Akiri: Dragonbane

by Brian D. Anderson

  “Tisha’s family has a farm a few hours away,” Khamet told him. “If we can make it that far, we should be safe.”

  Seyla rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he stood. It was obvious they weren’t staying despite the promises that they would be safe here. But he offered no complaint.

  By the time they had loaded up Khamet’s old nag, an ominous still had descended. No angry voices or torchlight. Not yet. Akiri reached out with his mind, touching Kyra’s. She didn’t seem overly concerned now that they were moving. A group of frightened villagers posed little threat.

  The street leading from Khamet’s house was empty, and the building next door was shrouded in darkness. There were no obvious signs of life from any of the houses, but if he had noticed or thought it odd, Khamet said nothing. Of course, there was every chance that they were empty and served as nothing more than a reminder of the others the village had lost. It was a reasonable assumption, but the hair on the back of Akiri’s neck prickled at the sight of a sixth successive empty dwelling.

  Khamet started to lead them back along the lane, but Akiri stopped him.

  “Where are your neighbors?”

  Khamet shrugged.

  “Is this the only way out of the village?” Akiri pressed.

  “No, but it’s the best.”

  “What are the alternatives?”

  “The next road loops around the outskirts of the village,” he replied. “The only other way takes us through the center of the town square. I think we should avoid that if we can.”

  Akiri had to agree, but walking along this narrow alleyway in single file, particularly with a horse burdened with possessions, made them vulnerable to anyone who might be waiting at the other end. In their place, he would have stationed at least one man there to keep watch, more if he wanted to prevent anyone escaping. A perfect place for an ambush. Though simple villagers might not be thinking in these terms, he had to assume that they would.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  Akiri drew his sword and took the first few strides in the twisting lane, quickly disappearing into the shroud of shadow. There was a light up ahead. He moved with silent steps, each muscle ready to spring. If he was lucky, there would be no one there. If he was unlucky, there would be, but he’d be able to take them unawares. If he was very unlucky, there would be a small army waiting with pitchforks and torches, and he’d have to do something he was trying to avoid.

  Akiri pressed himself against the wall, moving slowly through the darkness that even the dim moonlight couldn’t reach. He kept the blade close to his body listening to the night, his experience and training filtering out unimportant sounds. He caught a nervous scuffing of boots on slate.

  Only one man.

  The lookout was lurking in the street. Akiri watched him for a time. He was obviously nervous, shuffling around and jumping at every sound. He was holding a lantern in one hand, illuminating him with a ghostly yellow glow that brought out the thin contours of his features. The lantern was hooded so that its light did not extend more than a couple of yards, meaning it wouldn’t betray Akiri’s presence until he was close enough to strike.

  The man stamped his feet and wrapped his free hand tighter around himself. Had this been a soldier, Akiri would have thought him a fool. He made no attempt at concealment and was making enough noise to alert anyone nearby. However, this was but an untrained villager, a fact that Akiri was doing his best to remember.

  It was a cold night, but the adrenaline coursing through his blood was more than enough to keep Akiri warm. He considered: there might be other routes out of this place, but they were almost certainly watched as well. This was one man, a line of least resistance. In addition to the lamp that helped make him easy to spot, the man appeared to have no more than a small hunting knife tucked into his belt with which to fight.

  Akiri waited until the lookout turned away – there was a pattern to his restless fidgeting and shuffling of feet – and stepped lightly out of the alleyway. He needed to move quickly; silence him before the man knew what was happening. Akiri took a breath, then closed the distance – two steps, three, and he was almost on him.

  The watchman turned slowly, oblivious to Akiri’s approach.

  Akiri slammed the pommel of his sword into the side of his head. The blow was punishing, and he crumpled with only a startled grunt. Akiri caught him as he collapsed, snatching the lantern from his grip.

