The thought flashed through my mind like lightning. At first, I was confused, but gradually the thought fleshed out—take the horses out of the fight. I had made the pigoblins run, hadn’t I? There must be a way to do that now.
I had never been formally trained in my magic—shifting came to me as easily as breathing, but the rest of my power was a mystery to me. It often only pulsed through me when my life was in immediate danger, without proper channeling or control. I stoked the golden well of light that lived in my chest, willing it to connect me with the hunters’ horses. After a few tries, I found myself connected to all three of them and found the same thing: battle-tested warhorses trained to resist magical interference. Huh. Guess that’s why Shan hated me so much. It was easy to find the part of the mind that wanted to spook and run—much like cats, horses startle easily. The harder part was disconnecting from Shan. I didn’t want to toss all three riders—Kestral would probably kill me later if I made Shan dump him.
Finally, I managed to disconnect from Shan but kept the connection with the other two. I stoked their fear, trying to get them to panic and rear. Their eyes rolled, and their ears pinned, but neither broke. I felt a grudging respect for the horses’ trainers. These horses were too well trained to dump their riders. They needed an extra kick, something to really light a fire under their tails.
Luckily, I happened to have a form that could strike fear in the hearts of all horses.
I dove from my tree to the roadside bushes, shifting quickly. As a snake, I undulated towards the closest horse, hissing and flaring my hood. Wen’s horse screamed its terror the instant it saw me, rearing and kicking wildly until the archer tumbled free. The second horse caught the first’s fear and bucked like a barely-broken colt, freeing itself from its rider to run after its partner. Shan reared but Kestral stayed in the saddle, soothing his mount back to four feet with a word. The blond hunter landed with a curse but was back on his feet in an instant. The archer, however, landed face to face with me, horror-stricken as my tongue flicked his nose.
“Morro,” Wen whispered, as if afraid a loud noise would make me bite him. The swordsman, busy blocking Kestral’s downswing from horseback, ignored him, even as a desperate, strangled whine twisted itself from the prone man’s throat. “Morro!”
I could have killed him in an instant, but I wasn’t sure if Kestral wanted them dead. They were former comrades, after all. Then again, they had just tried to kill him with an arrow in the back. I held off, waiting for a clear signal from Kestral.
The taller soldier managed to stagger back from Kestral and Shan long enough to shoot a look at his fallen partner. “It’s not real,” he said, swiping sweat from his eyes. “It would have bitten you by now if it was. It’s an illusion, Wen.”
An illusion, am I? I snapped at Wen’s face as he scrambled to his feet, rising as he did and wrapping my powerful long body around his. I pinned his arms and flicked my tongue against his neck as that horrible whine continued to rise from his chest.
“Doesn’t look like an illusion to me,” Kestral noted calmly, his eyes on the swordsman. “He might need your help.”
Morro’s eyes flicked to me for an instant before coming back to Kestral. He licked sweat off his upper lip, keeping his sword in a guard position. “And catch a sword from you in the back? I don’t think so, Kes—” Kestral swung, forcing the hunter to block high. Kestral kicked, landing a solid hit in the center of the tall man’s chest. He just about flew backwards, his sword slipping from his hand. Kestral dismounted and stalked after him, the very image of death.
“When I kill you, Morro, you will be facing me.” Kestral’s boot pinned an outstretched hand, fingers straining to brush his sword’s hilt. “Unlike you, I give my opponents an honorable death.”
“Honorable?” Morro twisted to look up over his shoulder at Kestral. His hair was wild and sweat-soaked, his breath came in gasps. A light sheen of sweat glistened on Kestral’s skin, as if he had just finished his morning exercises. Only his eyes betrayed him: empty and devoid of all pity. “You can still talk about honor? After what happened to our troop because of you? Allaran still—ouff!”
Kestral kicked the man in the ribs, flipping him over onto his back. The tip of his sword leveled at Morro’s throat, drawing out a strangled silence. Wen struggled against me but a hiss and a dart at his face stilled him again.
“Did you think I didn’t know about your testimony?” Kestral asked, his voice so soft I could barely hear it.
