He shook his head. God, what a tangle. But even as Henrik recognized the dichotomy in his thinking, he acknowledged the truth. The past couldn’t be changed. And honestly, it took too much effort to hate someone. Even more to resist what Afina already embraced: the truth of their history. The purpose bred into his bloodline.
Henrik frowned. It seemed counterintuitive. A classic case of insanity. Nothing else explained his willingness to accept his connection to the goddess. He’d never acknowledged it before, not even when he pledged allegiance to her. The vow had been made for his brothers-in-arms, not her. Never her. But curiosity called and knowledge equaled power. Accurate information kept a man alive. How many times had he said that? Too many to count or remember, so the hell with it. He’d made his decision. Was now headed straight into the belly of the beast. Into an unwise—and no doubt deadly—confrontation with the Goddess of All Things. He wanted answers. Needed closure. Planned to get both, but . . .
Not yet.
First things first.
Cosmina needed care, and the rest of them required a reprieve. From constant threat. From all the fighting. A day or two of lying low was a necessity now. Halál wouldn’t quit. The bastard never did, so after being denied entrance into the Limwoods, the Druinguari would circle around. Set up somewhere north of Gorgon Pass, wait until he entered the Carpathian foothills, then move in to cut him off.
A sound strategy. No guesswork involved.
He knew his former sensei. Understood his methods and had studied his ways. Certain knowledge coupled with brutal experience. So now he must decide. Henrik shifted in the saddle, adjusting Cosmina in his lap as two options played tug-of-war. What to do . . . what to do? Which route should he take? Avoid his former sensei, make for Drachaven, and gather the others? Or scout Halál’s position and attack in the hopes of killing the Druinguari leader?
Cut off the head of the snake. Watch the body die.
Seemed like the best plan. Hunting and killing, after all, suited him better than running and hiding. He’d done enough of the latter tonight. Way more than he ever wanted to do again, but that didn’t solve the problem. Two options: attack or evade. Different strategies dependent on the same things—his ability to ensure Cosmina’s safety and the Goddess of All Things’ cooperation.
Neither of which were sure bets.
Nudging his warhorse into a canter, Henrik upped the pace. Halfway down the laneway, a ping echoed inside his head. The prickle ghosted over the nape of his neck, then skittered down his spine. His gaze narrowed on the trail end where the trees thinned and branches lifted, funneling into what looked like a clearing. Wind blew in, rattling low-lying shrubbery. Old leaves tumbled over frozen dirt, kicking the smell of must into the air. The scent and brittle crackle joined the rustle of slithering vines as he sensed Thea rise.
Habit made him reach for his knife.
Sliding one arm from around Cosmina, his palm settled on the hilt strapped to the outside of his thigh. Ears tuned, eyes narrowed, he adjusted his grip. Leather creaked, and the warriors riding behind him shuffled, the thump of horses’ hooves loud in the silence.
Steel zinged, leaving multiple sheaths at the same time.
“H?” Sword in hand, Shay came alongside him.
“What is it?” Kazim asked, deep voice full of menace.
Andrei rode up on his other side, bumping him with his knee. “Trouble.”
Henrik shook his head. He didn’t know yet. The vibration seemed familiar, and yet felt foreign too. More than out of line. A touch left of center as though the buzz played jackrabbit inside his head, jumping all over the place. As it spun into a death skid between his temples, he bared his teeth and bore down. Something was off. By a lot? By a little? He couldn’t tell. Not with his magic skipping from one mental node to another, defying his ability to get a read on the approaching threat.
“Something’s headed our way,” he said. “Something big.”
“Merde.”
Kazim palmed his throwing stars. “Not good.”
Not even a little, but—
Vibration erupted into a roar inside his head. Henrik frowned and, using a hand signal, told his comrades to settle. All went quiet as he unleashed his magic, trying to get a hold of the signal, hunting for trouble as moonlight broke through the thicket of branches overhead. Illumination spilled between the cracks, joining the glow of fireflies. Iced-over evergreens sparkled in the burst of moonglow. His focus narrowed on the trail’s end. Aye. Definitely. Trouble. The kind that carried static and—
A dark shadow flew over, staining the ground black.
