“It appears a Reflector Blade defeats a deflector weapon,” Asher casually states, examining his flawless weapon. He blows a few wisps of smoke off the edge and runs his gloved hand along the blade. “A beautiful gift that my new master instructed father to give me. I was told that the former owner was too weak to wield it, but it has taken to me quite swiftly. With this power, I can crush those nomads and defend our family.”
“Put the cursed sword down, Ash,” Kira begs him, spinning the weighted end of her weapon. “I’ll fight you if I have to, but I’d rather you give up. Please see that you’re being used and stand down.”
“Will you kill me, Kiki?”
“I’ll beat you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Kira bites her lower lip and rushes at her brother, whipping her weapon at his feet to drive him toward the stairs. He easily moves away from the attacks, leans to his left when the sickle is swung at his arm. She continues trying to hit his leather-covered limbs instead of aiming for his unprotected head. Asher steps to the side to let one of her attacks go by and wraps her weapon around the bastard sword. He yanks Kira off her feet and stabs down at her, but she catches the tip between chain links and redirects the blade. The sword hits the stone with a solid clang and the force runs up the warrior’s arm, causing his muscles to twitch. The young woman untangles her kusari-gama and backs away while Asher rubs his shoulder, his eyes clear for a second before turning glassy again.
“That’s the difference between us,” he declares while advancing on his sister. He swings his weapon, grinning as she blocks the attack and falls to her knees. “You refuse to truly fight me, but I will kill you if I have to. We’re family, so I would prefer to spare your life and welcome you to my master’s fold. Our blood should be thick enough to put us side by side. Though, I’m sure the Callindor’s influence has corrupted you. You have no loyalty to your kin since you repeatedly choose him over our wishes and traditions. Such a weak child with no conviction in her heart. You’re an insult to our entire family.”
“I’m not the one who sacrificed my kin to monsters!” Kira shouts, jumping to her feet and charging. She drives her brother back and ducks under his sword to get behind him, striking his sword arm with the blunt end of her weapon. “You might be willing to kill me, but you’re using an unfamiliar weapon. That thing isn’t weighted and curved like a scimitar, which has always been your favored blade. I’ve mastered the kusari-gama, which means I have the advantage. So surrender and drop the bastard sword.”
“All words and no heart. I think I’ll make this harder for you,” he says while removing one of his gloves. He grips the hilt of his weapon and his flesh wraps around it, retaining enough flexibility to allow him to move the weapon with ease. “Take my hand and pray it removes this so-called curse. If you’re wrong then I’ll continue fighting until I bleed to death.”
Kira tries her best to raise her weapon, her arms shaking as she stares into the cold eyes of her brother. Memories of her relatives’ bodies and the feeling of attacking her father rush into her mind. Trying to hold onto a flicker of rage, the heiress attacks and slams the weighted end of her weapon into Asher’s ribs. She nimbly avoids his stabs and slashes, patiently waiting for an opening in his defenses. With an underhand flick, she hits him in the groin and Asher collapses to his knees. His expression of shock and pain makes her stop, giving him the opportunity to stab at her chest. An expertly wielded longsword catches the blade as Delvin steps between the battling siblings.
“I’m not sure if I should apologize for getting involved here,” the brown-haired warrior admits, keeping Asher’s weapon pressed against the ground. He notices the ragged look of the noble and takes a quick glance at the bastard sword. “I know this weapon. We gave it to the masters of Rainbow Tower. How did you get it?”
“My new master gave it to me,” Asher angrily growls. He punches Delvin in the face, knocking him away and freeing his blade. “Let’s see which one of us is the better warrior. I’m guessing you won’t kill me in front of my own sister.”
