A twitch of irritation made his scars dance. “Draken will kill me for this.”
“I told you before. I don’t have a problem with that.”
Grinning, he grunted. But he didn’t think it over long. “One weapon each?”
I undid the sword belt at my waist and let it fall. “If I win, Ansel and I walk.”
“Agreed.” Krillos gave another glance to Lork. The soldier eased his grip on Ansel and pitched him backwards into the crowd. As he fell, another round of protests and curses were shouted. But Ansel lay alone in the dust, bleeding, hurting, and gasping. Not a single villager had the guts to go to him.
Katrine would have gone, I thought. That’s why she’s dead.
She resisted and died for it, like all the others. Like all the women and old men, the mothers and children, the soldiers who were slaughtered for their bravery and conviction. And this wasn’t the first time. Or second. The dance was decades old. Each time Langor rears their head, Rella pushes them back. One side attacks, the other returns the favor. Time and again the tide was stemmed, but nothing had ever prevented the storm from brewing again. Nothing made a lasting impact. Not even magic.
Damn, I thought. I get it now. I hadn’t totally disagreed with Malaq’s views before, but all of a sudden, I understood exactly what he’d been trying to tell me. Langor needed permanent change on a massive level. It needed a strong, consistent, moral influence, a ruler committed to peace and diplomacy. One who could inspire devotion without fear and draw them away from war, teaching them how to build a society on more than vengeance. Langor needed Malaq Roarke.
Surviving on the promise of conquest, emulating the desires and ambitions of their kings, his people had been raised to believe only victory would bring happiness.
Malaq was raised on different beliefs. He could show them other ways to live, other paths to prosperity. Yet, forcing the transformation on them by way of a coup would make him no better than Draken. Malaq had to ascend the throne legitimately, and I had to let it happen. Or the cycle would continue.
“Troy!” Krillos said sharply, grabbing my attention. “You sure about this? You seem elsewhere. And I hate taking advantage of a man when he’s down.”
I shook off my ill-timed thoughts. “Isn’t that what your people do for fun?”
“And they say we’re narrow-minded.” Snickering, Krillos stepped further into the ring. “No magic. I want your word on that.”
“Why?” I brushed past the foot soldiers and joined him. “You wouldn’t believe me if I gave it. We’re sworn enemies.”
“That we are, Shinree. But when a man sees the face of hell and finds himself reduced to nothing but instinct, he comes to trust it.”
His odd, self-effacing statement caught me off guard. “Then you have my word. No magic. And no interference from your men.”
Krillos nodded. He pulled a strand of leather from his pocket and tied back his hair. Unhooking the buckles on his coat, he slipped it off and passed the garment to one of his soldiers. As Krillos turned back to me, I took a step, and popped him in the nose.
“That’s for Jarryd.” I hit him again, harder. Blood sprayed back on my hand. “That’s for Ansel.” Pulling my sword, I slammed the hilt across his jaw and then drove the pommel into his stomach. “And that’s for Katrine.”
Krillos let out a winded groan and doubled over. Quickly, he put a hand out to stop the men rushing to his side. They backed off and he stayed bent a moment, catching his breath and wiping at the thick strings of blood dangling from his mouth.
Lifting his eyes, Krillos shouted, “Who the hell is Katrine?”
“You rape and murder a girl and you don’t even bother to catch her name?”
His bloody face blank, I tilted my head in the direction of the inn.
“The barmaid?” he scoffed. “The one with the red hair, that wouldn’t shut up?” Clipped and succinct, Krillos said. “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t even touch her.”
“Maybe not, but a good captain takes responsibility for the actions of his men.”
“Yes. I suppose a good captain would.” Wincing, he straightened. “Admitting this pains me, Troy, but I think I like you. We decimate your glorious city, kill Rella’s King, pillage and plunder its villages, and you’re mad over the death of one little, loud-mouthed whore. Gods, but I admire a man who knows what’s truly important in the world: wine, women, and a good honest fight.” Red flew off his lips as he laughed. “Perhaps, my friend, you would be better off serving Langor.”