Henrik glanced up. “Tareek?”
Blowing out a ragged breath, Andrei sheathed his weapons.
Kazim grunted. “About time.”
“Thank God,” Shay murmured.
“Finally,” his friend growled through mind-speak. “I’ve been searching all over for your sorry arse. Flipping Limwoods. There’s too much magical interference. Couldn’t connect or track you from a distance.”
“Likewise. Been trying to reach you for hours. Are you all right?”
“Better now that I found you.” Wings spread wide, Tareek banked into a tight turn overhead. Moonlight bounced off blood-red scales. Squinting to combat the glare, Henrik watched his friend circle back around. “We need to talk. Got some information. You stopping soon?”
“What’s up ahead?”
“Naught. A small clearing, no more.”
“We’ll rest there.”
“Good,” Tareek said. “I’ll find a spot to land.”
“Not the best idea.” Henrik glanced left. Thea stared out of the shadows, unearthly gaze fixed on him, snakelike tentacles slithering alongside the path. She wanted blood. Then again, mayhap that was simply paranoia talking. Not a bad way to lean. He had every right to be leery. The thing loved Cosmina. One false move, and Thea would act. Tear him apart. Scatter his remains from one end of the Limwoods to the other. But not before causing him a serious amount of pain. “We’re not alone down here.”
“Vines?”
“Aye. Nowhere near friendly either.”
“Hell.”
An understatement. A dangerous one considering Thea’s violent disposition and nasty skill set. She wouldn’t welcome Tareek, never mind permit him to land. At least, not without attacking. The Limwoods liked to keep what it found and kill what it caught. Instinct raised the warning. Knowledge clanged the bell, presenting him with two options. One . . . wake Cosmina. Or two . . . put Kazim’s gift to the test.
The second alternative appealed to him more than the first. No way did he want to place Cosmina back in danger. She’d endured enough. And after hours of discomfort—of shivering against him, twisting in the saddle, and hiding the pain—she was finally asleep, so exhausted no amount of jostling disturbed her. Add that to the fact the forest struck without mercy or looking to see who it hit and—aye, no question. The farther he kept Cosmina from the fray, the better he would feel.
Tareek banked overhead. “Henrik . . .”
“Hold on. I might have a solution.” Twisting in the saddle, Henrik glanced over his shoulder. “Kazim.”
Serious dark eyes met his. “What?”
“Tareek needs to land. Do you think—”
“I can handle Thea.”
“Are you certain?” Henrik asked, eying his friend. “No room for error.”
“Trust me. I’m not sure what is happening, but I can feel the forest breathe. The vibration is in my veins. I am connected to the earth, Henrik . . . able to make things grow and call upon the trees.” Dark gaze narrowed, Kazim searched the vegetation on the north side of the trial. “Even the wolf pack tracking us acknowledges my dominion.”
“Wolves?” Shay asked, looking nervous as he glanced around.
“Don’t worry. The pack is now under my control. And Thea?” Kazim raised his hand. Magic rose, swirling in the center of his palm. Wolves howled somewhere nearby, making Shay twitch in his saddle. Henrik g
rinned. All right then, point proved and well taken. Kazim knew what he was doing. Was 100 percent in command as he murmured, coaxing Thea out of the shadows. The forest spirit purred, the sound one of bliss as vines stroked over his friend’s hand. “She’s half in love with me already.”
Andrei snorted.
Shay shook his head. “Too confident.”
“Simple fact,” Kazim said, spurring his mount forward. The scent of hollyhocks rolled as Thea followed. At the lip of the path, Kazim met his gaze and tipped his chin. “Tell him to wait for my signal.”
“Already done.”
“Relax, H,” Kazim said, disappearing into the dell.
Relax? Kazim had clearly lost his mind, ’cause—no chance in hell. Much as he wanted to believe in Kazim’s gift, logic shoved faith out of the way. Thea wasn’t a puppet. She possessed a mind of her own, which meant his guard needed to stay where he always kept it. Up very, very high. Tension raised it even higher, making his muscles flicker in protest as he set his heels to his warhorse’s sides. His steed leapt forward, moving from walk to gallop in less than a heartbeat. So did his mind, charging ahead, finding all kinds of flaws in the strategy. Magic never cooperated. Not in his experience anyway, so . . .