The cursed warrior grabs his bastard sword with both hands and furiously batters at Delvin’s defenses. Asher is basic and clumsy, but the strength of his blows gradually numbs his enemy’s arms. When the champion slips to the side of an overhead chop, the nobleman spits one of his teeth at his enemy’s face to stun him. Asher grins when the brown-haired warrior tries to block the next attack with a shield that is not there, but the strike is still stopped by a sloppy, offhand parry. The force causes Delvin to drop his weapon and stumble back, the wall shaking from the sand golem collapsing. Asher slashes at the champion’s chest, causing his enemy to leap away and land awkwardly. The brown-haired warrior tries to smack the incoming stab to the side, but the cursed blade still slices through his armor and cuts his side. The noble kicks Delvin in the chest and watches his gasping enemy tumble down the stairs.
“Pathetic creatures. I should make you suffer before death,” Asher says as he walks to the city side of the wall. He holds up his sword and clears his throat, glancing back at Kira who is still hunched over in defeat. “Hear me, men! That monster was one of ours and the champions have destroyed it! They are on the side of the Helgardians! Kill them and raze the encampment before they can summon another of their creatures! Take no prisoners and bring me the champions’ heads!”
The large doors creak open as Asher moves to other side of the wall and watches his army take position in front of Bor’daruk. He is about to order the attack when a scream rips through the air. Before the noble can turn around, he feels a chain wrap around his neck and he is spun around. Asher catches a glimpse of Kira’s face as she flips him off the wall and twists her weapon, the sound of her brother’s neck snapping sapping the last of her strength. She lets go of the kusari-gama and turns away to avoid seeing the body hit the ground.
A sickness fills Kira’s stomach and she hurries to the far side of the wall to vomit. Her senses are numb and she barely notices the sound of wings as the griffin lands behind her. When Luke wraps his arms around her, the heiress breaks down and cries uncontrollably. She beats on the half-elf’s chest with limp-wristed punches and sinks to her knees, dragging him down with her. Scaring everyone in earshot, Kira screams at the top of her lungs in an attempt to release the rage and grief that churns beneath her skin. She continues until her throat is raw and she clings to Luke like her life depends on never letting him go.
“I don’t want to be the last one,” she whimpers over and over again.
15
“Are you sure you should be carrying that thing?” Nyx asks Delvin, watching him put the cursed bastard sword into his bottomless pouch. “I don’t want to have to . . . I think it’s too dangerous for us to hold onto.”
“I agree, but look what happened when we let it out of our sight,” Delvin says as he glances at Kira. The young woman clings to Luke’s arm while dragging her weapon along the cobblestones of the manor entrance. “If holding onto this weapon can save people from it then I’ll take it to my grave. Not happy about pilfering the dead, but I refuse to let Stephen hand it off to someone else. You think she’s going to be okay?”
“No,” Sari bluntly answers while walking backwards and eyeing the heiress. “As someone who went through something similar, I can tell you that she’s not going to heal very quickly. Not if she stays in this city anyway.”
“We can’t take her with us,” Nyx whispers, feeling a little queasy as they enter the main building. “It’s too dangerous and she’s not going to be of sound mind. Does anybody else feel sick all of a sudden?”
The gypsy turns around and puts an arm around her best friend’s shoulders. “I believe we all feel nauseated for one reason or another, Nyxie. Glad to have you back, but I wish it was a better reunion. I like your tan.”
“Thanks, but I don’t think it will last,” the caster admits as she looks at the lavish decorations on the walls. She recognizes a few of the paintings, making her wonder if they
are the originals or copies. “Where are we going?”
“To talk to my father,” Kira replies in a cracking voice. “I want to let him know what happened to my brother and see what he has to say. I’d appreciate it if all of you would be there to help me get through this.”
“We will stay by your side, my friend” Timoran states as he squeezes her shoulder. He holds on to let Fizzle crawl onto the heiress and nuzzle her neck. “Do not hesitate to ask us for anything that you need.”
“Knock me out if I attack. With everything he did . . . Wayland will be stripped of his surname and exiled. That’s worse than death and I want to make sure he gets it.”
Luke holds Kira tightly and gives her a kiss on the cheek, hoping to dissolve some of her sorrow. He has been silent for the entire walk back to the manor, lost in his own thoughts about what he will do to Stephen when they meet again. The presence of the bastard sword is all the proof he needs to know their most sadistic enemy is behind everything. He is thankful that they stopped the war with the Helgardians, but all silver linings are wiped away by the sensation of his fiancée’s stuttering heartbeat.
