by Inez Kelley
“Lead them to the cliffside. Get them out of here so they’re safe.”
“I will not leave you.”
The dry skin of his lips raked his tongue. “I can’t have these women on my mind when I face Karok. Please, Salome.”
Wind surged with a chilling bite, then a slender hand fell on his arm. He turned with a jerk. Darkness blurred her outline but her soft touch tightened on his wrist. “I will return as fast as I can.”
“Thank you.” He squeezed her fingers then took her hand, pulling her around the corner with him.
The four women looked up. Shock blanked their faces but they all scrambled back in fear. One woman crouched in front of the others, shielding them behind her. Her eyes darted from him to Salome.
Bryton spoke to her. “It’s all right. We’re here to help. Come on, quietly.”
The leader shook her head. “They’ll find us. We tried escaping before.”
“Look, I’m not arguing with you. Get your asses out of here. This is Salome. She’s going to lead you to a safe place.”
Hope warred with indecision on her face. She was tall, thin beyond fashion but grit steeled her lip. “We’ll never make it. There are three men who guard the fro—”
“Not anymore,” he stated.
Her eyes widened. Her chin lifted. “All right.”
Boots stomped on the stone and all the women drew into tighter knots. Bryton grabbed Salome’s arm and yanked her into the alcove, placing her behind him. The grip on his dagger grew sticky and he flexed his fingers around it. When a shadow filled the opening, he lunged. The Skullman made no sound as the blade sliced across his throat.
“That’s four,” he panted softly, dragging the body deeper into the recess. “Go now, Salome.”
Salome reached for the first woman’s hand but she shrank away, cowered behind the leader. A sorrowful smile tilted Salome’s lips. “Come, I will take you away. No one will hurt you now.”
Something in her lyrical cadence soothed the women and they all stood, lacing their fingers together until they filed into a short line.
Bryton halted the leader. “Are there any other women?”
“Two,” she whispered. “In the main hall. Down this passage for a hundred steps then turn right.” Bryton furrowed his brow but nodded. Her palm curved over his forearm. “What is your name? I want to say a prayer for you.”
His lips parted, the counterfeit name poised on his tongue, but he paused. An extra prayer couldn’t hurt. “Bryton.”
“Bless you, Bryton.”
Her fingers tightened, then she slipped ahead of the line and led the women out. Bryton watched until the darkness swallowed them. Salome, at the rear, turned back. “I will return.”
“Salome,” he murmured. She cocked her head, arching one brow in question. God, she was beautiful. He owed her more than words, but words were all he had to give. Girding his courage, he smiled at her. “I love you.”
A sigh carried her smile. For one shared heartbeat, they stared, eyes locked and touching only with the memories of their love. Then she too was swallowed by the black.
Shadows pressed hard as he crept along the narrow way. His stride was longer than a woman’s, and in fewer than seventy steps, he could see a bright white radiance to the right. Closing his eyes, he let everything wash from his mind except for the image of Karok holding Katina. This was the minute he’d prepared for and he allowed every cold drop of anger to fill him.
He’d told Salome he loved her. She would get the women to safety. He could enter the viper pit, avenge Katina and free Eldwyn. If he died, he’d do it willingly and without regret. But he hoped he survived. For the first time, he had a reason to hold him in this life—another chance to see Salome smile. He slid his bow free, sheathed his dagger and drew his sword. The battle was at hand.
The women had no shoes and the forest paths slowed them. Salome hurried them as best she could. The leader, Alaya, wrapped her arms around one limping woman’s waist and supported her.
“We can never thank you enough.”
“Live well.” Salome smiled. “It will be thanks enough.”
“Where are the soldiers?”
“Soldiers? There are no soldiers save for Bryton.”
Alaya stopped, her mouth gaped wide. “One man? That is all? He will die.”
“I know.” Salt wedged into her mouth and she frowned. She prodded the women faster. The cliffside came into view. Tiny Leaf sat at the archway, guarding her domain. She mewled loudly at Salome. “There, on the west side there are steps. Go inside and rest for the day. Come morning head down the mountain and seek aid. There is food and water, and some supplies. A leather purse by the bedside has gold to see to your needs. I must return to him.”
