Something told me it was a certain angry youth, probably looking for a chance to assassinate me.
Before I could let Malak know that his brother was following us, faint rustling sounds approached from both the left and right, growing louder by the second. I turned to the left, expecting to find polar bears running us down.
But it wasn’t the Alqani. This time, they really were monsters.
It was the only description my brain would give those things. There were three of them, vaguely human-shaped but gaunt and skeletal with sickly gray-white skin. Scraps of rags, or possibly skin, hung from them in tatters—and huge, round, gleaming yellow eyes bulged from their bald and skull-like heads.
Three more of them approached from the right. They were trying to box us in.
“The aid’ha!” Malak shouted, immediately positioning his spear toward the right-hand group. “They never come out during the day!”
I decided I’d ask what the hell an aid’ha was later, after these things were dead.
Without consulting each other, Ian and I faced the group on the left while Malak and Pahna headed right. He’d already launched the spear, and Pahna was glowing, snarling. Her polar bear form charged ahead of Malak.
Ian went wolf at the same time, tearing across the half-frozen ground toward the shambling, clicking monsters, and I thought screw control. Right now, overkill worked just fine for me.
As Ian lunged at one of them, I raced forward and jumped toward another, driving a fist into the ground about five feet in front of it. All I could think about was tearing it into several small pieces, because it was obviously some kind of zombie and they weren’t easy to kill.
A huge crack zigzagged outward from my fist, and the ground burst outward in a series of flat, jagged stone discs that swarmed toward the monster like bees and sliced through it, neatly lopping off its arms, legs, and head. The pieces fell to the ground, and those horrible eyes went dark.
Holy shit. I couldn’t have done that on purpose if I’d tried.
Ian had another one handled, and Malak and Pahna were attacking their third together while the first two lay dead. There should’ve been another one on this side. Where the hell was it?
That was when I heard a pained cry behind me, and turned to see Toklai impaled on what was probably his own spear raised in the hands of the remaining monster. His invisibility flickered on and off, disappearing the zombie-thing with him as he kicked at the air and struggled to free himself.
I ran toward him, kind of wishing I’d done at least a little training. I couldn’t risk throwing a raw surge of magic. The chances were just as good that I’d hurt Toklai as the monster. So I’d have to improvise.
I went invisible just before I reached them, then grabbed the creature’s arm and wrenched the spear from its bony grip. “Sorry,” I said hastily as Toklai thudded to the ground with the spear still through him. “Just a second.”
The monster opened its jagged, black-lined mouth and roared at me. I shuddered, drew my free hand back and punched it square in the face.
I felt bones, or something like them, snap beneath my fist. Thin black fluid burst from its rotting nose and leaked from the corners of its eyes. Christ, this thing was horrifying. I spun it around by the arm and smashed it against the nearest tree, and more bone-like structures cracked.
It obviously didn’t have any magic, so I used my dagger to finish it off. When its hideous eyes flickered out, I ran back to Toklai.
He was on his side, breathing shallowly with his eyes closed. The spear was still through him, and his blood soaked the ground beneath him. “It’s okay, kid. I’ve got you,” I said as I crouched beside him and grabbed the spear handle just under the tip, where it protruded from his back. “I’m gonna have to pull this thing out. Just don’t try to kill me for helping you, all right?”
Toklai grunted. I wasn’t sure if that was a yes or a no.
“Won’t take long. I promise,” I said, and pulled hard.
His scream ended in a gurgling cough that forced blood from his mouth.
“Toklai!” I heard Malak shout, and then several pairs of running feet approached.
I tuned them out and closed my eyes, focused on healing the kid. At least his healing points were still strong and clearly visible, bright pulsing red beacons within him. I sent magic into the glowing point at the center of his gut, closest to the wound, and sensed his flesh drawing itself back together.
When it was done, he drew in a gasping breath and scrambled away from me, lunging abruptly to his feet. He stopped and stood there with his head bowed. “I could’ve healed myself,” he muttered.
