“What do you see?” he asked Aeko.
The Knight of the Stag peered over the walls, speechless. A moment later, she started to answer, but a new cry drowned her out. Sword clashes and screams. That’s not coming from below…
Sir Crovis Ammerhel drew his sword. “They attack the city from within!”
Aeko grabbed her captain’s arm. “Your place is on the walls. Let me go.”
Crovis glared at her. Then he nodded. “Take thirty Knights with you.”
“Captain—”
“I’ll send more if you need them,” Crovis promised. “But I must wait to see what happens below before I weaken the front defenses.”
Aeko gestured for Rowen to follow and started for the stairs. Rowen hesitated, glancing down at Silwren, still anxious to learn El’rash’lin’s fate.
“Go, Squire,” Crovis said. “Your wytch is safe with me. I swear it on my honor.”
That will have to do. Rowen rose and hurried after Aeko, Knightswrath in hand.
Further into Lyos, the Knights discovered a nightmare of a different kind. Enemies had sprung as though from nowhere. Shel’ai in damp bone-white cloaks stalked the cobblestone streets, burning all in their path. Already, lines of houses blazed. Mothers clutching their children ran for their lives. Flames wreathed Queen’s Garden.
“We need all the men here, now!” Aeko seethed. He imagined what had happened: the enemy had come through the aqueduct again since Aeko did not have enough men to guard all the wells. Some had probably already killed the Red Watch guarding the rear gates and opened them. Lyos was being attacked on two sides. “We need Silwren!”
Unseen swept up the streets, dozens strong, mad for blood. She shuddered, thinking of the temples they must have already ravaged. Ahead lay yet another temple—this one devoted to Tier’Gothma. It was filled, she knew, with refugees from the Dark Quarter—those too young or infirm to fight.
Aeko ordered Rowen back to the walls. “Tell Crovis to send all the Knights at once—plus whatever else he can spare. And bring Silwren if she’s still alive. Archers, if she isn’t.” Rowen hesitated. Aeko shoved him. “Go!” This time, Rowen obeyed.
The Unseen had slowed at the sight of the Isle Knights. The two forces faced each other. Aeko raised her sword and saluted, momentarily holding the crosspiece of her adamune at nose level, the edge perfectly vertical between her eyes. To her surprise, many of the Unseen returned the gesture in the same Shao style.
She had no more time to ponder this before they charged.
Rowen found the walls all but abandoned. Silwren lay slumped in the distance, just where he’d left her. A handful of Red Watch and armed slumdwellers milled about, uncertain.
Where in Jinn’s name did Crovis go?
Rowen sprinted up to the battlements where Silwren lay and looked out over the twisting road below. He saw no sign of El’rash’lin or the Nightmare. But Crovis Ammerhel galloped down King’s Bend at the head of his Knights, charging the remains of the Throng. “Gods, what’s he doing? We have to clear the city first!”
Captain Ferocles and Sergeant Epheus shouted in the courtyard below. He guessed they were trying to take command of the soldiers left behind. Rowen called to the slumdwellers nearby, ordering them to go and help. Then he turned his attention back to Silwren. He shook her. “Silwren, we need you!”
She opened her eyes. “El’rash’lin. Dead...”
Rowen blanched. Grief swelled within him—grief over the death of a violet-eyed boy—but he fought it back. “They’re inside the city. Do you understand? They’re burning the temples where the refugees are hiding. They’re killing everyone we saved!”
Silwren blinked, as though waking from a dream. She stood on her own. Something terrible kindled in her eyes. She said, “Take me there.”
Jalist Hewn awoke from his blood-daze to see the gates of Lyos swinging open, just a few hundred feet up the road. Armored Knights in azure tabards streamed out, row upon row of red-garbed soldiers trailing behind. He frowned. “What in Fohl’s hells?”
Just ahead, the last of the Unseen were fighting a pitched battle against the rebelling Throng, trying to hold off the latter long enough for Fadarah and the remaining Shel’ai to get away. Jalist had intended to do everything in his power to stop this. But the sight of armed men thundering down King’s Bend brought him back to his senses. The Isle Knights did not mean to join them. Instead, they meant to attack the Throng. “Gods-damned fools!”
