Was that the secret? Kaltor thought, relief spreading through his body like the morning’s sunlight piercing a cold winter night. I freed him?
"I didn’t do this to you," Melshek explained. "It was all—" He froze for a moment, pivoting to his right. His limbs trembled, eyes wide in terror. "No," he whispered. "Not you. I’m free now. You can’t touch me anymore."
Something shimmered oddly in the air next to him, and although the image was blurry the voice was clear and firm. "You will always be a part of me, Melshek. You set me free. I will follow you the rest of your life and remind you every day of the lives you destroyed through me."
His eyes widened, breath short and panicked. "No, you tricked me. Leave me alone!"
"If you kill the boy," she replied evenly. "Kill him and I will leave you in peace. I will even leave you with the power you already have, free to act as you wish."
Melshek’s eyes sank to his feet, but his grip on Kaltor’s throat tightened. Maker’s might! Kaltor thought in despair. He’s still under her power! Just not directly. He tried to break his captor’s hold, but between his massive exertions, the Blood Break, and the poisons, it was all he could do to remain conscious. Escape was impossible.
Eyes hollow as he surrendered to the will of his unseen audience, Melshek plunged his claws toward Kaltor’s eyes. "Die, Battleborn!"
A short sword swung from the shadows, cleanly removing Melshek’s left arm at the elbow. Kaltor fell to the ground with a grunt, watching in stunned surprise as the short sword advanced, severing Melshek’s left leg before he could do more than gasp. Even as Melshek toppled, the Varadour pivoted, removing his head with a final, sweeping blow.
Honmour? Kaltor thought in surprise. Excellent use of stealth. Now in combat, greater power emanated from him than ever before, bringing a smile to Kaltor’s lips. It is a perfect night for Blood Breaking, isn’t it my friend?
A female voice laughed cheerfully. A figure materialized before them, a woman wearing a black cloak and a ceremonial knife. He recognized her face from the body sculpted atop the coffin at the vault. She walked forward calmly, eyes filled with murderous intentions.
"Quite right, my prince," she said with a careless glance toward Melshek’s corpse. "People are so predictable," Brandishing her dagger, she lunged forward.
Before either of them could react, a blast of white light struck her, and a figure appeared before Kaltor, brandishing a sword of white fire. His clothes resonated with contained energy, as if comprised of a thousand stars knitted together. "He is under our protection from the likes of you!" the man growled, shimmering as if forged of light itself.
"Only in our world!" she spat, nostrils flaring angrily. "Theirs will now burn!"
The vision faded, and they were alone. Kaltor could do little more than breathe, his strength consumed by the Blood Break. Melshek’s half-human body lay motionless on the ground, his blood turning to jelly before the Battleborn’s eyes.
The amulet was a small, delicate looking thing, but black, metallic tendrils grew from its base like roots, now torn from its victim’s chest where it had taken root. He noticed red blood running alongside Melshek’s chest, and felt the wounds in his side and along his wrists. With the Varadour power absent, they had re-opened.
In the distance, the sounds of battle fell silent. A strange, ominous quiet filled the city. Through one final pulse of enhanced skin-vision, Kaltor saw a few lookouts fall to their deaths, their blood solidifying within their very flesh. Horns sounded on the other side of the wall, sounds of victory. One in particular Kaltor recognized.
It was Master Taneth’s war horn, used to call his students to gather. In the distance he could feel faint pulses of Varadour power. Some, of course, were soldiers, but a small group of them pulsed in rhythm with the others, making their way along the wall toward Master Taneth. Duty was calling, and all he could do was lie there and bleed to death.
Familiar hands rolled him onto his back, Honmour’s face coming into view above him, pleading with him about something. Consciousness was fading from his mind. Varadour energy surged through his friend’s hands, bending uselessly around Melshek’s toxin.
Kaltor tried to summon even a drop of Varadour power, but without success. He glanced down at his hands and sighed grimly. His fingernails had grown noticeably during the battle. Turning his head, he noticed that his hair was longer, as well. The Blood Break was complete. In some ways it did not seem fair to him.
