“—You are blind.”
Navon’s jaw fell agape. The Faraven’s lips had twisted down, his teeth tight. And then the next moment, the grimly determined demeanor had faded to be replaced by a maniacal grin.
Still, the insane elf was right. Navon had thought his consideration of the general unhazed, and yet he had just attempted to deny damning evidence of the male’s intentions. His shoulders stiffened and he forced his mouth to form the words, “What did Jikun say about Borin?”
The male hopped forward once and his eyes widened into two wildly dancing emeralds. “He said that he wants answers. I heard them mention Borin. What answers is he looking for? How will he acquire them? Why are we lingering in Nordeep? Why are we in the thirteenth armory?”
Those were all questions Navon should have asked himself—well, except for the last one—and he cursed his hesitation to doubt the general. His eyes shifted—though his head was slow to follow—to survey where Jikun was now tapping his fingers impatiently on the long, weathered counter of the armory’s proprietor. The cold, icy eyes were glaring occasionally at the plump shopkeeper, who was stroking the newly signed parchment of their agreement with the Brotherhood.
Inwardly, Navon sighed with resigned admiration. Even in Jikun’s bruised and battered state, he still managed to maintain a proud and commanding posture. By Ramul, it was highly probable that the male could be naked as the day he dropped from his mother’s womb and still command a room. Yet…
“Jikun is not the one we need to watch, Eldaeus,” Navon muttered softly. His eyes fell to the tattoo along Darcarus’ arm as the male leaned on the counter beside his general.
“This is quite the figure you’re looking at acquiring,” the shopkeeper ventured as Navon joined the pair at the counter. “You must be considerable warriors. What sort of work are you elves in that you should request such a hefty sum?”
Jikun lifted his breastplate and turned it over with a deliberately slow smile, as though he enjoyed the look of awe the merchant produced.
Navon’s gaze met him steely, quickly subduing his friend’s enjoyment. ‘What sort of work are you elves in?’ he repeated the human’s question to himself, finding he bore an uncertain answer. “Joining the king’s men,” he tested.
The human seemed unimpressed and Jikun laughed once—a hollow, dismissive laugh.
Navon let his mouth close obediently. Makados was right. Beneath his mask of heroes and legends, he was just another military dog.
* * *
Tension rippled through Jikun’s muscles as he flattened his body against the coarse alley wall, his chiseled frame becoming but one more unobtrusive shadow in the passageway’s stone. Borin, Laeris’ sword, was even more massive in the open cobbled streets than he had been in the Brotherhood’s poorly lit chambers. A god-damn half-giant of a man; a hulking silhouette in the moonlit darkness.
“I am so cold!” Eldaeus whispered, a little cloud of warm breath skirting the nape of Jikun’s neck.
Jikun grimaced, the hair on the back of his neck rising. He did not turn around. ‘Too close,’ he muttered to himself, and firmly pushed the Faraven back into the night. “Be silent, Eldaeus. He is almost here,” he hissed.
The male clamped his mouth shut and obediently retreated as soundlessly as though he had never been.
Jikun drew his hood over his head and lifted the wooly fabric to mask the lower half of his face. Behind him, he heard a rustle as both elves made likewise to conceal their identities, their disguises clean and crisp from the day’s fortune.
Darcarus leaned into the shade across from him, nodding his creaseless brow once in unspoken attention.
The human drew closer, his body growing to fill the empty street with his every step. His breath was audible, heavy and thick, as though his lungs strained to expand within his hulking chest. Another boot thudded across the frozen earth—to Jikun’s tensed ears, it fell like a distant toll of thunder, heralding the coming of a treacherous storm.
Jikun hovered one hand above the hilt of his sword while he lifted his other slightly in the air. He felt the faint tingle of ice, dull and throbbing, as it flitted across his fingertips.
A whisper of fabric grazed his skin, and he was abruptly aware of Navon’s presence at his side. The Helven’s pale face was shrouded in shadows, hollow and sunken in the dim moonlight. “Jikun, turn away from this,” he pleaded. “It is not too late—we can join the war and stop Saebellus! Do not let your pride destroy you!”
Darcarus seized Navon by the shoulder, shoving the coward back into the darkness.