Morro paled, and the pitch of Wen’s wail rose an octave.
“I was trying to save my own skin.” Morro swallowed, the ball in his throat brushing Kestral’s sword as it bobbed. “There was no reason for the whole troop to face death because of you. You dragged us down, Captain! All for tickling the wrong tailfeathers!”
I saw the waver in Kestral’s eyes the same time Morro saw it. I tried to call out, but all I could do was hiss. Morro flung a handful of dirt up, obscuring a kick to Kestral’s knee. Kestral grunted and missed plunging his sword into Morro’s throat by inches. The taller man rolled to his feet, clearing a heavy dagger from its sheath. His sword lay behind Kestral who had already regained his stance and his resolve.
“I make my peace with that every day,” Kestral said, softly. “I’m still working to keep the kingdom safe, every day of my life, the same way I did as a soldier. Can you say the same?”
Morro backed away a pace, keeping his knife up and between himself and Kestral. He licked his lips and looked around quickly. “Wen! Stop playing with that snake and help me!”
Wen whimpered and struggled against me. I pulled my coils tighter, circling his neck and flexing slightly. I wished Kestral would hurry up and give the kill-order already. It was getting tiring, holding this sweaty cretin still.
“I really don’t want to have to kill you,” Kestral said, his voice passionless. “I haven’t bonded a mage-born.”
Nervous laughter bubbled out of Morro’s mouth. “You expect me to believe that? With that unnatural snake holding Wen?”
“I think he’s on to me, Kestral.” My sudden shift caused a scream of fright from my captive. I held one fae dagger to the man’s throat, the other hovered near his midsection, his back pressed to my chest. Kestral turned his head just enough to glare at me. I shrugged as much as possible without giving my victim the space to struggle in. “I’m pretty sure we’re going to have to kill them.”
“Hey, pretty boy.” Morro winked at me, trying for a charming smile and failing. “If he’s got you bound, help us kill him. We’ll take the bond off.”
“Right before you kill me?” I replied. I had no idea what bond they were talking about. It didn’t sound good, whatever it was.
“Well, not right before.” His eyes flicked down my body. I rolled my eyes; it was unbelievable that he had the capacity to imply a dust up while facing death.
Kestral shifted his stance slightly, drawing our attention back to him. With a small smile on his face, Kestral said, “He’s not bound.”
He lunged, Morro parrying poorly with his dagger. Wen managed to get his elbow under my arm and into my ribs, freeing himself enough to draw his sword. I dragged my fae blade across his body, trying for disembowelment but instead catching his hip. It must have hurt, but it didn’t stop him from turning his sword on me. I flipped one dagger around in my fist, holding it so the tip pointed back. The other I held as a guard, slipping under the bigger blade and diverting it to the side. Wen was clearly a practiced swordsman. But swordsmen rarely fought against dual-wielding opponents. While he watched my parrying blade, the other slipped past his defenses, burying itself deeply into the elbow of his sword arm. He cried out as his sword tumbled from his hand, leaving himself open. I rammed my shoulder into his chest and snaked my ankle around his. He went down hard, gasping for breath. I looked around for Kestral just in time to see him throw Morro towards me. A quick shift to cat got me out of the way but I still pinned my ears in annoyance at Kestral.
Morro landed o
n Wen, both struggling to get back to their feet. Kestral stalked up to them, blood-tipped sword held almost casually before him. I twined between his feet mid-stride, putting myself safely behind him. He kicked Morro’s wrist, sending his dagger flying before placing his sword against the man’s shoulder and digging it in.
“What did you tell the outpost commander before you came after me?” Kestral spat.
Morro’s face contorted in pain, hands grasping the blade as he tried to free himself. Wen twisted free of his partner and rose to his knees, holding empty hands up. “We didn’t say anything. We didn’t know for sure and we didn’t want anyone coming after us in case we were right.”
Kestral’s eyes narrowed. “Good.” An easy flick of his blade took it from Morro’s shoulder and through his neck. A quick step to the side avoided the worst of the blood spray. Wen scrambled backwards, then came back up on one knee, hands clutching the bow he had dropped when his horse dumped him. He didn’t take much time to aim as Kestral was barely ten paces from him. He also didn’t notice that I had shifted back to my human form.