Each usage would cost him the precious gift of age, but rarely would he be able to make true advantage of his power as he had tonight. We never did find anything to help with the Blood Break, he thought sadly. Or even a weapon for a Varadour Remnant. He noticed the pool of blood around him growing ever wider and deeper.
He could sense Honmour drawing on Varadour power, a series of short, panicked bursts. The Battleborn signal for the need of immediate healing.
At least I won’t have to endure the Blood Break for long, he thought as his consciousness ebbed away like rocks on a seashore. Forty more years would have been great. He glanced at Melshek’s remains one last time. But I achieved a lot. I saved them! It’s enough, and I feel so tired.
He lay his head back and breathed deeply, trying to enjoy the cool breeze massaging his face. I can enjoy the breeze one last time, at least.
Then everything turned cold and dark.
Chapter 25
He awoke to agonizing pain. His right hand burned fiercely, as if it were being slashed all the way to the bone, healed instantly, and slashed again. His eyes ached, seeing two very different scenes simultaneously.
One moment, he lay dying on the cold stone roads of Shaylis amid Honmour’s desperate attempts to heal him. The next he stood in another city, surrounded by children. As the vision shifted he realized he watched through someone else’s eyes. They were those of a child, judging by his diminutive arms and ineffective reflexes.
The children rushed forward, pushing and punching with all their strength. Varadour power rushed through this child, whose eyes he watched from, granting him greater strength and power than any seven-year old could wield.
The next instant he lay dying in Shaylis again, Honmour pouring cool water into his wounds. The agony in his hand tripled as Kaltor’s eyes glowed blue, drawing on Sight Seeker power, causing Honmour to watch in shock at the impossible. The pain kept him awake. He looked down at his chest, feeling a trickle of Varadour power take hold where his friend’s efforts had washed the poison away.
Healing energy rushed into his body from his hand, guided to every cleansed inch of flesh he could see. He felt the Varadour power take root there, feeding his body, strengthening it against the toxins, slowly forcing them out.
The Link faded quickly, leaving him so exhausted that even breathing presented a momentous task. Honmour continued to talk and plead, sending more healing energy, helping him breath. Then the pain in Kaltor’s hand faded, and once again he lost consciousness.
*****
The first thing he noticed was the warmth. It was not the cold release into death he had expected when his eyes had closed. The ache in his hand kept it closed despite any efforts to force it open.
Second, he realized he lay upon something soft, though it tickled his chin irritatingly. He ran his finger along it, recognizing a loose goose feather from a plush mattress. The final realization was the small reservoir of Varadour power in his heart, keeping his wounds closed and restoring his consciousness.
"I think he’s waking up!" Honmour shouted excitedly, hurrying to his side, a cup of his medicinal tea in hand.
A tent flap whipped open, flooding the room with cold air as a small crowd of people forced themselves into an ever-smaller tent space. Honmour nearly spilled his health-promoting brew as they pushed against him.
"By the Gods, be patient, woman!" he sputtered, singeing his fingers as he held onto the cup.
Krin appeared from behind him, oblivious to Honmour’s pleadings, eyes full of joy and relief.
Varadour energy gathered within her, jumping into his skin through her fingers with maternal affection. Gereth appeared behind her with his hand on her shoulder, smiling proudly as his eyes glowed blue, overseeing his son’s recovery.
"You had us worried," Gereth admitted. "You were a rather messy sight."
"The others looked worse after the fight," Kaltor replied weakly.
Honmour laughed, smacking the bed and causing his friend to wince in pain. "Yeah, he’s back to his old self! We do need to find a way to get you an actual sense of humor, though. We’ll make that our next mission!" he cried joyfully with a snap of his fingers. The Stunts behind him laughed contently, eyes bright with relief.
With a grunt of effort, Kaltor rose to his elbows, glancing over the crowd. "Where is Master Taneth?" he asked.
"Doing his duty, as usual," Krin answered. "He was the first one to see to your wounds, but once your recovery was assured, he led the troops into the city."
