red-eyed She’Har of the Gaelyn Grove had been present at many of his fights in the arena.
He dipped his head respectfully toward the She’Har trainer.
“Tyrion,” said the She’Har. “I see you have found a rich harvest. I assume these are the ones whom we seek.”
“I have already claimed them on behalf of my mistress, Lyralliantha,” he answered. There was no point in wasting time getting to the point.
The She’Har raised one eyebrow, “If that is so, then we will respect the Illeniel claim…” His eyes roved over the teens, “… but I see no collars on them.”
“They will be collared as soon as we return.”
“Then Lyralliantha is not here with you?” asked the Gaelyn She’Har in mock surprise.
Tyrion tensed, “No.”
“Do you expect me to take your word then?” continued the trainer. “A slave cannot make claim to them unless he is following the orders of his master.”
“I have been so ordered.”
“I see no proof of that.”
Tyrion’s eyes narrowed, “I could not be here without her permission. She made her wishes very plain to me before I left. I have taken these, and they will be delivered to her.”
“She is not here,” insisted Charlanum. “Stand aside. When we return I will speak with her and verify your claim. If you speak the truth, she will forgive you for obeying my command and I will give her my apology for transgressing against the Illeniel Grove.”
“But you will already have collared them for the Gaelyn Grove…” said Tyrion, letting his words trail away.
Charlanum smiled, “Of course. I cannot allow slaves to be left unrestricted.”
“I will have to decline your generous offer,” responded Tyrion. “Killing me would incur a serious debt for the Gaelyn Grove.” His last hope of dissuading the She’Har was to remind him that Tyrion’s death would result in a heavy penalty of shuthsi, the honor currency that was traded between groves.
Tyrion was currently the most valuable slave in all the groves, but the prospect of fifteen others who might have similar potential made the risk small in comparison to the possible reward. Charlanum would not be deterred.
“I will regret killing you,” said the She’Har, and his aythar flashed as he began a powerful spellweaving.
Spellweaving was fast, compared to enchanting, but it was slightly slower than the ultimately spontaneous nature of human magic. Ordinarily the difference in speed was insignificant, for human attacks couldn’t penetrate a spellwoven shield, nor could human shields stop a spellwoven attack.
Fortunately, Tyrion didn’t have to produce his enchantments from scratch. The tattoos on his body were complete, they needed only his will and an investment of aythar to activate the enchantments they represented. His prepared shields expanded near instantaneously, with almost a half a second to spare before the Gaelyn She’Har’s attack struck.
Two of the ‘wolves’ sent blasts of force at him. Neither attack had any hope of penetrating his special protection, but they nevertheless sent him tumbling from the sheer force of the blows.
“Two
of you secure the baratti young, the rest of you assist me in handling the warden,” ordered Charlanum.
Tyrion snarled, rolling with the momentum granted by his enemies’ assault, even as he focused his will and raised a shield around the wagon. Somewhere beneath his anger his mind was calculating still, and it didn’t like the odds. Unlike his previous battle, he was now contending with one of ‘the People’, as the term ‘She’Har’ meant when translated into the human language.
The She’Har’s attacks could potentially penetrate his defense, particularly if he grew tired and weakened. One on one that probably wouldn’t be an issue, since he possessed nearly twice the raw aythar that the Gaelyn trainer did, but he still had to factor in the seven human wardens. Keeping a shield around the wagon and dealing with the human mages at the same time would almost certainly exhaust him long before he could finish the She’Har.
Tyrion moved, leaping forward to threaten one of the wolves and then sidestepping to avoid a sudden trap as another removed the earth in front of him, creating a pit. Seconds stretched out like hours as he twisted and turned, avoiding attacks and trying to keep his opponents from organizing against him. As he fought he could feel the first serious attacks on the shield he kept around the wagon beginning to put a strain on his strength.
Unlike his last battle, his enemies now had an unlimited area to move in; that fact, combined with their lupine bodies gave them a clear advantage in mobility. The unrestricted airspace also made certain tactics he had used in the past almost worthless. Desperate, he began to create the aythar laced fog he had used so often before to conceal his movements, but three of the other wardens worked to keep the air moving, destroying his fog before it could become effective.
Similarly, he was unable to create a windstorm, for the same three fought with him for control of the air currents, all while the other two sought to ensnare him, using the earth to create pits or using lines of force to try and slow him down. Charlanum was able to conserve his energy, saving it for focused attacks on Tyrion’s enchanted shield, attacks that Tyrion was becoming less and less able to avoid.
The Silent Tempest (Book 2) Page 11