“Don’t call me friend, Krillos. You are far from that.”
Drawing his sword, he advanced. “You let the deeds of my countrymen sway you against me.” He swiped at me. It was a lazy move I had no trouble avoiding. “When in truth, you and I are not that different.”
“I don’t terrorize people. I don’t persecute them for sport.”
“Sport? I’m following orders.” He aimed a sudden, vigorous thrust for my shoulder and I knocked it away. “Is it my fault I’m on the victorious side?”
“This isn’t a victory. It’s a massacre.” I lunged. Krillos sidestepped then came back with a swipe aimed at my head. Ducking it, I rolled past him. “You,” I said, coming up, “Draken, Reth…life means nothing to you. You step on it every day. All that matters is your own goals, your pride and desires. You’re coldhearted.” I rushed him and our swords slammed together. “Ruthless.” He pushed against me and I pushed back. “Butchers.” I threw him off with a grunt.
Stumbling, Krillos fixed his stance. “Then ending the war wasn’t your goal, Troy, your desire? And pride had nothing to do with it? Let’s not forget all those Rellan’s you killed in the process. I’m sure they didn’t feel stepped on in the least.” He snorted at his own joke. “How can you say what I do to serve my King is any worse?”
“Because you like it.”
“It’s natural to gain satisfaction from beating an enemy. In fact, after obliterating two armies, I bet you were satisfied real good.” Krillos flashed me a quick, eloquent smile. “Maybe that’s why Fate keeps stomping on you, Troy. You enjoyed your attempt at genocide just a little too much.”
I swung hard and fast. Krillos blocked me, but I pressed forward with intent. Aiming high right, left, and then low, I kept after him. Changing up my attack, altering fighting styles to keep him guessing, I pushed Krillos back so far his men had to widen the circle around us. But the wily bastard took everything I gave him.
He’s good, I thought. Real good.
Dropping under my swing, Krillos dived past me. I pivoted around and found him out of range, leaning on his sword with his brows up; waiting for my response to his last question. “You’re right,” I said, catching my breath. “Ending the war was my goal, my desire.”
His gaze was curious. “And…?”
“I was young and proud. Arrogant. I thought I could handle anything. I saw my Rellan commanders as cowards and bigots. They were afraid to acknowledge what I could do so they kept me in check because it made them feel powerful and useful.”
“Interesting,” Krillos nodded. “What about now?”
“Now, some days I can’t handle anything. But they’re still bigots.”
“Damn, Troy,” he snickered. “I’m impressed. An admission like that in front of this crowd?” He let out a whistle. “I always did wonder what took you so long. When the story of what you’d done made its way through the prison, my first thought was that it was about time. You could have made a substantial dent in Draken’s forces whenever you wanted. Yet, for years you swung those damn swords instead of magic. I never understood it.”
“I was raised a soldier, Krillos. I was trained to do without question, to ignore my wants for hers…even if hers were wrong.”
“As I said…we aren’t that different.”
I was somewhat taken aback by that and Krillos laughed at the look on my face.
“So you bottled it all up,” he said, bringing the conversation back, “all the bile and the magic
. You stuffed it down for years and…boom!” His eyes and arms went wide. “It came bursting out in one giant, life-draining explosion.” Shaking his head, he grunted. “Damn, that Arullan bitch really fucked you up.”
“She didn’t—” I stopped myself. Why was I was still defending her? “Aylagar would have lost before admitting that steel wasn’t enough. Even that last day, when the directive came from Kabri to surrender, she refused to let me cast.”
“Surrender?” Disbelief made more lines on his face. “I didn’t know.”
“No one did. Aylagar burned the order. But I saw it. She was going to take us down fighting. I would have gone with her, too. But not before I threw everything I had at the enemy. I figured if it worked, she could execute me for treason after.”
“So what, you rebelled and the Rellans got caught in the crossfire?”
“It was all crossfire. The quake hit before I could cast. Then I held the crown in my hands and…I lost perspective. Control. I lost everything.”