The ring of unsheathed steel snaps Luke out of his thoughts and he sees his friends readying their weapons. Even Kira is pushing herself away and wandering ahead in daze, her hand reaching out to the unguarded entrance to her father’s quarters. She takes a deep breath and throws open the doors, a scream catching in her throat at the scene before her. The remains of the elite guards have been strewn across the room and a withered husk is sprawled on the floor, the rings of Wayland Grasdon near its thin fingers. Furniture has been smashed with several shards embedded in the walls and floor. Puddles of liquid marble are on the ground where priceless statues once stood and scraps of paintings litter the floor. Even the mural of the Grasdon family that has adorned the back wall since Kira was a baby has been destroyed by a patchwork of deep gouges. Above the carnage floats a transparent figure in a flowing gown of gold, the woman’s ebony hair billowing out like tendrils.
“Mom?” Kira asks as she walks towards the specter. She is grabbed by both wrists and turns to see Sari and Dariana behind her. “That’s my mom.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s not,” the silver-haired woman replies. She pulls the heiress back and hands her to Sari who locks Kira in place. “I’m guessing the Spurge was meant to remove me from Bor’daruk. I would have sensed you as soon as I stepped foot in the manor. Getting rid of Nyx was an accident, but it made things easier to continue your plan. As for Sari and her expertise with illusions, you knew she would be too distracted by Luke and Kira to bother exploring the manor. There’s no reason to hide behind such a flimsy disguise any more, dear brother.”
“I always forget how much of a killjoy you are, unwanted sister,” the ghost says in a voice that changes from feminine to a familiar tone. The specter turns black and lands on the ground, transforming into Stephen, an excited grin plastered on his face. “I see that the final Grasdon is still breathing, which is a shame. I was hoping to wipe out the entire family. Maybe I should have kept the old man alive long enough to eliminate the future Mrs. Callindor. Then again, I’ve heard things aren’t as stable as I thought in that arena.”
“What did you do to my father?” Kira asks, struggling against Sari’s powerful grip.
Stephen waves his hand over Wayland’s body and it crumbles to dust, the beard the only piece that remains. “First, I butchered his bodyguards and then I stabbed your father in the chest with a butter knife. I assure you that it was more menacing than it sounds because I made it look like a ghost was attacking them. I dried the body when I considered hiding all of this from whoever returned, but I decided to put on a show instead.”
Kira growls and frees an arm to awkwardly swing the weighted end of her kusari-gama at Sari, giving the gypsy a glancing blow to the head. The jolt of pain is enough to break her hold on the heiress who screams and charges. She knocks Dariana out of her way and swings the sickle with all her strength. The weapon is caught in midair by Stephen and he appears behind Kira to wrap the chain around her entire head. He throws her into the air where the sickle hooks onto a chandelier, dangling the flailing heiress above her friends. She claws at the chains, which tighten around her skull as soon as Luke races toward Stephen. Her shriek of agony makes the half-elf skid to a stop, his head snapped to the side by a smack from the man he really wants to kill.
“Make any move and I crush her head like an egg,” Stephen warns the forest tracker. He circles Luke and slaps him several times in the face, disappointed that the warrior takes the abuse without fighting. “You might be able to hurt me, but you can’t finish me off before I kill one of your loves. Then again, you have a spare, so maybe killing me is worth the minor sacrifice. I really wonder what you will decide to do.”
“You’re a coward,” Luke says as his muscles twitch. “You can’t stop the others from defeating you.”
“Maybe I should finish you off to be safe.”
Stephen draws a dagger from his belt and sighs when his severed hand is sent flying across the room. He catches the next swing of Delvin’s blade and slams his stump into the warrior’s temple. Frowning and muttering curses, he moves to strike again with his reattached hand holding the dagger. This time he is floored by Timoran’s great axe hitting him in the back, a crackling of energy erupting from his unmarred flesh when it is removed. The barbarian holds his ground and tries to severe one of his enemy’s legs, but the ancient nobleman rolls out of the way.
