Everything blurred again, his instincts guiding him. Then suddenly a purple-headed tyrannok stood before him. The other Ayamin battled two more that pounded toward the archers. Matthu jolted back to awareness. His javelin was covered in grey blood as if he had already stabbed the tyrannoks, his knuckles bloodied and bashed. Blood trickled down his own neck, and his throwing arm ached from over exertion. He angled his javelin at the bulbous neck of the tyrannok. That had been the key to killing them in the myths. That and spearing them through the leg sockets.
Though the blood thundered in his ears, an eerie calm engulfed him. All sound became distant. He commanded his bruin to the side as the tyrannok attacked. The bruin reared up, slashing the beast across the throat with its long claws. Matthu drove his javelin forward. Though he aimed for the neck, the angle altered and his javelin cracked against the carapace. A war mawnore bolted alongside him. It flung itself backward on its tail, its elbow catching Matthu in the shoulder.
Tumbling back, he struck the ground. The war mawnore drove its hind legs into the tyrannok's bulging armored side. Matthu scarcely rolled out of the way of the kangaroo's tail as it launched itself back and then struck again. Stumbling to his feet, he lifted his javelin and prepared to hurl it into the tyrannok's neck.
A shrill screech ripped his attention away from the tyrannok all his comrades had focused on. A smaller tyrannok, though still about the size of a pony, stood to the side. Its yellow-and-black streaked eyes spun. Matthu swiveled to aim his javelin, but the small tyrannok had already charged. He scarcely shifted his weight before its glimmering purple snout horns gored him in the stomach, flinging him in the air. The world tilted upside down as he lurched through the sky, then crashed into a thick mass of fallen grass and loose soil. His stomach and back ached with intense pain. The blade-like horns had severed his belt, punched through his leather armor, and broke several links of his chainmail. The shield hidden beneath, however, had stopped it. Matthu gasped with relief though the ache remained. From the feel of it, the shield had cracked a little, and the indentation from the tyrannok's attack remained. But he was all right.
The same shriek followed, accompanied by a buzzing and clattering. Matthu leaned up in time to see the small tyrannok stalking toward him. He grabbed for his dagger, then realized that since his belt was gone, his daggers were gone as well. One spare javelin lay somewhere near the white-streaked war kangaroo, and his quiver of javelins was farther away still, strapped securely to the side of his bruin as it battled the larger tyrannok. The smaller tyrannok vibrated its wings, leaning forward, its eyes spinning faster.
Matthu staggered to his feet. The shield shifted awkwardly beneath his shirt, no longer as secure. Better than grass and mud, Matthu thought. He ripped it out from under his now-loose chainmail, the last bits of string that secured it snapping free. The small tyrannok charged. Matthu dashed to the side and bludgeoned it with the shield.
The small tyrannok careened to the side, then shook its head. Spinning around, it clattered its black teeth, its whole body shaking.
The adrenaline twisted in Matthu's stomach, filling him with nausea. He kept his weight on the balls of his feet. Again, the tyrannok charged. He dodged and struck it again, this time knicking its first foreleg. The deadly dance continued, each time driving him farther and farther out into the plain, away from the rest of the battle and the Ayamin. Numerous weapons lay scattered amid the height of the conflict, but each time Matthu tried to angle toward them, the small tyrannok drove him the opposite way. Four times he bludgeoned it, twice he missed, once he scarcely got out of the way and its jagged teeth tore through his sleeve. His breaths came harder and faster. The tyrannok loomed before him, its spinning eyes filling his own vision. It charged again. Matthu tensed to jump to the left, closer to a mound of soft dirt and grass, his hands tight on the shield.
"Matthu, to the right," Cobez shouted.
The words registered in time as instinct shifted Matthu's plan. He narrowly leaped to the right as an iron-wrapped spear sliced through the air. The tyrannok hesitated for a blink as Matthu slid away, and the spear sliced deep into the back of its neck. The creature lurched forward, slowed but still standing. Cobez circled behind the tyrannok and tossed Matthu his javelin. His bruin followed behind him, foam flecking its black speckled mouth.