The other women climbed the stairs, slipping into the stone chamber, hidden from sight. Leaf trilled happily at her new playmates.
Alaya chewed at her lip. “There are more coming.”
Icy dread chilled along Salome’s skin, though the sun was high in its arc. “What do you mean?”
“Skullmen or whatever they were before the bones were painted. Karok sent for more. He expects their ship any day, sent Chakor just yesterday to see if it docked.”
Alaya raked pale hair off her forehead then wrapped her arms about her waist as if freezing. “Even if he…if Bryton kills them all today, it won’t stop. More are coming to Eldwyn. We’re never going to be free. It’ll start all over again.”
Panic licked at the air and Salome reacted. She gripped Alaya’s shoulders, her nails biting hard. “How many? Where?”
“Hundreds. All I know is they come from whatever hellhole Karok crawled out of. Karok’s men talked and didn’t care if we could hear. Who would we tell? Karok wants the throne. Once the new men get here, he plans to raise an army. Plus he wants to go to Greenia and offer them the northern provinces in exchange for aid. It’s a lost cause.”
Salome knew nothing of Greenia or the political wheels that might be set in motion there. That was not her concern. Her worry was Bryton and his mission. If he knew more were coming…Surety lashed through her with the force of a typhoon. That ship would never reach Eldwyn’s shores. Bryton’s death would not be in vain.
“No, trust me, Alaya. You are free.” The blonde bit her lips until they turned white and bright pink. Salome stroked her cheek, forcing a smile, though her insides roiled with anger. She pulled just enough magic for her eyes to flash quicksilver. Alaya sucked in a fast gasp. “Rest easy, brave one. Not one new Skullman will set foot on Eldwyn’s shores while I’ve breath in my body.”
Chapter Thirteen
Sunlight blinded Bryton. He blinked in pain then ducked behind an outcrop of sanded rock. The main hall, an ancient sanctuary, was open to the sky above, carved in a natural crevice between three peaks. Completely protected and awash in golden light, the once-holy place held remnants of glory yet housed the darkest evil. The ingenuity of the forgotten people was one he would have to marvel about later because seated at a crude assortment of chairs, over half a dozen Skullman were eating what smelled like sausage. He could only see a few weapons.
Bryton grinned. Should never, ever let your home make you feel that safe, assholes, because trouble just came calling.
One strawberry-blonde woman bent over a cookfire, flipping oatcakes and stirring porridge. She’d been stripped to her torn shift and her cheek darkened with bruises. Bryton licked his bottom lip, squeezed his sword hilt and scouted the walls.
Three openings led back into what he knew from history could only be catacombs. Those hidden passages were black and silent. Where the fuck was Karok? Why couldn’t the bastard be breaking his night fast now so Bryton could skewer the prick with an arrow between bites? An itch started on his lower back where sweat trickled but he ignored it. Should he seek out Karok or wait? The decision was made for him.
One Skullman strode to the woman. He yanked her to him, jerking her shift down to expose a breast covered in bite marks. The others lau
ghed but turned back to their meal. Bryton tugged three arrows free, jammed two in a crack before him and seated the last in his bow.
“Don’t scream, don’t scream,” he whispered, lining his sights. The arrow sang and pierced the Skullman’s forehead. The woman shrieked. Bryton cursed and notched the second arrow. It caught one rising man in the shoulder. Blood spilled and the poison ripped a tortured cry from golden lips. Bryton let the third arrow fly while running.
Crouched behind a chipped pedestal, he watched confusion and pandemonium whip. The arrows were their own. One man hurried to where Bryton had been and looked around in puzzlement. His third arrow had lodged in the back of a chair where a man had sat seconds before. Bryton snarled. Damn.
Pounding feet yanked his gaze to the right. A brawny Skullman ran from the catacombs, his eyes narrowing. He flattened to the walls, drew his curved sword and began creeping toward Bryton’s hiding spot, gaze scouring the shadows.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Bryton murmured and palmed a silver star. Twelve steps brought the man into a straight path and Bryton threw. The star sank into the center of a painted chest with a gurgled gasp. Yellow eyes widened, he latched on Bryton as the poison spread through his wound. Flesh blackened and he shrieked in agony, pawing at his chest before he crumpled to the stone. The men rushed toward the pedestal.