“Silence!” Jikun hissed again. The brand marking him as cattle seared across his arm in a reminder of the degradation of his current path. Pathetic.
The time for speech was at an end. Borin had reached the alley.
Jikun’s fingers spread above the barren earth and a shaft of ice erupted from beneath, raining dirt and stone as it slammed into Borin’s side and hurled the half-giant into the alleyway. Despite the speed and force with which he had been thrown, the man emitted no more than a grunt as he careened into Eldaeus’ ill-placed body. The elf’s arms spiraled wildly to maintain his balance, and the mercenary sprawled into the dust.
There was the briefest stillness in the massive man’s form, as though he had been dazed by the blow; then his enormous hand flew from the dirt and snared Eldaeus with an iron grip. Before the Faraven could cry out in alarm, his body was flung into the earth with a resounding thud, leaving the male still and silent.
“Be still!” Jikun snarled, sprinting forward. Cold water pulled from the soil and hardened, piercing the air to halt a hair’s width from Borin’s chest. Here, in the shadows of the alley, they were nigh-invisible daggers—poised to strike at the human’s slightest movement.
As though grasping his situation for the first time, Borin’s head jerked wildly up and around, absorbing the three elves surrounding him. His broad hand fell slowly to his side. “…What is this?” he growled as the silence settled. “An ambush?”
Navon darted to Eldaeus’ side, pulling him free of the human’s range. “Gods show mercy,” he seethed. “We should walk away from this!”
Jikun stiffened and threw his shoulders back.
“Yes, this is an ambush,” Darcarus interjected smoothly.
Jikun dislodged his captain’s admonishment with a defiant strut forward; a crackle of ice glittered into being, forming a short barrier between the immense arms and Jikun’s polished boots. “I want the information you hold concerning Relstavum. And if I should find it less than I desire…” The ice lengthened and caressed the weathered leather strapped across the giant’s breast.
Borin’s nostrils flared. With startling speed, his fist flew outward, shattering the ice as though it were merely glass. He snagged the hem of Jikun’s cloak, tearing it from his tall, lean frame.
“WHO?!” Then Borin’s eyes widened with incredulous recognition. “I know who you are,” he spat, flinging the cloak aside as Jikun hastened to restore his dominance upon the man. “You’re the greedy elves from earlier today—the war criminals who figured they’d poke Balior with a stick. Twenty thousand in debt, aren’t you? Malranus’ fire could not have burned you more thoroughly.” He laughed then, a mocking, hollow laugh, as though the bodily threat to him—gleaming a mere fraction away—was gone. “You failed to defeat Saebellus with an army and now you want to face his forces without one? Relstavum is the man’s beast.” His laugh intensified, threatening to reach Emal’drathar to mock Jikun with the gods.
But Relstavum was not Saebellus’ Beast.
He was far worse.
“Silence!” Jikun snarled, the spears of ice diving through the man’s rich clothes to prod beneath his bronze-hued flesh. He snatched his cloak from the earth, aware of the soft, white rays that exposed his unique features. It was too late to withdraw—he was too deep along his path. “I won’t ask kindly again, human,” he growled.
Darcarus gave a sharp, encouraging nod. Do not forget what brought us
to this place, it said. He leaned forward, flicking a piece of rubble casually from Borin’s shaven crown. “Answer the question, Borin,” he repeated. The smooth nail left a streak across the silver stubble.
“You’re fucking mad,” the man swore, and the ice crackled once in warning. “Mad—!” But Borin’s howls subsided, his chest quavering as it attempted to retract from the perilous daggers. “Your warlord has created an army within a single man: Relstavum is soul harnessing, though I’m certain none of you god-damn fools has any idea what in the Nine Realms that is. But you should know who Tiras is; Relstavum has Tiras’ necromantic writings from Vise and he can use them. You can’t have the mission because it’s beyond your fucking abilities. Laeris has invested too much money in you to throw you to Saebellus’ dog! Right now, there isn’t a mercenary company alive that can contend with his might—and the man is only growing more dangerous. This is a matter for kings and armies! By Malranus Almighty, Relstavum levels god-damn cities.”