Krillos nodded thoughtfully. There was an odd sense of admiration in his eyes. “It sounds to me like your fellow soldiers were doomed either way. Besides, if they hadn’t died from your spell, they would have been shipped to a Langorian prison. And trust me, Troy.” Dread tightened his voice. “Death is better.”
“But that was Fate’s choice. I had no right to take it out of his hands.”
“Who’s to say he didn’t approve?”
“Doesn’t matter. Whatever my intentions, using the Crown of Stones was a mistake. It was a terrible—” a peculiar sensation came over me. I tried to dismiss it and finish my thought. “Mistake,” I said. But as I uttered the word, the feeling deepened.
Something was different than it was a moment before.
For once, my explanation didn’t feel like a tired excuse or a flimsy defense. It wasn’t an apology or a request for forgiveness. It was simply a fact. One that for the first time in ten years I wholeheartedly believed as true.
It was crazy, but I got why it was happening. I understood why Malaq’s plan made such perfect sense and why I could suddenly see the worst moments of my life with a neutral, objective clarity that I never had before: Jarryd. Our bond was altering me. And at the most inconvenient time possible.
“It was a mistake,” I said again, amazed that I could do so without pain. “I’d never touched magic like that before. It blinded my aim, my focus. I couldn’t see the soldiers, the consequences.” I looked at Krillos. “It was a mistake.”
“So it would seem,” he said, slow and cautious. He was eyeing me like I was mad. “You know, whatever this is—a confession, a moment of revelation…a spiral into insanity,” he chuckled uncomfortably, “I really don’t want to interrupt. What do you say we scrap the fight for now and throw back a bottle instead? We can always try this again tomorrow.”
Quietly, I said, “Have you ever made a mistake, Captain?”
“Such as?”
“Like whatever landed you in prison.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“How about being cowardly enough to slaughter children because you were too afraid to disobey? Or maybe….” I closed the gap between us. “Coming here today?”
“Ah,” he breathed regretfully. “I see you’ve snapped back to your old self.”
“Actually, this is my new self.”
Krillos wrinkled his crooked nose. “If you’re going for intimidation, Troy, don’t bother. I’ve been threatened by a lot worse than you. Truth be told, I had a jailor once that makes you sound like a squealing little girl.” He flashed a devious grin. “Let’s see if you fight like one.” Abruptly, he swung. I turned his strike aside, rammed him with my shoulder, and as Krillos slid back, I skimmed the tip of my sword across his chest.
After taking a moment to laugh at the thin, red line seeping through the rent in his shirt, Krillos came at me. Moving faster, with far more purpose and dexterity than he’d shown so far, he delivered a flurry of well-executed swings and thrusts. His cuts were strong and fluid, his moves unpredictable and artful. My blocks were fast and sure, and I kept him off me. But the man had a mean crosswise cut that I had to actually work to set aside, and as we finally locked blades, the impact was so brutal it ran through my hand and straight up my arm.
“Yield,” I grunted, pushing the swords toward his face.
“Langorians don’t yield,” he groaned, pushing back.
“Maybe you should start.” Sacrificing my leverage, I lifted a leg and the blades slid closer to my face. Cold steel brushed my skin as I rammed my knee into his groin.
Cursing, Krillos broke off and staggered back. Without doubt, he was one of the more competent Langorian swordsmen I’d fought. But if prison had robbed him of anything, it was stamina. It was clear as we engaged again, matching strike for strike; each time our weapons clashed, Krillos took longer to draw back for the next swing.
He couldn’t outlast me, and the obvious inevitability of that was distracting him.
It gave me an opening and I took it.
Lodging the tip of my blade into the intricate hilt of his, I yanked and ripped the sword clean out of his grip. I followed that with an elbow to his face. Krillos took the punch, sprung back, and jumped me with enough force to knock us both to the ground.
I rose up to a knife in my face. “Thought it was one weapon each?”
Panting heavily, Krillos relieved me of my sword and tossed it aside. He wiped a wrist across his brow, mopping up the sweat. “You’re just far too much trouble than you’re worth, Shinree.”