Fuck. Stealth time was over, it was time to dance. Bryton threw the bow down. He drew his sword, gripped his axe and stood with a battle cry. Steel met steel with a thunderous clash. Defense was his least favorite battle position so Bryton advanced, keeping one eye on his opponents, one darting to the sides to watch his back. Justice swung from his left hand like an extension of his arm, felling one sidestepper and spilling entrails like a butchered pig. A razor edge kissed along his shoulder and the fiery bite of pain twitched his sword arm but he did not drop the blade. Instead, he stepped into the twist, striking out and down. The tip pierced flesh.
Several weaponless men fled toward the catacombs, calling for others, leaving only the two he battled now. Decent odds, he thought. One swung a blade, the other a wooden stick. The wood cracked the backs of his knees and Bryton stumbled. His sword arm went down for balance and he jabbed with the axe, forcing the wood-swinger to leap back. The swordsman hacked a too-short arc that missed Bryton’s head but cut into his chest. Blood spewed like a fountain. He brought the low sword up and caught the swordsman in the crotch, splitting him from nuts to navel. He dropped his weapon, grabbed his groin and collapsed, his scream echoing in the huge hall.
Bryton kicked the sword away and motioned to the wood-swinger. “Come and get me, asslicker.”
A grin with two missing teeth spread the Skullman’s lips and he charged, jabbing with the pointed wood. Bryton jumped back to avoid being stabbed and the axe fell, chopping the stick into two short pieces. But the move had forced him behind the fallen sword and the Skullman grabbed it, swinging hard. Blade met blade. Behind him, the captive woman screamed in a never-ending wail. It jammed into Bryton’s concentration like a spike. The Skullman spit in his face. Bryton kneed him in the balls as more men flooded the hall.
The dry-rotted table fell with a crash when Bryton kicked it, sending food and cutlery flying. He hoped the table would shield the woman crouching along the wall but he could spare her no more thought. He spun and faced the battle-ready men streaming into the hall. They didn’t charge, eyeing him warily, weapons in all hands, spreading to flank his position. Tension and aggression wafted thick, choking, in the capacious space. They waited, encroaching like pack-dogs. But where was the fucking alpha-mutt? That was who Bryton wanted.
“Well, look here,” he taunted with a grin. “Assholes on parade, I didn’t know you cared.”
“I’m going to eat your heart raw,” one snarled beside him.
“Really? Thought you’d prefer my dick in a nice wine sauce.” The axe twirled in his hand. “Where’s Karok? Or is he too chickenshit to face me?”
“I am here, slug.”
The voice of his nightmares came from the blackness. Karok stepped into the sunlit chamber and his skin glistened like powdered gold. The skull on his face grinned with eerie malice. Three fresh scars along his cheek only carved evil deeper into his flesh. Controlled power and sleek lines moved with an almost athletic grace as he casually entered the sanctuary. The painted bones and charms on his body winked with chalked menace. The black length of hair falling from his shaved skull was tied in several places down his back. He carried a knife with a thin blade but no other weapon. His topaz gaze raked Bryton, leaving a track of slimy disgust on his skin.
A woman trailed behind Karok, a rope knotted around her neck. He tugged and she stumbled but caught herself. Her lank blond hair covered her face and her shoulders slumped. The loose shift had dirt streaks along the jagged edges. Her wrists bore the same raw, red skin as her neck. Bryton’s knuckles whitened as rage whipped through him.
The woman prevented him from charging. Damn it. Tension vaulted in the room, each man poised for action but none moving, except Karok. He strolled with easy elegance around the sanctuary, seemingly without a care but his little finger twitched in rhythmic spasms. Bryton watched that finger, a gauge of Karok’s intensity.
“Since you’re here—” Karok walked to the cook pot, stirred the contents and raised the wooden spoon, “—I will assume you killed the outer guards.”
“Don’t want to brag but my grandmother could’ve killed those idiots.”
“Hmm.” Karok tasted the porridge, grimaced and tossed the spoon back into the pot. He looked idly over to the body with an arrow in his head, the man gasping as his balls bled out and the skewered shoulder that was already turning black. Both brows raised at the near-buried star in another’s chest. A grudging nod bobbed his head. “You have a degree of skill.”