Little room for doubt. The plan was already doomed. And Tareek was headed for a fall.
Wings spread wide, Tareek banked into a holding pattern. Around and around. Back and forth. Pacing Dragonkind-style, revolving into continuous circles in full flight. Hristos, he seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight—waiting, watching, hoping. At least now, though, the endless source of trouble was in his sights. Five hundred yards below, riding hell-bent into the clearing. His eyes narrowed on Henrik. Huh. Strange, but . . .
His friend looked all right and yet not quite himself either.
Something had shifted. Not by much, but enough to raise some alarm bells.
Tareek growled as unease surfaced. Unleashing his magic, he tapped into Henrik’s bioenergy. Overkill? Probably. Unwelcome? Certainly. His friend wouldn’t appreciate the shakedown. Nor the coddling. The male wasn’t a lad anymore or in need of paternal protection. Tareek huffed. His dragon reacted, spilling magma into his throat as he registered the ridiculousness of the thought. Paternal protection. What a farce. Henrik needed a sire like he needed another hole in his head. The warrior was all kinds of vicious. So talented with his blades and bow, most refused to tangle with him.
Too bad the realization didn’t stop instinct.
Old habits died hard. And warranted or nay, so did his desire to shield Henrik.
So instead of reeling it in, he let his magic roll. Henrik’s physical grid went up on his mental screen. Banged up. Some scrapes. A few bruises . . . naught more. Relief banged around inside his chest, making his heart flip-flop. Thank Silfer. His charge was none the worse for wear . . .
No thanks to him and his bonehead move in the cemetery.
He’d nearly killed his comrades. Tareek grimaced. Not his finest hour. Nowhere near a well-executed plan either. He’d flown in quick and struck too fast, unleashing the first fireball before assessing the situation—before dipping below the cloud cover to get the lay of the land and all the players in it. He snorted. Lava-infused sparks flew from his nostrils, then blew back, whirling over his horns as he shook his head. A complete understatement. He’d allowed emotion to cloud his judgment and nearly taken Henrik out in the process.
Lucky. He’d gotten so damned lucky.
Not something that would likely happen again, so . . .
No question. He needed to pull his head out of his arse and even out. Right now, before he ended up hurting someone he didn’t want to. A distinct possibility, one Garren had warned him about when they’d been freed from prison. Captured and tortured. Twenty years spent locked behind bars—condemned to cramped conditions and little food—did strange things to a male. Some went crazy. Others’ minds stayed strong as their bodies gave out. In his case, the inactivity had mucked up his timing.
Hence his less-than-stellar performance tonight.
Eyes on the ground, Tareek angled his wings, gliding into another turn as Kazim dismounted. The warrior’s feet thumped down. He glanced skyward. Tareek went on high alert. Any moment now, the Persian would give the signal and—
A shiver rippled through him.
His scales clicked together, making the spikes along his spine rattle. The sound wound him a notch tighter. And no wonder. He really didn’t want to go down there. Not while the Limwoods hissed and creepers streamed around the edge of the dell, weaving between large blackwoods and hundred-year-old oaks. Stripped of foliage, the treetops swayed, parting to give him a bird’s-eye view of the ground. Thick vines intertwined with thinner ones, slithering in and around until the mass looked like a writhing nest of vipers. Unforgiving ones with sharp fangs and a venomous strike. Recall slammed through him. He swallowed a growl. Four days. Four wretched days spent tangled up in the Limwoods.
Not exactly an experience he wanted to undergo again.
“Tareek.” Eyes on the sky, Kazim leapt onto a rocky outcropping in the middle of the clearing. “Almost ready.”
“You better know what you’re doing,” he said. “I get strangled, I’m coming after you.”
Kazim huffed. “You get strangled, you’ll be dead and no longer my concern.”
Good point. Tareek’s lips twitched. Arrogant little pissant. “I’ll haunt you from the grave.”