  He laid the fallen man down, checking his pulse to be sure he had not struck him too hard, and returned his sword to its sheath. He then dragged him by his collar and bundled him into a nearby doorway. It wasn’t much cover, but it was better than nothing. If the rest of the way was clear, they would be long gone before he came around.

  Akiri was turning to start back when he saw a second light some distance along the street. A ripple of movement signaled a message from its bearer. Akiri wasn’t sure if he should respond, or how. In the end, he opened the cover over the light and waved back in the same manner, hoping he had given the right signal. He remained still for a long moment, then allowed himself a smile as the other flame disappeared between houses.

  Akiri hurried back along the alley, holding the lantern out in front of him.

  The others were waiting, all but Rena clearly holding in barely contained anxiety. He gestured for them to follow, a finger to his lips urging quiet, and soon they emerged from the alleyway. The lookout was still unconscious and he didn’t see any more lanterns or torches in the vicinity. “Which way?”

  Khamet took the lead and navigated their way through the dark streets, though Akiri regularly moved ahead to be sure the way was clear.

  A single figure carrying the lantern might fool anyone who happened to see him. But it wouldn’t if they were looking for a group of people trying to escape the town. How far they would get was a matter of sheer chance – and thus far fortune had not been their ally.

  They made it through three streets and two much narrower lanes without encountering any villagers. But as they approached the next corner, he could hear raised voices. There was no mistaking that the townsfolk had turned into an angry mob. Akiri peered around the last building. There, he saw several torches burning up ahead, their light enough to reveal a small cluster of people.

  Akiri quickly backtracked to rejoin the others. “We’re not getting out that way without cutting our way through. Is there another way?” It was growing more and more likely that they wouldn’t be able to leave without a fight. Killer of frightened townsfolk was not a deed he wished attached to his name. The Dul’Buhar were soldiers and slayers, but there was no honor in slaughter.

  Khamet paused for a moment, obviously considering the few options open to them. “This way.”

  They made their way along the next street, trying to avoid the people posted as lookouts, but before they reached the end, Akiri saw that their path was blocked by a barricade of furniture. Tables had been tipped on their sides, and chairs and planks of wood filled the gaps.

  Akiri muttered a curse, then began turning back the way they had come. But before he made it more than a few steps, a shout went up. They’d been seen.

  Worse, their retreat was blocked by at least a dozen men carrying torches and swords coming towards them, intent on driving them into the barricade. Quickly he assessed the situation. Every way he turned, there were more of them closing in.

  “I don’t suppose you have an idea?” he said, looking over to Rena.

  “Acharians are known for their silver tongues,” she said, a smile twitching at her lips. “I suppose you could try to talk our way out of this.”

  Akiri guessed that the village had a population of a few hundred people. Of those, more than thirty were already there. He saw the silhouettes on the rooftops. If they had bows, it could complicate matters.

  He felt Kyra’s call. She was starting to descend. No. Stay away. He did not want her involved in this foul business. He had slain the innocent when his orders required, and had learned long
ago how to settle his conscience. But she was young, idealistic, and in many ways, pure. She would come to his aid. But she would not be able to bear what she had done. He repeated his thought until she promised to remain in flight and clear of the fray.

  Rena was right about one thing: talking was the only chance to leave without bloodshed. Unfortunately, his tongue was made from tin, not silver. He considered having Khamet speak, but as he and his family were an object of their fear, thought better of it.

  Akiri stepped away from the others, hand spread wide. “Listen to me!” His voice carried easily throughout the streets. The villagers halted. “All we want is to be allowed to leave. Stand aside and there will be no trouble.”

  “He lies,” came a shrill voice. “He brings the disease of the dead with him.”

  “That is not true,” Akiri retorted. “And even if it were, would you not want us away from your town?”

  “He’ll call the dead upon us,” came another voice. “Kill them. Kill them now, before it’s too late.”

  Reason had failed, so Akiri was left with one last tactic. He drew his sword, the song of steel piercing the cold night air. The sight of Akiri holding his weapon, his eyes dark with deadly intent, was enough to cause most to take a step back.