Darcarus lurched forward without warning, slamming his foot against the slick ice bearing down upon the giant’s shoulder. His hair had unraveled from its elegant braid, the strands swirling about his contorted lips. “And if this man continues to breathe, he will cost my brother his life and Aersadore her freedom. So I’ll ask you one more time, human!”
The ice prickled as Jikun adjured, “Now, Borin!”
The half-giant bared his massive, grey teeth, etching a meager show of defiance across his insolent face. “You want to get yourself killed?—fine, elf,” he jeered. “Relstavum was in Ironwatch two days ago, heading north. But you’d better vanish into the nearest god-damn mountains, because when I’m free of this, the Brotherhood will send mercenaries to hang you by your entrails whether or not you succeed. Who in the Brotherhood did you think you were questioning?” His voice was rising in fury and Jikun could almost feel the sound penetrating the nearby walls. “I’m not a god-damn commoner. I’m not a god-damn mercenary. I’m—”
‘Laeris’ Sword…’ Jikun stilled, mind whirling at these new threats. His feet felt leaden, weighing him inescapably to the frosty earth. He had considered the torture. The necessity of using force to extract the withheld information. Even how the gargantuan man might retaliate with his own might. But Jikun had not reflected upon the others that existed beneath Borin’s whip. How could he have forgotten that?
‘You’re slipping, Jikun.’
Borin’s voice was mounting to a roar, now. “—Geldin Laeris’ elite. I control every damn mercenary you could ever think to know. I have seen your face. I know your kind. If you think Relstavum is your enemy… You just opened the god-damn Gates. You won’t get two cities from here before the Brotherhood will have blades in your back!”
Jikun’s knees threatened to betray him and he clutched at the cloak in his pale hands.
“Even without our brand, your appearance is blood in the snow! If you think we won’t find you before dawn, you—”
Navon interrupted with a vociferous cry. “Jikun, I advised you against this! Soul-harnessing?! Join the king’s war—by Ramul, you are a soldier! Release him now and perhaps we can bart—”
Borin laughed, the sound a cavernous boom that rattled the icicles dangling from the nearby wooden eaves. “Barter? There is no bartering, elf! You will be lucky to die by Relstavum! The Brotherhood will hunt you down and we will rip retribution from your bones until your screams deafen the god—” His voice strangled off with a soft gurgle.
There was a suffocating silence. Navon uttered a choking gasp.
From the midst of the chunks of ice and earthen debris, the man’s fist tightened once and then fell limp.
Jikun stared blankly at the daggers that had ruptured through the hulking human… that had pierced through his vital organs and crushed his burly throat.
Jikun’s palm opened and the ice melted away, leaving the man sprawled across the earth.
With a casual hop, Darcarus freed himself from the proximity of the encroaching sludge. “…Well done. We have what we need.”
“Jikun, by Sel’ari, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” Navon finally managed to scream, his azure eyes wide with horror. He sprinted toward the corpse, as though there remained some hope that the human had endured. That he might yet be saved.
But Borin was dead.
His sacrifice was necessary.
This was Jikun’s last chance to abolish Saebellus’ tyranny before Ryekarayn was lost. And Sevrigel forever with her.
Navon leapt from the corpse, mouth twitching with unparalleled fury—an anger that Jikun had never before seen the Helven bear. It was untamed—not at all the careful vault of emotions Navon had filtered through before—and it was powerful enough to cause the male’s body to shake like the Turmazel peaks before a potent avalanche. “YOU SHOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN IN THIS SITUATION. Jikun, by Sel’ari—!” He thrust a trembling finger toward Darcarus. “You should never have been looking for Relstavum. You should never have gone to the Brotherhood. You should NEVER have hunted Borin down! You have been under Darcarus’ whip since the Makataj! We had our chance to do things right! We had our missions! Even after all of your mistakes, we still had a chance to pay off this ludicrous debt and regain our footing in the war, but that was not enough for you! You have to defy even the Brotherhood to PROVE your life is worth more than THOUSANDS. But your life, Jikun, your life will NEVER be worth thousands! It will NEVER be worth every soldier who fought and died for us! You fled Elarium because you were afraid. And you have killed because you are desperate to believe otherwise. You couldn’t defeat Saebellus then, and you cannot defeat him now!”