At least, he didn’t notice until the hilt of my dagger sprouted from his chest. He looked down in surprise, arrow tumbling from his fingers as he swiped at the dagger in vain. A cough of blood burst from his mouth before he fell backwards. Kestral glanced back at me, one eyebrow arched.
“What? Was I not supposed to kill him?” I stepped past the mage hunter, picking my way over bodies to collect my dagger. It was strange; such a wickedly-shaped dagger should not have flown so true, but as I’d thrown it, I thought I had seen its shape change. Once in my hand again, it appeared the same as it always had. Blood rolled off the blade like rain off a waterbird, allowing me to slip both daggers back into their hidden sheaths.
“They had to die.” Kestral crouched beside Morro’s body and wiped his blade clean with the dead man’s shirt. He faced his former comrade in silence for a moment, then reached out to close his eyes.
“Don’t do that,” I chastised. I was already searching Wen’s body for a coin purse. “Bandits wouldn’t close their eyes.”
“Bandits?” Kestral looked up and saw what I was doing. “No.”
“No?” I jingled the purse I’d found; it was significantly heavier than Kestral’s was this morning. “They’ll get robbed anyway if we leave them here. And someone will have to answer for their deaths. Is that going to be you?”
Kestral shifted uncomfortably. I found myself wondering if he had ever killed someone off the battlefield before. “They came for my life. I was justified.”
“I get that, sure.” I plucked a ring from Wen’s finger and pocketed it. “But will a justice get that? You don’t have a witness. Don’t forget, I’m a wanted man.”
“How can I?” Kestral asked dryly. “You’re planning on robbing the bodies and making it look like bandits did it. You’d be a wanted man even if you weren’t one of the mistress’s seven.”
“Six.” I felt a pang in my chest. “We’re after Velyn, remember? I’m not waiting around for a justice to clear you of a murder charge.”
Kestral turned his sword in his hand, appearing to think deeply. My heart sank as I considered a different story for a justice, one involving a dangerous mage-born killing two mage hunters but falling to the third. I waited with held breath as Kestral slowly dragged his gaze from the blade to me. He held perfectly still for a moment, then sheathed his sword. I released my breath in a rush.
“You’re right. We don’t have time to waste on amoral opportunists.” Kestral tugged on Morro’s belt purse, snapping the ties. He whistled, calling Shan to him. “What are you doing?”
“Hm?” I looked up from tugging Wen’s boots off. “It’s not enough to just take their purses; bandits take everything.” I held the boot up against mine, sizing it. “Shame. I think these are too small for you and the others are certainly too big.”
Kestral raised his eyebrows. “What are we going to do with boots?”
“Ideally wear them.” I stepped on one end of Wen’s bow and bent the other half back, snapping it to give a reason for leaving it behind. “Your boots are barely worthy of the name any more. If you’re opposed to selling their gear, then we can toss it in a river. We just have to make it believable that bandits did this.”
Kestral stood back and watched me strip the bodies of anything useful. I even went so far as to check their teeth for gold fillings. I heard him shuffle his feet a few times, but I didn’t look back at him. Two of his former comrades were dead at his feet and I couldn’t begin to understand how he might be feeling.
“Have you stripped bodies like this before?”
I turned back and arched an eyebrow at him. “Are we asking about our pasts now? I have some questions I could ask.”
Kestral turned his head. “Forget it.”
Dust. I had a feeling his story would be better than mine. His troop had faced death because of him? Whose tickled tailfeathers had caused that? My skin itched from all the unanswered questions. Morro and Wen had created more curiosity than satisfaction in the end. I finished gathering up their valuables and wrapped everything up in one of their cloaks, slinging it over my shoulder like a pack. Kestral took Shan by the bridle and led him forward, continuing along the trail.
“That was good work with the horses,” Kestral said after several long moments of silence.
“It was, right?” I grinned. “Wasn’t sure if I could pull it off at first. Aside from shifting, I don’t use my magic much.”