“Yeah, you’re welcome,” I said, tossing him his blood-drenched spear. “Maybe I’ll let you next time.”
The other three stood nearby in a loose group, all of them staring at Toklai. Malak was the first to speak. “I can’t believe you followed us,” he said, and then stopped and shook his head. “Actually, I can believe it. I just don’t want to.” He took a few steps toward his brother. “I asked you to help protect the younger ones while we were gone, Toklai. Why can’t you ever take your responsibilities seriously?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” Toklai cried suddenly as he raised his head, his eyes glittering. “I just wanted to …”
Malak sighed. “To what? Prove you’re a man?” he said. “Prove it by being responsible.”
Toklai shuddered. His gaze swung rapidly from Malak to me. He swallowed once and looked like he was about to say something, before he spun on a heel and sprinted back toward the village.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get through to him,” Malak said wearily. “Father was the only one who could make him listen, and now …” He squared his shoulders and heaved a breath. “Thank you for saving him, Donatti. I know he’ll never say it, but he is grateful.”
“It’s fine. Really,” I said, glancing around at the remains of the monsters. “What are those things, anyway?”
“They are the aid’ha. Those claimed by the storm.” Malak shuddered. “They used to be djinn.”
Jesus Christ. If those things were what happened when anyone tried to get out of the border spell, then we really needed to shut it down and put everything back the way it belonged. And all we had to do was strong-arm a bunch of polar bears, and then kill an ancient, legendary monster, without dying ourselves.
If we managed to pull that off, ‘Mission Impossible’ might be a better choice for the next movie night.
Chapter 20
It wasn’t long before the black wall of the Alqani village loomed ahead, with its soap-bubble shimmer and guarded gate. I’d already started charging the bracelet so I could get through. Ian and I walked ahead, with Malak and Pahna trailing as far behind as possible and trying to seem like they weren’t absolutely terrified.
I hated that they had to feel that way. Some of their own family members were behind that wall.
“Hey, Ian,” I said quietly as we neared the place. “I think there’s something out there, buried in the field.”
His brow furrowed. “Something like what?”
“I’m not sure, exactly,” I said. “Big hollow spots. Caverns, maybe? And … there might be something moving around down there. It was about where they showed the Great Seal thing in the puppet show last night.”
“Do you believe it is the Wihtiko?”
“Hell no. Whatever’s moving, it’s not nearly big enough to be that,” I said. “I just thought it was weird, you know? And usually, weird things are bad news for us.”
“Indeed, they are.” Ian frowned and glanced over his shoulder. “Perhaps we will have the chance to investigate, if things go well here this morning.”
I gave the high walls of the Alqani village a scowl, spotting the gate sentries. “Yeah, I’m not really getting a ‘things-are-going-well’ feeling out of this.”
Ian sighed. “Nor am I.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I said. “I mean, I feel awful for these kids, but t
here’s still a chance we could get out of here —”
“We are not leaving.” Ian barked the words like a command. “All my life, I have fought because I must. But not this time. I choose to face this evil. And I can, and will, defeat it. My father would have done the same, if he were here in my stead.”
“Okay, then. Glad we’re on the same page.” And the same side, I thought with an inward smirk. Prince Ian might be a little rusty, but Warrior Ian was always just beneath the surface, ready and willing to mow through entire armies with his bare hands. He’d done it before, and he looked ready to do it again, if it came down to that.
The same two guards as before, Harpoon Guy and Bow Man, stood at the gates. When they saw us coming, they didn’t bother with the wait-and-taunt game. They rushed out, readying their weapons as they came.
“Sorry, assholes. We don’t have time to play today,” I called as I dropped to a knee and slammed both fists into the ground.
With a deep rumble of shifting earth, two boulder-sized stone fists burst out of the snow in front of the guards and punted them into the air like flailing volleyballs. They flew up and over the wall, presumably to land hard somewhere behind it.
