Stay asleep.
Decker looked around the room in a panic, fearful someone had somehow heard his thought. If his mother was near, she might have, but she was not in sight. Still, he could not shake the feeling that he had been heard, nor could he convince himself that the desire was insincere. If he sleeps long enough, I can have her. Decker did not have time to resolve the implications of his sudden selfishness.
Gasps from the crowd signaled Titon’s activity. Decker watched as one eye finally opened, followed by the other.
Red veins crawled through the whites of Titon’s eyes so thick that there was hardly any white left within them. Even the dark blue of his irises seemed to have turned purple. Titon’s eyes rolled slowly away from Decker, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief. They went to Red, but as they fixed on her they did not soften. The red veins seemed to come alive with anger and writhe within their spherical prisons.
It was he that heard me.
Titon’s eyes turned with a sudden fury, locking upon Decker, and while he had looked angry with Red, Titon now also showed the hurt of a brother betrayed. Decker tried to speak, finding it impossible to force out any words. As Titon’s eyes grew wider and he shrunk backward into his pillow, Decker attempted to gesture with his hands that he meant him no harm, but the hands he raised were curled into fists. Titon squirmed in his bed and grasped for something at his side, a knife. With all his force, Decker tried to back away, but his efforts were in vain. There were too many people gathered, all so eager to see Titon’s awakening, and they pushed him closer to the bedside—closer to the hand that held the blade.
This time I will let him stab me, thought Decker. But his hands did not obey. As the blade touched the skin of Decker’s belly he lashed out at his brother, hammering him with three blows. Decker heard their mother cry out in sobbing desperation somewhere in the back. Titon was not stopped, and the knife began to press into Decker’s skin, threatening to break through. Decker hit him harder, again three times. The sound of the successive impacts of his fist against his brother’s face was awful—a palpable “thwack, thwack, thwack” as if he were beating a corpse. But the knife kept pressing, breaking through his skin and about to gut him. Decker panicked and hit his brother again, holding nothing back. The “thwack, thwack, thwack” was so loud it reverberated in his ears. Then he heard the booming voice of another Titon call out his name.
“What sort of coward attacks his helpless brother as he sleeps?” His father held his mighty axe—the axe that Decker had seen take the heads of those in their clan who had been condemned to die for unforgivable actions. And now he was one of them, and his father’s axe swung down to remove his own head. With a face bent in rage, his father’s mouth opened wide and screeched, “Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”
“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”
Decker jolted upright and opened his eyes as wide as he could, willing them to adjust. His heart raced, and he was further unsettled when he did not recognize his surroundings.
“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”
He breathed deeply as his senses returned and placed his hands upon his face. He did not remember much of what he had dreamt, only that he was glad to now be awake. He was in Kilandra’s home—or was it still Keethro’s? His hands continued up his face, stretching his skin and finally running through his long, tangled hair. In either case, he had been sleeping in Kilandra’s bed. He confirmed as much by looking to his right to see her still sleeping beside him. Her coverings were thick, but he could still make out her form beneath. It was enough for him to want to wake her with an assault—one she would no doubt enjoy. He had learned quickly that she wished to be pushed rather than lead…contrary to what one may have guessed given her extreme confidence and sensuality. And she wished to be pushed much further than most. It had worked out well, as Decker would not be led in such things—no matter how lovely the leader.
He would have indulged in the act if not for the foul mood his dreams had placed him in. And that damn jay was making itself known far too early as well. Kilandra had no trouble sleeping through the racket, but he had been woken by it nearly every day of the past week. He was also starved near to death.
“Ahht, ahht, ahhhht!”
The River drown you, damn bird! He reached for the mug filled with wine. Chilled by the cold of the winter morning, it was actually quite refreshing. He swished it around in his mouth for a while and swallowed it down.
Rolling out of bed and standing to stretch, he found he erected quite a fort in his underclothes thanks to the Dawnstar’s calling. He looked once again at the graceful shape made by her body under the coverings and sucked at his upper lip. Another time. Soon though, he promised himself.
Like most of the homes of their clansmen, this home had a large root cellar outdoors and a smaller one that could be accessed while still indoors. Decker planned to break his fast on some cheese and eggs, both of which had caught his eye in the small cellar the previous night when he’d fetched the wine. He put on a shirt to help stave off the cold and closed the door behind him, softly as to not wake his sleeping paramour.
The wood beneath his bare feet nipped at him, reminding him that he should have put on some socks, but he was too hungry now. He made his way to the main room where the iron-topped stove resided, but did not feel as much heat coming from it as he’d hoped.
“Dammit, Red,” he muttered under his breath. She should have placed more wood inside when she returned home last night. The girl had become a true nuisance to him. As would be expected, he did not feel comfortable in the presence of both her and her mother, and in fairness, he did not find himself comfortable in Red’s presence even when the two were alone, given how he could not look upon her without being reminded of his brother. He was already accustomed to avoiding the girl. He’d done no different in the past, rejecting every request from her friends for him to pursue her in order to avoid tormenting Titon. A whole lot of good it had done. He wished he never had to see her again, but given the circumstances, that was not likely.