Kaltor nodded. The man had a soft spot for his students, but he worked very hard not to make it apparent. "That won’t make Vengral very happy, though," he replied. "He may think Master Taneth means to invade and attack him. We need to get to the castle soon and stop him," He tried to rise, but intense pain and a dozen insistent hands forced him down.
"Easy, Kaltor," Honmour said simply. "Vengral is an over-zealous Sight Seeker, not an idiot. Surely he wouldn’t—"
"He was working with Melshek all along," Kaltor explained. "Warden and Selene knew. They didn’t tell you?"
"We didn’t give them time," Honmour admitted sheepishly. "When the Stunts got to me and Warden pointed outside— We already saw the Perversions taking the walls and you’d already left so we just— left."
Kaltor laughed despite the pain in his chest and stomach. "They’re probably watching Vengral for us, then," he assumed. "His only option now is to take the city by force and convince the king that he’s put down some great rebellion. He’ll claim that Prince Tyran’s death was from their efforts."
"Sons," Gereth grunted. "We have two princely deaths to explain."
"We’ll need your help to get in, Lord Gereth," Honmour explained. "Vengral won’t let any Varadours near him. Apparently he and Prince Tyran did not work well together."
Kaltor closed his eyes and stretched, letting a wave of Varadour energy race through his system, revitalizing him.
"Very well," Gereth decided. "Carry Kaltor’s stretcher, boys. We’re going to the castle."
"He can’t fight, dear," Krin implored. "Does he have to travel now?"
Gereth grinned maliciously, strength flaring in his eyes. "We won’t need his skill, just his testimony," He turned from the crowd, heading toward the exit. "After this, Vengral’s own soldiers will turn on him, Sight Seeker or no."
*****
Their small caravan reached the castle gates with the rising of the sun. The Battleborn took turns carrying Kaltor on his stretcher. A few other men from the vault and even bandits rode alongside them, all Sight Seekers, to gain entrance into the castle. Four guards stood resolutely outside the iron gates, with a dozen archers on either side atop the wall, bows at the ready.
They all relaxed visibly when Gereth’s eyes flashed with blue Sight Seeker power. "I am Lord Gereth," he announced. "Royal advisor to the king. Move."
The soldiers glanced over to their leader, a tall, rugged man with a small plume of feathers to mark his rank. "Search them," he grunted. It did not take long for the guards to inspect the horses and stretcher. Finding no sign of deception, they confiscated the group’s weapons and nodded their approval to the lieutenant. He waved them through.
Gereth rode alongside the feather-marked Sight Seeker, flashed his eyes dangerously, and said, "Inform Regent Vengral that I will meet him in the council room, and kindly bring Warden and the Battlescorned to me as well."
"Sir!" the lieutenant replied, saluting smartly and turning to carry out the orders. Guards scampered off in every direction to carry out other demands. Judging by the soldiers’ fatigue, they had been up all night expecting an attack. Sight Seekers lacked the regenerative powers of Varadours. Inside the courtyard, the townspeople were huddled around small tents along the back wall of the castle, as far from the gates as possible.
"Hello, boys," Selene said soothingly, emerging from the dungeon. She still wore the clothes of a maid, but she walked like a predator, beautiful and dangerous. A knife was strapped to each arm and leg at her calf and forearm.
"I think we’ve rubbed off on her," Honmour commented, and the Stunts snickered. Kaltor barely heard them. An odd emotion flooded his system, like some kind of strong wine he could drink in just by seeing Selene’s confident stance and simple linen dress.
By the Gods! he thought in amazement. Is this the kind of influences the Seal was holding back? No wonder she’s gotten reactions out of the Stunts all this time! What am I going to do if she sticks around after all this? Perhaps the scariest moment was realizing that he really wanted her to stay, despite her status as a Battlescorned. In the face of this driving need to see her, it meant next to nothing. For a brief moment, he dearly wished the Seal were still in place.
Warden followed her, clad in full military array, a roll of parchment in hand. His eyes filled with relief when he saw the Battleborn accounted for.
"Lord Gereth," he reported. "I believe Regent Vengral has been working with the insurgent Prince Melshek," He handed over his records with a bow of respect. "Please see to it that the king has the chance to read these."