They could not run. The Knights could easily ride them down, their spears and curved swords hacking them to ribbons. He looked around, wishing for the first time that Brahasti were here, but the sadistic Dhargot was nowhere to be seen. Men turned to him, looking for guidance. He grimaced. Only one choice remained.
“Well, lads, let’s hope there’s some truth behind those stories of Islemen’s honor.” He threw down his long-axe. The men hesitated, exchanging glances, then followed suit. One by one, they cast down their weapons.
The charging Knights slowed. Jalist raised his open hands in a sign of surrender. He spotted the Knights’ captain—a proud man in a brilliant steel helm—and approached him. The Knight’s destrier reared, hooves flailing over the Dwarr’s head. Jalist was glad, once again, for not being taller.
The Knight removed his helm, revealing a coldly handsome, olive-skinned young man. “Do you surrender?”
Jalist glowered up at him. “No, we threw down our weapons for exercise. Want to see us pick them up again?” He fought the impulse to drag the Knight from his horse. “We were rebelling, you dunce!”
The Knight-Captain stared back, unfazed. “You knowingly took up arms against a protectorate of the Lotus Isles. Consider yourselves prisoners.”
“Call us what you like,” Jalist spat back. “Just gut those damn Shel’ai before they get away!”
The Knight-Captain smirked. “Oh, I’m sure I can find something for my sword to do.” He waved to the rest of the Isle Knights. “Gather their weapons! Search them carefully. Kill any who resist.”
Screams and smoke ruled the air. The people of Lyos fled the heart of their own city as the Unseen swept up the streets, running to the walls instead. They sought the protection of the Isle Knights and the Red Watch—only to find the crenellated battlements all but deserted.
Rowen ran in the direction of the fighting, pulling Silwren after him. His stomach lurched as he dodged the bodies strewn about the grand cobblestone streets and marble walkways. They reached the Queen’s Garden and slowed.
Ahead of them, at least a dozen dead Knights filled the streets. Heaped all around them were the slain bodies of their foes: men in black armor sewn with crimson greatwolves.
“Aeko...” Rowen ran forward, searching the grisly battlefield for any sign of the commander. But Aeko Shingawa was not among the dead. Silwren touched his arm. She pointed.
In the distance, three Unseen milled in the shadow and smoke of the burning garden. With them stood a Shel’ai in a bone-white cloak. Rowen bristled. He reached for Knightswrath, but Silwren locked her thin hand on his arm, stopping him. Her violet eyes flashed with murder.
“Rowen, get behind me.”
Such was her tone that he obeyed. In the distance, the Shel’ai stared at them with open derision. The man spat something in Sylvan. Silwren answered by summoning wytchfire, letting it course the length of her arms, crackling at her fingertips.
The opposing sorcerer flung wytchfire of his own. Rowen recoiled, but Silwren waved, and the sorcerer’s wytchfire melted into thin air. Then, she unleashed hers. It washed over everything, pouring from her body until she howled with rage and pain.
Blinded, Rowen drew away from her. When at last she lowered her hands, wytchfire fading from her body, the sorcerer and the dark-garbed warriors had been replaced by ashes that mingled with the cinders of the burning garden.
“There are more,” Silwren said. “We must kill them all.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE KNIGHT OF THE CRANE
In Lyos, the fighting continued street to street, temple to temple, house to house. Shade, ten Shel’ai, and a hundred Unseen were already deep inside the city. Shade had counted on fighting armed men, not defenseless women and children. But Fadarah’s orders were clear: Lyos had to be utterly destroyed. Showing mercy now would only hamper their campaign later.
Fadarah had already warned him of the revolt outside the city. Shade’s head spun from the realization that their plans had been unraveled, all due to Silwren and El’rash’lin. Because of them, innocent people were dying.
“Not my fault.” Shade unleashed wytchfire, scouring one house after another, wincing from the smell of scorched wood and burned flesh.
Desperately, he had tried to mindspeak with his wife before the fighting began. She refused to answer. They had shared so much, surviving together, and she would not even acknowledge him.
Hurt melted into bitterness. Bitterness became rage. Rage turned to murder.