“You’re obsession with cutting off my hand annoys me,” Stephen hisses at Delvin as he stands and wipes dried blood off his sleeve. He sends Timoran flying into Sari with a backhand that appears to hit the barbarian five times in a row. The two champions are sent crashing into the far wall, which freezes upon contact with Sari and crumbles to bury the pair beneath a pile of icy stone. “I’m bored with you, Cunningham. You always stand between me and my greatest prize.”
“What does Kira and her family have to do with me?” Nyx asks, stepping out of the doorway. She tries to create a fireball in her palm, but her fear and constant waves of nausea prevent her from accessing her aura. “I’ve always been your target, but I don’t follow how this plan works. Unless you hoped to plunge Luke into despair in an act to weaken me. In truth that would only make me mad.”
“Says the caster who can’t cast a spell because she’s too scared,” the black-haired man replies with an arrogant sneer. He catches Delvin’s wrist and twists the warrior’s arm behind his back. “To be honest, this has nothing to do with you, channeler. It has everything to do with your little brother leaving a . . . scar on my neck! Nobody leaves such a mark on my body without suffering greatly. So I manipulated Wayland Grasdon’s hidden grief by taking the ghostly form of his dear wife and promising that the Helgardians’ scepter could bring her back. He never knew I was summoning the monsters that were destroying his family. Though making him despise his own lineage was a stroke of brilliance on my part. That took a lot of convincing and . . . pillow talk to achieve. I hope you’re listening, little heiress! The slaughter of your family is solely because you’re connected to this damn half-elf. I wonder how that conversation will go if any of you get out of here alive.”
In one quick motion, Stephen drives Delvin’s sword through his back and throws the gasping warrior at Nyx. She hurries to pull the weapon from him and focuses her aura to prevent him from bleeding to death. Luke growls and shifts his foot, stopping when Kira cries out from the chains tightening. Stephen continues making her bindings relax and constrict, pausing several times to avoid Fizzle’s wild attacks. On one of the drite’s passes, the sadistic maniac whirls around to punch the dragon in the face. A swiftly cast shield is the only thing that saves Fizzle’s life, but he is still sent crashing into the wall.
“All of you are far too quick to put up defenses,” Stephen says, going back to slowly crushing Kira’s head. A few trickles of blood can be seen going down her shirt, the sight making the man l
ick his lips in glee. “I’ve never met champions that were so difficult to kill. Maybe I’m losing my touch or going soft. Once I’m done with this useless child, I’ll finish off that barbarian since I have no real interest in him. My father won’t fault me for such a slip. The four survivors will never forget . . . wait . . . I should have said five survivors. Who did I forget?”
All noise and movements stop as if time has been frozen, but Stephen senses that it is something else. The flicker of a fist appears in front of his face, disappearing immediately after it strikes. Stumbling back, he feels a knee hit his stomach and an elbow colliding with the base of his skull. Jumping to his feet, he remembers Dariana and pushes through the mental fog to sense her presence. He is concerned that it takes so long and by the time he sees his sister, the silver-haired woman is delivering a violent kick to his face. Stephen falls to the ground and vanishes before the powerful champion can follow up on her last attack.
“You’ve gotten stronger since our last fight,” he says, reappearing near Luke. He wipes his bleeding lip with the half-elf’s shirt, gently smacking him on the cheek. “Though I doubt you’re powerful enough to save these champions. Just sit back and watch like you’ve always done. It isn’t like they’re your friends.”
“They are my friends,” Dariana declares as she reaches into Stephen’s mind. She has his arms rise and clap, freeing Kira from her own weapon. She slaps Luke on the back to let him know that he can sprint ahead and catch the falling heiress. “I’m going to give you one chance to run away, brother. We’re family, so I don’t want to kill you.”
“The same father, but that doesn’t make use family.”
Sleeper Of The Wildwood Fugue (Book 7) Page 29