The spread of blood had reached Jikun’s boot, but he did not step away. Instead, he gazed down upon it, numb to its meaning and its cause. Darcarus had stepped forward, pressing a hand to Navon’s breast and forcing him to retreat. Jikun welcomed the distance, finding his breath catching in his throat. “How can your opinion mean anything to me?” he whispered. “Aside from necromancy, Navon, you just repeat what you hear. You do what I say. You don’t have enough sense of self to know what to do if we had to break the law of these lands in order to make amends.” He looked up then, his face smoothed in a reflection of his resolve. “This is my chance to prove that what I do here, the lives I save here… the difference I make here, were all necessary to win the war!”
But Navon was not swayed by sense; his sharp chin tilted back as he crowed with indifference. “Relstavum is malevolence itself and you are closing that gap in character! At least I have enough self-awareness now to know that the male I admired died in those swamps along with everyone else! Even after Borin told you that Relstavum is soul-harnessing, you remain determined to hunt him! I don’t care to hear your excuses, Jikun. You have gone too far. You have passed reason and justice. You are no better than the man you wish to hunt.” Then he pivoted, lurching forward and flinging Darcarus into Jikun as he went.
“Where in Ramul are you going?!” Jikun demanded furiously, wrenching himself upright. “We have to leave for Ironwatch tonight!”
Navon reached the end of the alleyway before he whirled. “YOU are goddamn going,” he spat in a warbling cry. “With Eldaeus so that someone can TRY to keep you safe from Darcarus’ self-centered machinations! As I have always done, but to no god-damn appreciation! But I will not sacrifice what character I have left and the chances I have been given. I will not squander them in your desperate attempt to ‘make things right’ through further wrongs. I am not god-damn going!” He raised his cloak sharply. “See this?” He smacked his leather once. “And this?! I am going to pay off YOUR god-damn debt! I am going to defeat Saebellus. You can join me, or you can chase his god-damn human pawn across Aersadore until he slays you!”
Jikun felt Eldaeus slide up to his hip. “That is more god-damning than you do in a week,” he breathed in awe.
Jikun stiffened, breast expanding in commanding assertion. Navon would not leave him. Navon had no direction without him. He lived to serve—he always had
. He felt Darcarus slowly straighten on his left. Even his hatred for the prince could not drive Navon away. Jikun trailed a hand painfully to his side to remind his former captain of his condition. “Navon—!”
“Oh, and one, tiny detail for you to consider in your venture,” Navon interrupted, waving his hand as he uttered a scourging laugh. “Soul-harnessing is the same rare magic that necromancers believe the Mad King used to slaughter the entire Farvian Realm. Every slain victim’s soul remains here on the mortal plane; thus, the more souls the necromancer gathers, the stronger he becomes. Darcarus was kind enough to inform us that this man had slaughtered how many cities prior to Dahel? If Relstavum knows that lost necromancy, then he does not have to visit the Gates to acquire souls: he suffers no risk in being trapped within the Realms. And without risk, he has no limitations. Relstavum would truly be an army contained within a single man.”
Jikun felt his skin blanch. “Navon, we will need—”
“After the war, I will wait in Sanae for a few days,” Navon stated, challenging Jikun’s resolve with utter apathy. “To see if you have experienced a change of heart. Then, General Jikun Taemrin, you shall have to pray to the gods to find me again.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jerah awoke with a start, eyes snapping toward the faint light hovering at the entrance before him. What had stirred him?
His ears twitched under their strain.
…Nothing?
When only silence answered, Jerah decided it must be so. Slowly, the pounding of his heart faded and his body eased. He paused a moment to stretch and yawn before he surveyed his surroundings.
His home was tucked into the side of one of the rocks that touched the void. Mountains, they were called. He had learned this from the city where he went to kill each day. Inside his particular mountain there was nothing but a pool of water in the back and the stench of waste from the strange winged creatures hanging upside down above him. Jerah had let them stay since they had arrived first. They seemed somewhat accepting about sharing their hole. And, since none of them nibbled on him while he slept, they were far better company than the rats in his old cellar.
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