Matthu caught the javelin neatly and flung it into the tyrannok's exposed throat. The bruin seized the tyrannok from the other side and shook it viciously, the spear and javelin shafts clattering against one another. Sliding in alongside his bruin, Cobez hacked at the tyrannok with his slender hatchet.
Cobez pointed at Matthu, and then took another swing with the hatchet. "Just because your brother isn't here doesn't mean you should be running off by yourself. That's how you'll get yourself killed." His gaze shifted upward and his expression tensed. He thrust his foot against the tyrannok's head and wrenched his spear free. "Get back. Baru, above!" He ran up the side of a dead tyrannok and hurled the spear again as a pterosaur swooped at an axe-wielding warrior.
Matthu adjusted his grip on the javelin and dropped the cracked shield. Wiping the sweat off his head with the back of his hand, he jogged back to his bruin who had already moved onto the next tyrannok. One down. However many to go.
Then the Paras, but they still needed a miracle to stop them.
* * *
The spertha form was as familiar to Naatos as an old friend, terrifying in its effectiveness and powerful in its potential. He'd only mastered it shortly before the nocturnal attack on Telhetum, but it felt as familiar as the plague lion, the emerald storm drake, and the veldrok wolf. He lunged into the mass, tearing through the Awdawms. Each time he bellowed or roared, the Awdawms nearest him fell back, clutching at their ears. It wasn't even necessary to try to kill at this point. He lashed out and snapped at any who drew near. Few saw him in enough time to respond.
Then he saw him. The elder commander.
The Awdawm wore full armor now, old but well-kept, soiled with blood and bile but well-cut and better made. He wielded two blades, a long one-handed sword and a deep-toothed dagger.
Naatos released the spertha form, returning to his state of rest. He removed his collapsed spear from the clip on his belt and swatted aside one of the Ayamin who crossed in front of him.
Vorec turned, his lips drawn in a smile. He froze when he saw Naatos as the rest of his Ayamin continued to battle the tyrannok. He lifted his bloodied sword. "Do you think that facing me as a man, makes you one? You are no more than a brute beast. Skinchanger." He spat on the ground.
Naatos smirked, unoffended by the obvious attempt to enrage him. "Have you noticed something strange?" He circled Vorec, his spear at his side. "None of these creatures pay you any mind. Not even when you attack." He gestured toward the nearest tyrannok, which cast aside a bloodied corpse. Its gaze passed over Vorec, but it pounced on a larger mass of warriors, only to be buffeted and mauled by mawnores and bruins.
The steadiness in Vorec's expression flinched. He still watched Naatos with stern resolve, but now the question had been planted. "You will pay for your crimes against Libysha." He too circled Naatos, his posture tense.
Naatos continued evenly, permitting himself a faint smile. "I commanded them not to kill you. Not even if you harmed them. Do you know why?"
Vorec scoffed. Sweat rolled down his dirt and blood streaked face.
The Awdawm wasn't an especially good adversary, but that did not matter much. It was tradition that a non-Vawtrian enemy for whom one held much rage be accorded a fight to the death while the Vawtrian remained in his state of rest. Tradition dictated this for respect. Naatos preferred it in this instance because it was slower and more satisfying. Baiting people as a dragon often ended in rapid death. Tigers, lions, and wolves could bring about slower and more painful demises. But there was nothing like the human form exerting its full control and prowess with all its senses functioning when dispatching a foe who deserved to suffer. Then again, in his youth, few
of his kills had been in shifted states. Hours and hours of battling in the arena without enough strength or time to spare to shifting. Barely enough to hold his own sinew and bones together. All that had kept him going was rage and will. How far he had come indeed, and yet, as always, the will and rage remained the same.
"I killed your whore, and you will die as well." Vorec pointed the shorter blade at Naatos.
"Did you?" Naatos chuckled. "I hope you have some proof of that. You Libyshans are full of lies. It is your second nature."
"It's on your own head. You stripped whatever chance she had of being good."
Naatos smirked. "You feel guilt over her death?" If it hadn't been for his brothers' reassurances, he might have been worried that Amelia was dead based on the elder commander's odd reveal of conscience.