I hadn’t realized the other two had come up close until a low whistle sounded at my back, and Malak said, “You have to show me how to do that.”
I grinned and straightened. “I’m not a very good teacher, but I’ll try,” I said. “Come on, let’s get inside before they can rally the troops.”
“Perhaps you do not require more training,” Ian said as we picked up the pace.
“Trust me, that was a lucky shot.”
He snorted. “You have no luck, thief.”
“Sure I do. It’s just the bad kind.”
We were both laughing when we walked through the gate with Malak and Pahna sticking close, probably thinking we were both nuts. Laughing in the face of overwhelming odds had become our way of dealing with the tension when we’d been dealt a bad hand, and it’d gone on for too long to change now. But the amusement died on the other side of the wall as we entered the clearing between the gate and the village, and found the troops already rallied. A dozen Alqani and two older Annukhai, one of them Balain, waited for us.
Ian took the lead with long, rapid strides, wearing a mask of cold fury. “Balain!” he thundered loud enough to make the whole group of them flinch. “I challenge you for the title of ray’is, you miserable coward!”
Balain stepped forward when Ian stopped in the clearing. He wore the same type of tunic and pants as the Alqani, but his was gray instead of blue, and he had two swords strapped to his back. “Who are you to challenge me?” he shouted — and then did a double-take as his gaze flicked to Malak and narrowed.
“What is he doing?” Malak hissed. “He can’t challenge my uncle. Balain will kill him!”
That’s what I was afraid of, but I wouldn’t say that out loud. “Ian knows what he’s doing,” I said.
At least I hoped he did.
“I am Gahiji-an, son of Omari-el of the clan Dehbei. Prince of the Desert Wolves, scourge of the Serpent Clan, and blood guardian of the Annukhai.” Ian’s voice rang out like a gong, rolling across the landscape. “And you are not fit to call yourself ray’is. You have failed in your duties, and I demand that you meet me in combat as custom dictates.”
For a moment Balain stood there, frozen and gaping. Then he flashed a terrible smile, reached back and drew both swords. “Very well, prince of the Dehbei,” he said mockingly. “I suppose I will have to put you down like the dog you are. It is a shame your pup has to witness your disgrace.”
Ian started taking his duster off. “At least I am proud to be a dog,” he spat. “You have made yourself a belly-crawling toad, licking the feet of your vile masters while you grow fat from their scraps.”
A few of the Alqani moved to lunge at him, but Balain stopped them with an upraised hand. “The prince has called for combat, and his call will be answered with death,” he said. “When I am finished with him, you can feast on his bones.”
Rough laughter from the Alqani responded, and Malak tensed beside me. Suddenly, he sprinted toward Ian.
“Malak, don’t!” I whispered sharply. If he tried to stop this, I had a feeling Balain would kill him on general principle. Besides, Ian was right — these pampered djinn needed to know we meant business.
But Malak only held a hand out for Ian’s duster, and then said something I couldn’t make out and tried to give him his spear. Ian shook his head. Malak pulled the curved sword from his belt, and Ian nodded and took it.
When he came back with Ian’s coat, I said, “You really shouldn’t go out there. He doesn’t need a weapon, anyway. He fights with the wolf.”
“He can’t do that now.” Malak blanched slightly, and Pahna rushed up to put an arm around him. “Magic is not permitted during title combat, including transformation — not even to heal.”
“Shit,” I whispered, swallowing hard as I watched Ian test the short sword in the air. It didn’t look like any match for Balain’s longer, sharper weapons. “Does he know that?”
“He does. I told him.”
Damn it, things were not shaping up in our favor here. “How strong is your uncle, anyway?” I murmured, staring as the two of them began to circle each other. In the distance, I saw more Alqani headed this way from the village, and it looked like three of them were the council members. Great, the gang was all here.
Malak took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. “Balain was the only warrior to survive the attack on the Wihtiko,” he said. “And the only one to wound the creature in battle, and return with a trophy.”