Shade scattered the Unseen now, issuing their final order: kill and kill until they themselves were cut down. They accepted the order with relish, knowing that release from the Blood Thrall was finally at hand. But he kept Lethe close by. The Unseen wept openly—but killed and killed, as he was ordered.
Not my fault.
Aeko Shingawa led the fight. Blood speckled her olive skin. Gore ran from her adamune. During a brief lull in the fighting, she looked up and noted that smoke choked the sky. A quarter of Lyos was burning now. But at least the invaders did not go unchallenged.
In the distance, a squad of archers took up neat positions at the end of a street and provided cover for fleeing people, raining wave after wave of death on advancing Unseen. Earlier, slumdwellers had banded together and actually managed to kill a Shel’ai by flinging pikes, rocks, and daggers.
But it’s not enough…
Aeko had already arrived too late to prevent a squad of Unseen from sweeping through a temple of Maelmohr and murdering everyone inside. But when the Unseen emerged—some weeping, others smug with bloodlust—they’d met the swords of Aeko, her Knights, and a squad of Red Watch commanded by Captain Ferocles. The fighting was brief but furious. By the time it was over, Aeko had lost three Knights. Half the Red Watch had been slain—as had Captain Ferocles himself.
Now, Aeko tightened her gauntlets. In the distance, she spotted a party of Shel’ai and Unseen heading toward a refugee-filled temple of Tier’Gothma. Blocking them were Fen-Shea and his Bloody Asps. Aeko led her Knights to reinforce them.
Steel rang. Wytchfire blazed over stone. Men fell, dying. Fen-Shea’s great mace shattered in his grasp. He would have died, but the Isle Knights arrived in time. They raced across a marble walkway and flanked the enemy. One Shel’ai fell, then another—each taking Knights and gang members with him. Then Aeko slipped forward, raised her sword in hoso no-kami, and cut a third Shel’ai nearly in half.
The last sorcerer unleashed a fearful gush of wytchfire at her. Aeko pitched forward, trying to dodge. The devilish flames singed her armor. The Shel’ai prepared another strike then stiffened, one of Fen-Shea’s knives in his back.
Aeko nodded her thanks. The grim-faced leader of the Bloody Asps answered with a wink. She stopped to catch her breath, glancing at the body-strewn walkway. Why weren’t more Isle Knights arriving to help? Then she guessed.
By the Light, Crovis will pay for this!
Sergeant Epheus stood nearby, flanked by a handful of Red Watch, all fighting to catch their breath. She waved. Then she led her remaining few Knights, plus Fen-Shea and the last of the Bloody Asps, back into the fray.
Lethe lifted his shortsword. “Here they come again.” He spoke the warning only because he had been ordered to. He stood with Shade in a street near the rear gate.
The guards there had already tried three times to reach Shade. Each time, he drove them back. His master could have broken past them and made it out of the city, but Shade was not finished yet. He wanted to toy with them. A fey smile shone on the Shel’ai’s lips.
Lethe watched the men of the Red Watch gather in the distance, nine strong, armed with pikes and shields. They had started out with twenty.
The game reminded Lethe of a cat tormenting a dying mouse. “Enough of this! Finish them, and let’s be gone from here.”
Shade ignored him. Focusing on the soldiers instead, Shade feigned exhaustion. The soldiers advanced slowly, shields locked, then quickened their pace when they saw the sorcerer leaning wearily against the wall of an abandoned cottage, not a single wisp of fire curling from his wrists. Lethe glanced at the soldiers with pity. He wanted to warn them, but a stranger’s life was not worth the torments of the Blood Thrall.
Shade waited.
When the men were almost upon him, he straightened to full height and lifted his hands. Wytchfire blazed to life. The men screamed as Shade’s magic washed over them, burning through shields and armor alike. In his fury, Shade burned the bodies, too. He left nothing but ash.
Lethe spat at Shade’s feet. “Are you sated, or should I find you something else to kill? Perhaps there’s an orphanage somewhere nearby.”
Shade winced. The rage in the sorcerer’s eyes melted into hurt. Lethe wondered if he’d somehow gotten through to him. Then he followed his master’s gaze and saw a woman step into the street. Hair like quicksilver fell past her slender shoulders. Her grimace might have been chiseled from stone. Wytchfire crackled and writhed at her fingertips.