"You made it necessary," Vorec said. "You have made much that is evil necessary. And she has left tragedy in her wake."
"As have you," Naatos said.
Vorec stepped closer. His eyes moved rapidly, the calculations running through his mind. Naatos kept his pace steady, tightening the circle. His spear remained at his side, his grip on it as casual as if this was no more than an opening training ritual. "You're short of words, Awdawm," Naatos said. "You were not so terse in the dungeons or the pit."
Vorec lunged forward, taking the opening Naatos left at his own side. Naatos easily checked the blade with his spear, but he did not bring out the blades yet. At any moment he could summon multiples along the sturdy spear shaft, severing Vorec's arm or leg. Perhaps clipping off a finger. But it was better if the Awdawm thought he had a chance. There was no need to rush the process as he had with Shon. This anger was much higher, flowing clear as a river without destroying his resolve.
Vorec slashed at Naatos again. Naatos bounced the blows back, twisting the spear as Vorec attempted to check it with the deep notch in his dagger. Naatos easily spun the spear around, letting the blade grate off. He drew his hand over the side and channeled his energy into it, storing it rather than releasing it immediately.
When Vorec spun in again, Naatos brought the three-curved blades up. They scratched deep along Vorec's armor, leaving shining scars with scarcely any pressure.
Vorec muttered curses under his breath, his lips curling with rage and fear. Naatos returned the blades inside the spear. "Had you not made yourself such a nuisance, I might have allowed you a simple death. It is to be expected that you would resist the conquest of your nation," Naatos said. Vorec moved back, glancing down at his sliced armor and then back up at Naatos. Naatos continued. "But you stabbed my brother. And you struck my wife. You insulted her, baited her, and disrespected her. Then you had her flogged. And banished."
"And killed," Vorec sneered, his voice tenser than his demeanor suggested. "So long as you're reciting your justifications, you may as well include that." He lunged forward again, his stance wider and his swing more open this time.
Naatos caught the edge of the blade with his spear shaft and spun it up and out. He then popped the rounded spear butt against Vorec's leg, between the joints of the plate armor near the knee. Vorec doubled over, gasping with the sharpness of the pain. "I warned you that payment for harming my viskaro was a hundred times what was given her. Which means you do not die today. But repayment starts today."
Vorec resumed his aggressive stance, keeping his weight off his injured leg. "You think I fear your threats or tortures. I have survived and I have found my way, and if I am to die then so be it. I fought in great and noble campaigns before you were even a thought in your beast father's mind!"
"I doubt that," Naatos said. He drew out five blades this time, three at the top and two running lengthwise down half the shaft, swooping upward and inward like a wave. "Not all the substance of legends is false. You will understand that before the end. Just as my threat to not leave even two stones standing in Telhetum is not idle. I will make you watch all of it, just as promised."
Vorec bellowed and lunged again. Naatos countered the blow and sliced along the top of Vorec's shoulder. Vorec's own sword barely scraped Naatos's arm, and he had healed it almost as soon as the blade left.
"It won't take long to destroy everything in this wretched nation," Naatos said. "And when it is finished, I will impale whatever is left on you on the shattered city gates alongside your king."
A great bruin raged onto the steppe above him. Purple cloth rippled from its back. The same intense green scent that Naatos had caught a few times during his search cut through the battle haze. Then his eyes adjusted, and he recognized Amelia. Her scent though. It was gone. Only green and pungent mixed with horse and bruin, but no sweat scent, no blood scent, no Neyeb scent.
But there she was, wild haired, sharp eyed, and bloodstained, sleeves trailing in the wind, ridged and swirled black scars along her arms and neck exposed for all to see.
"Carithe!" Amelia shouted.
The bruin reared up, halting so sharply that its thick paws dug into the soft earth. Her knees gripping the bruin's back, Amelia lifted herself up, her dark eyes hard and her mouth set in a fierce line. Her dagger flashed up and pressed against her throat, her gun snapping out and pointed at Vorec. "Naatos, call off your creatures and your brothers or I'll kill myself. Vorec, call off the Ayamin or I'll kill you!"
Apparently she wasn't ready to be reasonable yet.
