The busy intersection lay ahead, teaming with farmers and their livestock, desperate mothers and fathers trying to trade for enough food to feed their families. The road they were on intersected another, each corner replete with stands of fruit, grains, or merchandise, all gathered in the hard packed dirt. Faces looked up in alarm and surprise, eyes taking in the approaching war men with their rich clothes and furnishings.
Leilius had never been so embarrassed in all his life, even in the rags he wore. He hadn’t realized he had so much. He’d never known what it was like to go a day without food, or to wear the same slips of fabric for months on end. These people had nothing, and here he walked, the richest man alive in their opinions, with nothing to show for it.
It had taken a trip into the city to realize exactly what S’am had always grumbled about. He had been instantly humbled.
S’am swung her long, curved blade. The people standing by the sides of the roads caught that gleam, entranced by the wicked beauty of it. Their gaze rose slowly to hers, fear and hope warring on their countenance.
“My people were killed by the Inkna,” Shanti boomed as she slowed, standing in the center of the small square. Cayan halted the progression behind her, drawing notice, strong and straight on his purebred stead. Leilius felt absurd standing close to these two, but he straightened his back nonetheless, S’am infusing his body with the buoyancy of certain victory.
“They were murdered in cold blood while protecting children. While protecting the elderly. Because we would not surrender our way of life to their schemes. And now they have captured and tortured my friends.”
Her voice trailed away, gathering the silence to her, captivating those standing and staring. No one dared move.
“You, townspeople, are safe,” she went on, as a strange feeling crept into Leilius’s body. “You will not be hurt. You can go back to your homes now without worry. Or…you can fight back. You can reclaim your freedom by your own hands, with your own blades. Fight with us, or run to safety. Either way, we are friends.”
Leilius raised his head and looked around in wonder. He felt…exhilarated. Like he could rule the world. Like he could take up his blade, like she said, and reclaim what was his! It wasn’t even his, aside from Sanders, but he felt like he should fight for it anyway! And he would!
“Fight!”
It took a second to realize that the ecstatic voice was his own. Gazes turned to him now, matching his euphoria. Wanting a piece for themselves. Shedding uncertainty, he put his sword in the air, pumping it high as he said again, “Fight!”
Men started to smile. Women stood, clutching their children, the hard light of hope kindling in their eyes.
“Fight!” The crowd started to chant with him. “Fight!”
Swords appeared from behind stands, knifes from under bags of grain.
“Fight!”
“We go!” Shanti yelled, stepping forward, Cayan immediately behind. Her eyes were glowing a soft violet; the Captain’s shone a pale blue.
“Fight!”
She was walking through them now, staring straight ahead, a fierce battle Captain at her back.
“To war!” the Captain boomed in his deep, commanding voice.
“FIGHT!”
Chapter XXXIX
SHANTI PROJECTED A FEELING OF security as she walked, only enough to entice the most ardent in their vengeance. It was delicate and well laid. Eyes were bright as they looked at her, but then gazes shifted upward. Eyes went wide.
Shanti didn’t have to turn around to know what they were looking at. Cayan, with his hair pulled back and secured at the nape of his neck, sat atop his horse like a bronze statue of power. He embodied his position and the power that went with it. He was just and right, a sword of death in his hand, heading into battle.
He was upstaging her and it was slightly irritating.
Leilius yelled again, pumping his sword, looking around the crowd, their ringleader. She’d accidentally caught him up in her net, but it was the exact thing these people needed. Someone on their side, looking nearly like themselves, ready to reclaim what was their right.
Shanti searched ahead of them, but without knowing these people well, and across the great distance, she couldn’t tell minds apart, whether Inkna or not, and she couldn’t feel Sanders. But then, Sanders was probably way underground. She would have to be nearly right on top of him to feel him through that much earth.
That was no problem, though; she could get that information when she got her hands on one of the disgusting, money-grubbing bastards who held this land prisoner.