  “I am Akiri. I have drawn the blood of gods. I have torn the heads from demons and hung their bodies for all to see. I have fought battles beyond the measure of your limited minds. Let us pass, or join the number of those who have died by my hand.”

  This seemed to unsettle the mob. Behind the thickest of the crowd, the barricade itself offered little in the way of an obstacle; nothing they couldn’t fight their way through. Akiri spotted a couple of people crouching behind the upturned furniture, brandishing nothing more than kitchen knives. It would be slaughter.

  “Very diplomatic,” said Rena, walking up from behind, sword in hand.

  “Feel free to try,” he offered. “I’m sure you can convince them.”

  Beyond the barrier, he saw an expanse of darkness broken only by a few torches: an open square. There was a dark shape in the middle as tall as a man. Akiri watched as the torches moved around it, revealing the presence of even more people beyond the barricade.

  Khamet had drawn his blade, his arm wrapped protectively around his family. The weapon looked natural in his hand, suggesting to Akiri that he had once been a soldier. Seyla was crouched low behind the horse.

  “Leave this to me and Rena,” Akiri told him. “Stay with your wife and child, and watch over Seyla. Should any make it past us, you must protect them.”

  Khamet nodded sharply. “I’m sorry. If I had known…”

  Akiri turned away. This was not Khamet’s fault; it was Yarrow’s. His evil had caused this. It had robbed these simple folks of their good sense, and they would die as a result. The blade of his father would be used to butcher frightened sheep. Yet another reason to kill Yarrow – as if he needed more.

  The mob had resumed its march forward. The first of the flame bearers was little more than a couple of yards beyond the reach of his blade. Close enough to die.

  “Are you ready?” he asked Rena.

  “If you knew me better, you wouldn’t ask.”

  Behind him there was a sudden draft, and the whole world seemed to light up.

  Akiri risked a glance over his shoulder and saw that the shape he’d seen beyond the barricade was ablaze. He knew in an instant what it was for: a bonfire for the dead. In spite of his best efforts, the future was fixed. These people would die. One voice cried out, then another. Then the entire mob shouted in murderous fury.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Armed with only a few swords that in all likelihood had rarely been unsheathed, the rest with tools and farming implements, the townsfolk attacked in numbers. Akiri met their charge, faster, stronger, deadlier than anything they could have anticipated. His blade snaked out, biting deep into the sword arm of his first assailant, sending his weapon clattering to the ground and eliciting a howl of agony. Muscle and tendon were undone. Akiri raised his boot and planted the sole into the man’s chest and sent him tumbling backwards.

  Those immediately behind him stumbled, trying to avoid being taken down by his weight, and in that moment, that eerie silence between the jarring impact of steel on bone, Akiri found his balance and delivered a second deadly swing. Sheep or no, his battle fury raged.

  Rena was unleashing a blinding flurry of strikes, delivering one killer blow after another. Fierce two-handed slashes sliced through anyone foolish enough to stand before her. With each foe that fell, she took another step forward, driving them steadily back. The villagers stood no chance against her skill. And from the vicious grin she wore, she was enjoying herself. A warrior goddess set loose to wreak havoc.

  The sight of her sent Akiri’s heart pounding with lust. He let fly his sword, deaf to the screams of his victims and blind to their fear as he sliced through flesh and bone with powerful strikes. Even had they armor, it would not have saved them. Any pity he had was lost to his passion for more blood and battle.

  When only a handful of the enemy remained, they started to draw back, flailing out with their weapons in a desperate bid for survival. But they had unleashed a terror that not even Yarrow could match. In seconds, they turned and fled. Fear had taken absolute control.

  Rena was soaked in blood, her eyes afire as she started after them. Akiri wanted to join her; to kill by her side yet again. But the voice of Kyra stopped him. Enough. Akiri grabbed Rena’s arm. “Let them go.”