“Terrific.” I beat back a surge of panic, knowing Ian would feel it if I didn’t. Panic wasn’t going to help him right now.
Balain made the first move, swinging his left-hand blade down like a hammer. Ian side-stepped and met the blow with his sword, letting the curve of the blade slide it off to miss his shoulder by an inch. The clang of the weapons was so loud, I expected sparks to fly.
When Balain brought the other sword around low, Ian leapt lightly over it, and then ducked beneath the arcing swing of the first blade, twirling in midair like a figure skater. I gasped involuntarily as the swords whizzed past Ian — that move that probably would’ve taken his head off, if it’d still been there. Teeth clenched, Ian landed and flashed out with the cutlass. He managed to slice Balain’s tunic before one of the straight swords smashed his weapon back.
I kept half an eye on the Alqani spectators as I watched the fight, especially Meriwa. She seemed furious, as expected, but there was something else in her expression beneath the anger. Something cold and calculating, as if she was playing out the possible outcomes and deciding what to do about them.
If she tried anything stupid, I’d probably go after her, and maybe get myself killed. But I wouldn’t let a little thing like the high chance of death stop me.
After all, it wasn’t stopping Ian.
The two duelists had gone back to circling each other, looking for an opening in each other’s defenses. With only one weapon, Ian was at a clear disadvantage, but he seemed faster than Balain. So far, neither of them had drawn blood.
That changed when Ian lunged suddenly, feinting back when Balain jerked away. The Annukhai drew his arm up for a swing, and Ian ducked and swiped in a tight arc, catching his side and slicing through his tunic and the skin beneath.
Balain roared and kicked out at his opponent, planting a foot into his chest and sending him tumbling away. As Ian rolled to his feet, he desperately parried a backhand swipe that would have split him from navel to neck, only to see Balain’s second sword plunging toward his chest. He blocked the thrust with his forearm, grunting as the blade burst through his limb and sprayed his face with his own blood.
I bit down on a cry and grabbed my own arm as the pain ripped through it.
“Are you okay?” Pahna breathed. She moved toward me with alarm. “What happened?”
And if he died, I died. For the first time I wondered if that would still happen if the tether wasn’t involved.
I thought it might. Because this fucking hurt.
Ian twisted his impaled arm savagely down, jerking at the same time, and wrenched the sword from Balain’s grasp. He swiped wildly with his short sword and staggered back as Balain came after him hard with his remaining sword. But Ian avoided his swings. He grabbed the hilt of the sword through his arm and yanked it out with a single pull.
That hurt even more, and I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming in sympathy.
Before Ian could get a decent grip on the bloody sword, Balain knocked it out of his hand. He half-dove after it, and Balain brought the other sword up and skewered Ian through his side, just above his hip.
At least he’d missed the guts and intestines. I could feel the white-hot burn somewhere around my kidney.
This time, Ian didn’t stagger. He grabbed Balain’s wrist with both hands and yanked him forward, skewering himself further in the process and grinning like a demon through the mask of blood covering his face. By then I was clenching my teeth so hard I thought they’d break, and wondering how the hell Ian had managed not to make a sound so far.
Balain’s eyes widened with something like fear. He tried to tug his arm free, but Ian held fast with one hand and drew the other one back, clenching a fist.
The uppercut that crashed into Balain’s chin sounded like a bowling ball dropped on a sidewalk. Ian’s blow knocked him back with his arms flung out, and he wavered and fell to his knees.
“Mewling traitor,” Ian snarled, jerking the sword out of his side like King Arthur drawing Excalibur. “I would part your miserable head from your shoulders, but that death is too quick for you!” He lunged with his opponent’s sword, piercing him through the midsection in a savage thrust. As Balain moaned and clamped an arm against the wound, Ian snarled and thrust the blade forward again, stabbing deep into the Annukhai’s shoulder. Balain desperately scrambled backwards across the hard-packed ground, seeing murder in Ian’s eyes.
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