"I will do that, soldier," Gereth promised, folding the parchment into a square and stowing it into a pack on his belt. "Where is Regent Vengral now?"
"In the royal chambers, last we knew, sir," Selene cut in. "Supposedly, he was negotiating with Prince Melshek’s messenger."
With a wave of his hand Gereth signaled their small convoy toward the keep. Two Sight Seeker guards at the door flared their eyes, but relented when Gereth and half the convoy’s eyes all glowed back with Sight Seeker power.
"Welcome, my Lord," they echoed, backing away with respectful bows. Servants emerged from the inner keep, taking what few horses they had and leading them to the stable.
Honmour glanced toward Kaltor. "Are you sure we should bring him? If there’s trouble up there—"
Gereth scratched his chin for a moment, glancing toward the keep. "He is one of our prime witnesses," he finally said. "Can you Battleborn protect him if there’s trouble?"
"Of course, sir!" rose the unanimous answer.
"I can as well," Selene added, drawing nervous glances from the other Stunts.
I really need to talk to Master Taneth about additional training against women in particular, Kaltor thought. She’s far more dangerous than they realize. Gereth simply nodded contently and led the way into the keep.
Inside, servants bustled about as if a war had never threatened to consume the city. They nodded and curtsied respectfully as the small procession passed. The group climbed a few flights of stairs, making Kaltor’s situation on his stretcher a bit precarious, and turned a corner. The same four guards who had imprisoned him earlier stood guard outside the chamber, hands on the hilts of their weapons.
"Halt!" they cried. "We have orders to imprison all who attempt to interrupt the negotiations," Their weapons were half drawn by the time they caught sight of Gereth’s eyes, along with those of the other Sight Seekers, though they were not dressed in royal attire.
"I am Lord Gereth!" His voice rang through the corridor as he walked steadily toward them. "Either let us apprehend the traitor, or you, too will be hung for conspiracy and murder!"
The courage fled from their eyes and, with a respectful nod, they unlocked the doors and swung them wide. Nothing moved in the room’s center, though there were a few overturned chairs around the grand meeting table.
It wasn’t until they entered the room that they saw the bodies. The web-woman lay against the wall, her blood completely solidified. A few other Perversions lay
at her feet, wearing the clothes of servants. A small figure sat with his back to them, bound and gagged to a chair, whimpering as they entered.
"Regent Vengral, I presume," Gereth muttered.
Glancing toward the Stunts, he said, "Now we know how Melshek’s reach spread so quickly. Each web-woman was in charge of gathering her own forces."
"Melshek’s last-ditch effort," Kaltor realized aloud. "Build up a force of Perversions in the castle itself and use the entire city to swarm you."
"Indeed," Gereth grunted, walking over to Vengral’s struggling form. A few trickles of blood ran down the legs of the chair. Bruises and burns covered his body. They had not gone sparingly on the torture they had subjected him to.
"Thank the Gods you’re here!" Vengral gasped when Gereth pulled his gag free. "You have to help us! Your son is leading renegades though the city! He has to be stopped!"
"Really?" Gereth said, spinning Vengral’s chair. "Renegades, you say?"
Vengral gulped, taking in the scene. "M-m-melshek!" he cried. "He’s poisoning the citizens! We have to find him and stop him!"
"He’s dead," Honmour said. "Decapitation has that effect on people."
Vengral sputtered, reaching in vain for another desperate excuse.
"Warden," Gereth said calmly. "Would you please keep Vengral safe and contained until we can deliver him to the king for judgment?"
"I would be honored, my lord," Warden said with a sadistic grin and a respectful bow. "He will be quite well tended to in my care."
"The king will need him alive and not— maimed, in any way," Gereth added.
Warden grunted in understanding, but he glared at Vengral hungrily, like a child considering how to put a puzzle together with the most pleasure possible. He glanced Selene’s way and she passed him a green-hilted dagger. His smile widened.
Vengral fainted.
"Well, that’s one less concern," Gereth said simply. "Come on, we’ve got a city to put back together," He walked out of the room without so much as a glance over his shoulder.
Decoy (Assassin's Rising Book 1) Page 29