Kestral glanced sidelong at me. “If I ask a question, are you just going to ask the same question of me?”
“Seems fair, doesn’t it?” I shrugged. “Actually, you get the better end of that deal since you can tell when I’m lying. So, you better give me more than one-word answers. Got it?”
Kestral thought for a moment, then nodded. “Where did you learn to fight?”
I groaned. “That’s not fair. If I ask you that, you’ll just say the army.”
“That’s the truth.”
“Yeah, but it’s boring.” I rolled my shoulder, adjusting the makeshift bag I carried. “I never really trained to fight. Most of it is just instinct. Someone taught me how to throw knives when I was young, though.”
Kestral paused, waiting to see if his liar’s brand would burn. When it didn’t, he asked, “Who taught you?”
I hummed. “That’s a lot longer of a story than I’m willing to trade.”
Kestral nodded. I thought he would ask more questions, but instead we relapsed into silence. Which was boring. I wondered if he would answer me if I asked him a question. Maybe we could learn more about each other. But then, if we were exchanging answers, what question could I ask that wouldn’t give too much of me away? It was a dangerous game, but I really wanted to know more about him.
“Can I ask what made you want to join the army?”
“I’m a good fighter and it pays better than any other job.” Kestral turned to look at me. “What were you doing when you were sixteen?”
“That’s not a fair question.”
“Neither was yours. But I enlisted at sixteen, so it’s close enough.”
I rolled my eyes. This is what happens when I try being clever. What could I say without lying? “My magic came in when I was sixteen. That’s also when the bounties were announced, so I went into hiding.” There. No lies.
“Does your magic only work on animals?” Dust, he was good at picking questions.
“I don’t know. So far, that’s how it’s worked.” I thought for a minute before asking, “How good are you with weapons besides the sword?”
Kestral glared at me, considering the fairness of the question. “I’m equally strong with a longbow. I ranked higher than the other soldiers in my squad with spear, axe, hammer, shortsword and unarmed combat. I can use any weapon given to me skillfully. I’m also a fair tactician.”
“So that’s why you were made captain?”
“Yes.” Kestral stopped, checked one of Sha
n’s hooves, then faced me. “Were you ever a roadside bandit?”
“Unfair—”
“My last answer was better than your last answer.”
Dust, why was he so good at this?
“No,” I said firmly. “I was never a roadside bandit.”
Kestral glanced down at his left wrist, as if checking that the liar’s brand was still there.
“But I did travel with an all-female theater group, performing as a woman in villages from Heston to Kibernia and ate nothing but the rarest chocolates and exotic fruit with—”
“Stop.” Kestral shook out his left arm, grimacing. He picked up Shan’s reins again and continued along the trail. “You’re a good fighter. I just want to know where you got your skill.”
I shrugged. “Orphans pick up skills to survive or they die. That’s all.”
“But you’re not an orphan,” Kestral reminded me.
“I didn’t know that for sixteen years.” I looked away into the trees at the side of the trail. “Even if they’re not dead, they’re not really my parents. Either of them.”
Kestral nodded, the contemplative look in his eyes indicating that we were going to fall silent again, and I didn’t want that. “Do you have family?”
Icy eyes glared, but I was rapidly becoming immune to them. “What, I can’t ask? You know more about my family than I do.”
“No. I don’t have family.” His voice was flat, emotionless. Dangerous. As much as I wanted to learn more, I took the hint and didn’t ask.
In the silence that followed, I heard running water up ahead. Before long, we arrived at a short bridge spanning a river. When we were halfway across, Kestral stopped and held his hand out for my bag of loot.
“Some of this stuff could be valuable,” I argued. “We could sell it in a village.”
“We’re not passing through any villages.” Kestral gestured sharply. “Better to dump it than get caught with it.”
I handed the tied cloak over with a sigh. “Really? No villages at all?”
Kestral untied the cloak and tossed items into the river—boots, food pouches, belts. “We need to avoid other mage hunters, which means no villages. Inns are expensive anyway.”
Sorcerous Rivalry (The Mage-Born Chronicles Book 1) Page 13