“Bought it half-price at a fair.”
Karok snorted, keeping the woman between them. Bryton could lunge and hope she moved but more likely he would be cut down and Karok would be left unharmed. Bryton didn’t fear his death but not until this asshole breathed his last. “Face me, Karok. Grab a blade and let’s dance.”
“Such hate.” The Skullman leader crossed his arms and quirked one brow. “I know you. How do I know you?”
Blood spilled as Bryton clamped his teeth on his cheek. The bastard didn’t even remember killing Katina. So many deaths at his hands, too many to be remembered. A scream brewed in his brain, sizzled his scalp under the swatch of black hair. “Are you afraid to fight me?”
“Afraid? No, not afraid. But my men want a piece of you first. If you survive them, then I’ll slice your head from your shoulders.”
“Fair enough,” Bryton spat. He clapped the sword and the axe blades together in a frustrated display. “Bring them. I’m ready. Then I’m coming for you.”
Karok chuckled, an immoral laugh that soured the air. “Arrogance.”
“Truth.”
Bryton’s throat constrained tight with hate. He forced it to relax, to breathe deep and slow his thudding heart. Every muscle quivered with the need to attack. The leashed woman walked behind Karok and Bryton lunged. Karok ducked, thrusting the dagger high to avert the sword blade.
Their knuckles brushed. Magic touched warded flesh and fire erupted in Bryton’s blood. His vision went white, blinding him and a scalding burn shot up his arm. Karok sucked in a gasp. “Mashique.”
The foreign word was clear enough and Bryton cursed his sightlessness, shifting his sword and swinging. Every nerve in his arm shrieked in pain from the brush of warded magic. His sword tip struck flesh. He prayed it was golden flesh and not pale female skin as the air erupted in a cacophony of shouts. A steel edge knocked the axe from his grip and a point scored along his hip. He jabbed again but struck nothing but air.
Sight slammed into him with the force of a battering ram. His ears rang and he blinked against the swimming stars. Three blades jammed under his chin. One pressed to his heart, his blood dripping down the curved bla
de.
“Stop! Don’t kill him yet.”
The Skullmen panted, hot fetid breath that curled his lip, but they obeyed Karok’s order. All but the one with a sword to his chest stepped back. Bryton kept his focus on Karok. The leader’s mouth peeled back and showed wide, even teeth. “He has magic. He might well defeat each of you but he can’t kill me.”
A thin line of red spiraled down gold biceps, obliterating the inked bones and wards. Bryton noted the trail and smirked. Maybe he couldn’t touch Karok with his bare hands but he could slice the bastard into tiny little pieces.
Bryton snarled, “Don’t bet on it, you son of a bitch.”
Karok took the bowed sword from one Skullman and widened his stance. He shifted on his feet, weighted his grip and laughed. “I want to see something. Let Mashique come.”
Bryton charged. Karok stepped back and grabbed the woman by the rope. He whirled her in front of him, slapping one hand over her mouth. The other held the blade to her throat. Bryton jerked to a stop.
Messy blond hair streamed over her shoulder and wide blue eyes filled with terror and tears. No, not again. His gaze drifted down. Karok’s hold caught her shift between them and it stretched tight over a small pregnancy swell. Bryton’s stomach cramped then plummeted.
“I thought I remembered you,” Karok goaded. “We met like this before.”
“Hiding behind a woman again, you fucking coward?”
“You want her? I’ll trade you. Your sword for the bitch.”
A silver teardrop trickled down her face, pooling on top of Karok’s fingers. Pressure built in Bryton’s gut, honor battling with anger, but it was short-lived. He couldn’t let another woman die. Mouth pressed tight, he pitched his sword to the ground. “Give her to me.”
“As you wish.” Karok sliced her throat then threw her body toward him. Bryton caught her before she fell.
Thank you. Her mouth moved but she made no sound before her eyes went flat. The hand that had cupped her belly fell to the floor. Bryton gaped in horror. He couldn’t believe even a man as evil as Karok would kill his own child before it was born. A sword hilt slammed into his temple. Dizzy, he whirled, still holding the lifeless body, and yanked the knife from his boot. Karok kicked him in the face, knocking him to his ass. He wrapped his bare hands around Bryton’s throat.