  She glared at him, her breathing rapid, and for the briefest of moments he thought she might attack him. This only fueled his new-found passion for this woman, unlike any he had felt for other women. The fire inside her burn so brightly he imagined he could see it shining through her flesh. Again, Yarrow had been wrong. She was not a woman worth fighting for. She was worth dying with, side by side, bathed in the blood of their enemy.

  Their eyes met, and gradually her breathing calmed. Slowly a smile formed on her lips. “You look as if you have never seen me before.”

  Akiri used all his willpower not to pull her close. “I don’t think I have.”

  Rena cocked her head, then began laughing boisterously. “Typical Acharian. The lust in your loins is no different than your lust for war.” Akiri furrowed his brow, feeling unusually exposed. “Of course, it is the first thing about you I’ve found the least bit attractive.”

  Akiri smiled involuntarily. “Then perhaps you will spare my life after all.”

  He turned to Khamet. Two men were lying dead at his feet. Tisha was clutching his arm, tears spilling down her cheeks. His daughter had joined Seyla behind the horse, and the two were staring blankly at the scene before them.

  “Which way from here?” Akiri asked.

  Khamet responded by pointing at the barricade.

  The shouts from the villagers echoed between buildings. Akiri hoped that they had learned from the first encounter. Nearly two dozen of their neighbors lay dead, and more would follow them to their ancestors should they persist. A strange sensation came from Kyra: one of both relief that Akiri was unhurt and pity for those he had slain. Though she assigned him no blame, it was clear that she knew these people, although acting rashly, were not evil.

  They crossed the square, and Akiri disassembled a portion of the barricade, then hurried down yet another narrow pathway. Khamet led them through another series of turns that felt as though they were doubling back on themselves. Akiri felt sure he’d seen some of these buildings before. But Khamet seemed to know where he was going and kept them moving at a fast pace.

  Eventually, they emerged into a much wider thoroughfare. But this was no better than where they had been earlier. The far end of the street was blocked with yet another barricade, behind which Akiri saw a row of people brandishing torches.

  At the other end of the road were shadows and doorways. He couldn’t see anyone lurking.

  “This leads us straight through the heart
of the town,” said Khamet.

  “I don’t know if these people are mad or stupid,” remarked Rena. “They have to know they can’t stop us.”

  A group of men filed onto the corner of a side street a bit further down. Akiri shook his head and sighed. They were butchers and shopkeepers and simple laborers; not a warrior among them. And yet they looked determined to prevent them from leaving.

  Akiri felt a stab of frustration. When there is a lion in your house, you leave the door open. Fools.

  The thwack of a bowstring was followed by the clatter of an arrow striking the street a few feet off to Rena’s left. The shot had come from an upstairs window. Akiri followed the path of the arrow and made out the silhouette of the bowman just as he slipped back out of sight. The window was still open. They were vulnerable where they were, so Akiri pointed for the others to move close to the wall and out of sight of their attacker. An experienced bowman would have positioned himself on the rooftop, where he could fire upon the entire street. And had this been such a man, one of them would be lying dead right now.

  Once the others were safe, Akiri stepped into view, deliberately presenting himself as a target, and made a show of looking from side to side, as if he didn’t know from where the arrow had come. Not the cleverest ruse, but he was not up against clever foes. The creak of a bowstring told him it had worked.

  Akiri took three quick steps forward and right. He hurled his dagger through the open window just as the arrow was loosed. The missile missed by a wide margin, the inexperienced bowman unable to compensate for Akiri’s sudden movement. The dagger did not. The yelp of pain was followed by the figure of a man clutching at his chest and plummeting from the window. The body thudded to the ground, the bow falling a few feet away.

  Akiri yanked his dagger free and wiped it on the man’s jacket.

  Rena stepped out of the shadows beneath the window and snatched up the bow. “Might come in useful,” she said, removing the quiver from the body.