41
An Unfortunate Misunderstanding
Amelia strained to keep her position atop the reared bruin, but she drove her strength into her knees and kept her gaze fixed on Naatos and Vorec. Vorec was about twelve feet in front of Naatos and only six feet from her, his sword lifted and his left arm bloodied. Naatos's spear sported five blades now, and he appeared only mildly impacted by the battle, some dirt on his cheek and a cut in his sleeve.
"Do as I say or I will do as I threaten," she said.
"How—" Vorec stiffened. His grey eyes blazed as his attention snapped to the Ayamin fighting around him, then back to Amelia. "You…"
"Naatos," Amelia said. She avoided looking him straight in the eye though she focused in his direction. "Call off the creatures and your brothers, now. Vorec, you'll do the same as soon as he complies."
A bolt of red streaked through the sky, then swooped around before dropping down. WroOth laughed when he saw her. "Now what is this?" he asked, extending his arms. "Are you taking yourself hostage this time, dear heart? I don't think you've thought this through."
"You aren't in a position to question me." Amelia lifted her chin. If she couldn't get them to cooperate, Vorec would certainly not call off the Ayamin, even if her threat against him was better.
"You aren't actually going to kill yourself, Amelia," Naatos responded calmly. He let his arm fall to his side, chuckling lightly. "That would be insane."
"You need proof?" Amelia cut into her neck. She grimaced slightly as hot blood rolled down her cheek.
Naatos's expression darkened. "Stop." He swore under his breath.
"Call off your creatures," Amelia said again, louder this time. "Where are AaQar and QueQoa?"
Naatos turned his head toward the lead turquoise-headed beetle that stood near him, its mandibles along the side of its reptilian jaws rubbing against one another and its forelegs twitching. "Delorme, halt, tyrannoks, pterosaurs." He cast his gaze once more to Amelia, his tone more perturbed. "I don't understand this, viskaro. What does killing yourself gain you?"
"An end to this insanity," Amelia growled. "Now this is the plan. You, AaQar, WroOth, and QueQoa are going to come with me. We're going through the Tue-Rah, all right?"
Naatos gave a terse nod of acknowledgment. "That is the plan. As soon as vengeance is sated."
"No! Not when vengeance is sated. Now! Call everyone off."
"Amelia, I'd like to think that you and I have reached a certain deeper level of understanding." AaQar approached from her right. Amelia flinched, startled that she had not even been aware of his presence until now. "This will go far better if you and I go to
the temple and let this battle finish its course."
"Get back." Amelia craned her head. "I am seriously not afraid to die right now. It'd actually make things a whole lot easier for me because then I wouldn't have to sort through this mess."
AaQar held up his hands and stepped back. He cast a knowing glance at Naatos. "Perhaps it's best not to press the issue. Everything is prepared. We can leave. Questions have been answered."
"I will not be fooled by your pretenses," Vorec said, glaring at Amelia. "I know that this is only a trap. You are a poor pretender."
"Listen, I don't care what you think," Amelia snapped. "Just be quiet and let me handle this. If you cooperate, we'll all be out of your hair fast enough. If you interfere, I will kill you."
"Beware, sir," cried a familiar voice. "Her eyes turned red. She is thinking of killing you."
Amelia restrained the smirk as she realized Friell stood a few feet away from Vorec. Apparently he and Staiyl had escaped.
WroOth cut his eyes at her. "Is that what that means?" Naatos also appeared amused, the hint of a smile softening the lines of his face.
"Every time my eyes turn red, I am thinking about how to kill someone," Amelia said, knowing full well that the longer lie would cause her eyes to flash even more.
Vorec flinched.
WroOth just laughed. "I'm terrified. Truly."
"Vorec," Amelia said, directing her attention to him once more. "I am more than willing to send you to Elonumato right now, but I don't actually want that. I could have gone through the Tue-Rah to wherever I wished, but what's happening here must stop here and now."
Vorec bellowed even louder this time. "This is a trap. You seek to convince of us your loyalty now, but only so we will put down our guard. You are a traitor still, and you will pay the price for your disloyalty and treachery."
Princess Reviled Page 39