“Bring tea when you visit. I prefer chamomile.”
“Pansy.”
“Scaly ingrate.”
“Stow it . . . both of you.” Authority rang inside the growl. Tipping his head back, Henrik glared at him, treating his comrade to a warning look. “Kazim, move your arse. Get him on the ground.”
The Persian nodded, then met each assassin’s gaze in turn. “Weapons stay sheathed. No one draws unless I say so and . . .”
The male trailed off. Tareek banked left, completing another circuit above the clearing.
“Back off,” Kazim said, finishing his thought. “I don’t want to upset her.”
“Good plan.” With a quick tug, Shay walked his warhorse backward.
Gaze riveted to the creepers, Andrei sheathed his boomerang. “Better advice.”
Tareek glanced at Henrik. His mouth curved and . . . surprise, surprise. His friend stayed still, refusing to back his steed away. Typical. The male personified stubborn, bringing the character flaw to life without effort. Tareek shook his head as Henrik shifted in the saddle. The move spoke volumes, and his friend’s body language even more. He was preparing, getting ready to jump into the fray if Kazim failed and violence became necessary.
The realization made his heart beat harder. Hristos help him. Henrik was too loyal for his own good. Not that Tareek minded. He was cut from the same cloth and suffered the same fault: the overwhelming need to protect. Which meant . . .
No sense asking Henrik to back away.
Or trying to temper the concern he sensed in the assassin.
Neither approach would work.
’Twas heartwarming in many ways. To be so well loved. To be valued and needed. To have a friend willing to risk everything to keep him safe. A strange thought, one with sharp teeth and a startling bite. And as awareness struck, cutting him to the bone, faith roared into view. ’Twould be all right. All of it. The hard grip of the past would eventually loosen and fade. The present would smooth out and friendship would return. Despite the rocky start, he and Henrik would find a way to make it right.
Drawing a deep breath, Kazim rolled his shoulders and bowed his head. He held the lungful a moment, then let it go. A gentle breeze tousled the treetops as the assassin flexed his hands. Magic rose, streaming off the Persian in cresting waves. The scent of evergreens blew in and the Limwoods murmured. Thick vines changed course, slithering out of the shadows to surround Kazim. His voice dropped an octave and, tone low, the male spoke like a lover, praising, cajoling, caressing the creepers with his fingertip
s. The forest sighed, the soft sound rising to a steady hum of pleasure.
Tareek blinked. Holy hell. Kazim was . . . was . . .
Hristos, color him surprised. The Persian was wielding magic with skill and a serious amount of attitude. His brows collided. When in Silfer’s name had that happened? Dumb question. Irrelevant too. The when didn’t matter. The how, though? Well now, that needed answering. Particularly since, as far as he knew, Henrik was the only gifted one—the sole male out of seven to be afflicted by magic and the discomfort that went along with it.
“I’m ready,” Kazim said, vines writhing around his feet. “Tareek . . . land as close to me as you can. I’ll try to keep her from dragging you out of the sky.”
Try. Not the most inspiring word.
Tareek nodded anyway. Despite past experience and his disquiet, cowardice wasn’t an option. Ever. So instead of banking hard and flying away, he sliced through the thin clouds, descending another hundred feet to set up his approach. The Limwoods hissed in warning. Kazim murmured his reassurance. Tareek held his breath and, painting an invisible target on the rocky ground at the assassin’s feet, tucked his winds in tight. Gravity took hold, yanking him out of the night sky. The ground rose to meet him. Deadly vines snapped skyward, shooting above the treetops. Frigid air burning across his scales, Tareek counted off the seconds. Three . . . two . . .
One!
Tareek shifted from dragon to human form and tucked into a somersault. Smaller equaled better right now. And creating a diversion? Well now, that equaled an excellent plan. If the Limwoods couldn’t find him in the chilly swirl, the greater his chances of reaching the ground in one piece. Free-falling fast, he conjured clothes and flipped into another revolution. The forest hissed. Vines whiplashed, slicing above and below him. One mind-torqueing turn spun into more and—
Knight Avenged (Circle of Seven #2) Page 20