There was still a bit of coal with embers, and it was not long before the several logs he placed inside were surrounded by flames. He put his hand over the skillet that sat atop the stove. It would soon be suitably warm to cook his eggs, and he made his way toward the cellar.
The front door burst open, causing Decker to ready himself for battle out of instinct, but it was merely Red. He did not know where she had been and did not really care, but she had an urgency about her that let him know he would soon find out. Before she spoke, her eyes went downward and darted up again to meet his own. He did not need to look down himself to realize that the Dawnstar still beckoned. He hoped his scraggy beard might hide the majority of his newfound color.
Red spoke quickly, ignoring the embarrassment of the situation. “It’s Titon. He is awake and well.” She was dressed in heavy furs suitable for walking in the frigid temperatures of the northern winter. They may have hidden her body, but they did not succeed in covering the youth and beauty of her face, now framed with dark hair showing only glimmers of crimson. Despite her somewhat cheerful voice, she wore a troubled expression. “But… Just come and see.”
Decker dressed as quickly as he could and met her outside. During the short walk to where Titon stayed, Red was reluctant to speak.
“How is it that you were with him so early? Is that where you have been staying?”
Red took long enough to answer, and did so only with a nod. She seemed uncomfortable around him as well, which he supposed was rather understandable. It did not soften his feelings toward her, however. Perhaps you should simply stay away from him. You have caused enough harm as it is.
It did not take them long to reach their destination, though the thick snow on the ground fought their every step. Upon entering the home, Decker had a sickening feeling in his gut. It felt as though he’d been here more recently than he had, and the air tasted of disease.
Relief flooded him when he saw Titon awake and sitting up in bed,
his lower body covered by grey sheets that gave Decker unexplained comfort. With the exception of some darkness underneath, Titon’s blue eyes looked alert and healthy, accented only by their distinctive flecks of silver.
“Maybe you should wait outside,” he told Red. It was not a request.
“The healer says it is best for him to see everyone that he knew,” she started, “…but I will wait outside for now.”
He knew? Red’s words made him wonder, but Decker made his way to the side of the bed.
“How are you, brother?”
Titon frowned at him, not in anger, but confusion. “Brother?” Titon turned to the healer. “This one is my brother?”
The healer nodded to him, then spoke to Decker. “He has lost most of his memories. He does not yet remember his name or anyone who has come to see him since he has woken. Though it has only been you and the girl so far.”
Decker moved his attention to the healer. It was difficult to see his brother looking so bewildered. Titon was the one who had an answer for every question, a solution to every problem. That Red had told him Titon was well already had Decker feverish. “How long until his memories return?” he demanded.
“There is no way to tell,” said the old man. “It could be a few days or they may never return. All we can do now is speak to him about his past and hope he remembers by and by.”
Decker gnashed his teeth and looked once again at Titon. Not only did his brother look upon him as though he was a stranger, but Titon’s vacant, befuddled stare now made him look to be one as well.
“You lied to me,” Decker growled at Red as he stormed out of the room.
“What? He is awake and the healer says—”
“He is not well,” he yelled at her with all his rage. She deserved it. She had caused this. She had been the problem ever since they were young. She stole Titon’s confidence, and she had forced Decker to steal his mind, his memories, and everything that he was. “And he is not my brother!”
“Pack your belongings,” Decker ordered Kilandra as he burst into the bedroom. He had with him his own bag of things. He had already said his goodbyes to his mother. If things went his way, he would not be gone for long, nor would he return for long before again heading out.
“What is going on? Is there something wrong?” Kilandra sat up in the bed, covering herself with the blanket. For a woman who dressed so scantily, she was modest with her nudity in casual settings, and it was successful in its intended effect of making him want her more.
“Someone must take charge and unite the clans—is not that what you always have said? The time has come.”
“What is it you intend to do?”
“Pack your things. We can discuss it on the way.”
“On the way where?”
“East, north, west, south, and then east again. The longer we delay the more like we are to be caught in a blizzard. I wish to leave well before noon. We should be in Joarr’s territory in time to eat our second meal.” Decker already grew impatient with her questioning him. “He is a good friend to my father. He will join me and others will follow.”
Kilandra looked at him with disbelief. “And you expect me to have packed everything I need within an hour?”
“No, I expect you to have packed enough of what you need within the lesser half of an hour. Now hurry.”
“What about Red?”
“Red will be fine on her own. She is not coming with us.”
“This is absurd—”
Decker slammed his fist through the side of her tall clothes chest. “Yes,” he yelled at her. “It is! But I remind you again, this was your plan. If there is a man to do such a thing it is me and no other. The only question that remains is whether it will be you or perhaps some other woman by my side as I do it. Now pack your things and meet me outside in no more than half an hour. I have some things that must be dealt with before I leave.”
With that, Decker left her looking stunned, bitter, and above all beautiful with her coverings still clutched to her naked chest. If we had more time I would have given her a more convincing argument, he thought. But she would do as he said, he was quite sure of it. And he would finally be rid of Red as well. Together they would unite the clans during the winter and march south in the spring—to what end he did not know as this plan was not truly his own. But he would have glory or he would have death. He had no choice now. Living a common life was no longer an option with his brother lost. I will bring destruction to the South to lessen that which I have brought my home. I will conquer their lands—just as he wished—in honor of my dead brother, who would have known far better how to do it.