“Good.” I rolled hard to the left. Krillos was too spent to react. As his body slapped the ground, the knife fell from his grip. I threw him off and kicked it away. For good measure, I kicked him too. Then I scrambled up and grabbed my sword.
Krillos crawled to his. As he lifted it, a clap of thunder shook the square and a slow rain began to fall.
“Walk away,” I warned him. “You don’t have to fight in this war.”
“If I don’t fight, Shinree, I’m dead.” Dabbing at his split lip, he stood and faced me. “Perhaps Rella was lenient with such things. But in Langor, desertion means death.”
“How about insurrection? You seem like the type to enjoy a good mutiny.”
“How keenly perceptive of you,” he laughed, circling me. “But it depends on which side of the mutiny I’m on.”
“Langor has grown stale, Krillos. You’ve known nothing but war for too long. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You don’t have to follow Draken.”
“Is this your plan? Turn us all against him one by one?” Abruptly, he lunged. I knocked the blow aside with a quick parry and he resumed his loop. “We’re only a few generations removed from being your slaves, Troy. Your people were the conquerors then and they taught us well.” Moving behind me, bile darkened his voice. “So forgive me if I don’t run home touting peace and revolution. I just got out of prison, remember?”
I gripped my sword with both hands. “I won’t let you take her kingdom.”
“We already have.”
I felt the air move as he swung. High, I thought and ducked.
I came up with a vicious swipe. My weapon made contact. I felt the cut go clean through. I pivoted to strike again, but as I came back around, Krillos was slumping to his knees in the mud staring in silent horror at his sword. It was lying in the dirt between us, along with his severed hand. All five fingers were still tightly wrapped around the hilt.
For a moment, there was no sound but the rain. No one in the square moved or spoke. We were all staring at Krillos and the blood spouting from his empty wrist.
Scarred face contorted, as he finally raised his head to look at me, rage and pain had his entire body shaking. “You…you c-c-cut off m-m-my hand.”
“I told you to leave.”
“You…cut…off...my…FUCKING HAND!”
“Is that enough? Or, do I need to finish the job?”
Krillos didn’t answer. As he forced himself
up, the villagers started muttering to each other and slinking away. His soldiers shuffled their feet, exchanging nervous glances. Some backed up. Most were too afraid to do anything. But one, brave soul actually came to his Captain’s aid. Removing his own cloak and wrapping it awkwardly about the stump, the soldier called for a horse. After, Krillos dismissed him gratefully, and walked alone to his waiting mount. Ignoring the stares and whispers, and biting back all sounds of pain, he hauled himself up into the saddle.
Krillos was swaying, shivering uncontrollably, and breathing violently, when he got there, but I was impressed. “Get a healer,” I told him. “Then walk away. You don’t need to die for this.”
His glazed eyes found mine through the rain. “It’s too late for that, Troy. It’s too late for all of us.” Regret in his voice, Krillos commanded hoarsely, “Let loose the eldring!” and, from somewhere in the ranks, a flaming arrow shot high into the air.
“Krillos, no!” I ran toward him.
Intervening, Lieutenant Lork aimed his sword at my chest. “You’re mine, witch.”
“Stand down,” Krillos ordered. “Troy and the old man go free. I gave my word.”
Lork slammed his weapon away. As he shoved past me with a growl, I looked up at Krillos. “Stop this,” I told him. “The eldring will tear through this town like a plague. Everyone will die.”
“Then save them. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“I can’t,” I said with gritted teeth. “I have no magic.”
“Well then, Troy, I guess Fate really is stomping on you.” Clutching his bloody arm to his chest, Krillos kicked his mount into a run. He turned down the next street, and the moment he was out of sight, Lork gave a shout.
More arrows flew. They were close. I thought they were for me.
When I saw where they were headed, I knew I had no hope of making it. I lunged anyway, and landed at Ansel’s feet just as four steel barbs sunk into his chest.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price Page 36