Shade said, “Hello, my love,” and unleashed a torrent of flame in her direction.
Lethe lost sight of the woman for a moment. Then the fire cleared. She stood unharmed. A new figure joined her: a man in a tattered brigandine, holding a curved sword wet with blood. Rowen...
The woman said, “Kith’el, this must end.”
Shade said, “On that, at least, we agree.” He threw more fire at her. This time, the woman waved her hands, and the fire changed direction as though swatted away, burning the stone face of a temple statue instead. Cinders sailed like dying stars through her hair but left her unharmed.
“El’rash’lin is dead,” the woman said. “That should mean something to you.”
“Many have died. Many more will.” Shade unleashed another gush of fire.
The woman lifted her hands and absorbed it into her palms. That time, she flinched with pain. “How many have we buried and burned already? This must stop.”
Shade sneered. “Too many to count. Too many to mourn.” He drove at her again, hurtling wytchfire at her face and heart.
She waved it away, stumbling as she did so. Rowen moved to catch her, but she pushed him back, trying to keep him behind her. “There are never... too many to mourn,” she answered weakly.
Shade laughed. “But I am weary of mourning, my love!” His voice rang with mockery. “I know you could kill me. But you won’t. Shall I repay your mercy in kind?” He turned to Lethe. “Kill the Human. But first, take your mask off.”
Lethe’s eyes widened. “Please...”
Shade repeated the order.
The Unseen started forward, his body no longer his own to control. Sword in one hand, he used the other to tug the black cloth from his face and drop it onto the bloody street.
Rowen watched Silwren’s eyes widen. She whispered, “Kith’el, no...”
Shade answered with fire. Silwren met it with fire of her own. Rowen wanted to help her, but this was her fight. He fixed his gaze on the dark-garbed fighter instead.
Given the man’s armor and the way he moved, he must have been the same man he’d battled in the jailhouse. The same man who could have killed him but hadn’t. There would be no quarter.
“Singchai ushó fey...” He only whispered it. Then, hefting Knightswrath, he ran to meet his attacker. He stopped halfway.
Dimly, he smelled Lyos burning around them, heard the din of fighting as the Knights and the Red Watch sought out the remaining Unseen. But more than anything, he saw the face of his enemy—this time, unmasked.
<
br /> Green eyes, auburn hair. A face knife-scarred on one cheek in the act of saving Rowen from a would-be child raper, years and years ago. “Kayden...”
CHAPTER THIRTY
MERCY
They met where the street widened to accommodate a well. Dead men littered the ground. There, only days before, the living had idly quenched their thirst after labor. Mothers had drawn water to bathe their children.
Rowen shook his head. “Gods, this cannot be...” Knightswrath dipped before him.
Kayden did not slow. He passed the abandoned well, his shadow rippling over broken stone and spilled blood. “Lift that sword, little brother. Or I’ll kill you where you stand!” The former Knight’s eyes broiled with despair.
Rowen backed up. “Kayden, wait! Tell me—”
Kayden swung his shortsword. Rowen blocked but did not swing back. Instead, he retreated down the burning street, further from where Silwren and Shade battled in the distance. Kayden followed. He lunged at Rowen’s throat.
Rowen parried and circled, trying to keep his opponent at bay. “Kayden!”
The former Knight’s eyes welled with tears. “They bewytched me. My choice, though. I should have picked death. I didn’t. I was scared. My fault. Ask Silwren when it’s done. She’ll explain.” He swung. “No choice now. You must”—he lunged—“kill me!”
Rowen parried and sidestepped. He glimpsed an opening for his brother’s neck but did not take it.
“I can’t fight it again. Kill me, or I’ll kill you!” Kayden drew a second shortsword with his free hand. Steel sparked and clattered in the burning street. Kayden drove Rowen toward a wall, twice nearly killing him, never once hesitating. Rowen pleaded, certain this must all be a dream. A nightmare. Then, one of Kayden’s shortswords slashed his arm. Pain and blood brought him back to his senses.
Wytchfire (Book 1) Page 34