KEETHRO
Half of the men Keethro and Titon had entered the arena with immediately took flight. Some of them did not see or simply ignored the weapons, but the majority snatched whatever sword or mace was most readily available. Whether they wished to attempt to reach the dragons before they had reloaded or merely to more quickly end their anxiety, Keethro could not tell. He only knew that in spite of being hardened by war, even his own anxiousness was nearly unbearable. “We all feel a crippling fear when faced with death,” Titon used to say to his warriors prior to a battle against a fellow clan. “But fear is like a beautiful woman. Cower from it, and it will know you to be unworthy. Embrace it with confidence, and you will become its master.” Fine words to rally your troops, Keethro had always thought, but he did not believe Titon to have ever truly been afraid.
Two men took a different tack and bolted back toward the open arena doors, but the guards were ready for them. One caught a spear through the eye and the other was impaled in the abdomen. The guards took turns spitting on the still-living coward as he squirmed and screamed, and the audience close enough to have seen laughed at the man’s agony.
Keethro turned his attention to Titon, who walked at his usual pace to the racks of weaponry and selected a large metal-faced shield not unlike the one that had been fixed to the boar.
“You’re sure you want that slowing you down? You saw what those arrows did to it.” Keethro did not expect his words to change Titon’s mind.
“Trust me,” he said and handed Keethro a small axe suitable for throwing.
A svelte man with a tan complexion led the charge downfield, far ahead of the others. Red strips of cloth tied above his biceps streamed behind him as he ran. He’d snatched a sword not unlike his own frame, thin and gracefully curved, and it gleamed as it caught the Dawnstar’s ample rays. Well behind him was the giant, lumbering forward without a weapon. He had three others close on his heels, and they seemed determined to keep the big one between themselves and the fire-spitting dragons. A final man lagged behind that group, his light skin and long hair of bright blonde making him stand out more than any. In each hand he had a longsword, both of which he occasionally swung around with exceptional deftness. Keethro realized the man’s display was not for show, but rather for familiarizing himself with the weapons. I will have to keep an eye on that one, should they make us eventually fight each other, thought Keethro. He purposefully turned his mind from the prospect of having to face Titon.
The svelte man had nearly crossed half the field by the time the next arrow was launched. He must have had a good view of the men firing the contraptions as he anticipated the shot and dropped to his stomach. The arrow flew over his head, nearly touching his long dark hair that trailed out behind him. A second arrow flew, aimed at a far larger target. It struck the giant high in the chest, going through him to impale two of his followers, and ripped the arm off the third at the shoulder. The three impaled men fell backward and lay motionless while the fourth ran in circles, screaming and fountaining blood from his wound.
Keethro realized he had been paying too much attention to the field and not enough to his selection of weapons, but Titon had for him two more small axes.
“We move,” said Titon as he hefted his shield onto one arm and tested his grip on its straps, then lifting a two-handed axe in his opposite fist.
Keethro was ready to break into a run, but Titon began jogging downfield with his shield in front of him. Keethro followed, and the final person from their group, a sturdy-built middle-aged man, did the same. He had selected a spiked buckler and longsword for his weaponry and held them as if he might know how to use them.
The svelte one on his belly had not yet risen. Keethro suspected he had hoped all four dragons would have fired at once, allowing him to close the remaining distance before they could reload. The remaining two refused to fire, however, and he too refused to move from his relatively safe position. The impasse gave Keethro, Titon, and their assumed ally time to make up some distance on the field.
They had made it a little more than a quarter of the way downfield by the time all four dragons were again ready to strike. With the two yet to fire still trained on the unmoving man, the other two were free to fire on the remaining targets. One fired at the frantic man with one arm and missed. A foolish mistake, thought Keethro, as there was no need to waste shots on a man who was of no danger. But it showed their enemy to be supremely confident that their victory was assured, which in itself was disheartening.
The other dragon launched an arrow at the blonde-haired warrior who was now midfield. The man dodged right with blinding speed, but the arrow clipped one of his swords and ripped it from his hand, forcing him to stop and retrieve it with caution. The two dragons aimed at the prone man both fired as he began to slither forward like a snake. One arrow went high, and the other went low, first hitting the ground, then bouncing over his head.
“Faster,” said Titon. They still did not run, but their speed considerably improved. Their companion followed in kind.
The svelte man leapt from the ground and charged at full speed toward the dragons and their keepers. One was quick to reload, however, and fired. He twisted his body and spun to the side, nearly successful in his attempt, but the arrow’s tip made contact with his waist and cut him deeply. Blood poured from the man, but no entrails had spilled. His charge continued, accompanied with a scream of defiance. He managed to come within a few paces of the dragons when an arrow flew clean through his right breast, silencing him and sending him to his back.
The Axe and the Throne (Bounds of Redemption Book 1) Page 43