A hundred yards from the black, gleaming gate she could make out faces. Two men stood to either side, in addition to the uniformed guards, waiting with hands at their sides, crisp black shirts and black pants hanging still in the windless afternoon. Another black clad man stood atop the wall to either side, also wearing black. No arrows. No swords. Mental warfare. Bring it on.
“Cayan, shield yourself,” she yelled. “When they hit us I am going to take them down screaming. I want them to panic, knowing someone stronger is knocking on their door. Scare those that fight with them.”
“Understood,” came the graveled reply, thick with confidence. “Give ‘em hell.”
Chapter XL
THE PAIN SNAPPED OFF LIKE a light going out, dousing him in pitch black. Through the haze Sanders realized something was happening. Shapes moved, shouts. Maybe they were finally going to kill him.
Thank God. He was done. He only hoped they’d use a knife. He couldn’t handle any more pain to his eyes, skull, hair follicles, face, or chest. He knew that each black shirt had a different way to inflict pain, and he knew how hard they could push before they had to switch. Usually by the third one he was blacking out. He couldn’t even answer questions if he tried. He couldn’t think or understand after the first two slaps of pain. It was his city’s saving grace in the end.
“What is happening?” Betty asked, spraying spittle in irritation.
Ah Betty, that ol’ bitch. He was patient and seemingly pleasant. Sanders’ severe hatred for him was the only thing keeping him sane. The desire to give some back was the only thing waking Sanders up into the fog of agony, keeping his mind from drifting into the soft embrace of death.
One of the Black Shirts answered in gibberish, which meant they had switched to their own language. Well, they weren’t going to finally kill him. Joy. He would live to hurt another day.
All the Black Shirts ran out of the dungeon, followed by anyone else standing around. Weapons were pulled out and yells and shouts filled the halls. Something was indeed happening. Dare he hope the Captain was coming?
“What are you smiling about?” Betty asked in his crisp tones. He was standing close to the bars, looking into the gloomy cell, trying to make out Sanders’ face.
“You better hope she isn’t here. She has a mean temper.”
Chapter XLI
A BLAST HIT SHANTI, THE combined power of six men equaling three-fourths of her own power. These men had to be their best, designed to bring an enemy to their knees so the gates could be lowered. Cayan’s power pumped into her, making her stronger, making the scrape against her shields nothing more than an irritating distraction.
“Bring them down, mesasha—the men are wilting!” Cayan roared.
The gate shook violently, metal creaking, then began to lower slowly. Shanti picked up her pace, grabbing six minds as she broke into a run, clutching them with her and Cayan’s combined might, and then crushing, slow but complete, the city drenched in their screams before they dropped.
A wave of fear engulfed her, the chain of the gate now rattling franticly while the guards struggled to get it down.
“Forward!” Cayan yelled behind her, hooves picking up the pace.
Shanti burst through the lowering gate and speared the man operating the crank. He slid off her sword in a boneless heap.
Horses streamed past her, the Captain with his giant sword cleaving the enemy in hi
s way. His horse knocked down and trampled anyone directly in front. Lucius was off his horse and by her side, sword out, watching her back as she turned to the city, mind spread out, scouring for a mental attack while hunting for Sanders.
“S’am!” Leilius stepped beside her, out of breath. He was sweating and his eyes were wide. He had a bloodied knife clutched in a white knuckled grip. “What do I do?”
“Hide that knife. Blend in. Act—continue to be scared. Find Sanders. I will follow your progress and meet you there.”
“Yes S’am.”
Lucius’ sword whipped out in front of him to make short work of a screaming Inkna in a red cloak running for the gate.
“Those wearing black have mental abilities,” Shanti warned. “Those in red or yellow are safe to approach on sight. Get someone to man this gate, then we find Sanders.”
“Yes, S’am. Following your lead.”
Shanti searched, huddling next to a stone wall, using her Gift more precisely. Cayan’s men couldn’t shield. They would be useless if even one Black Shirt lurked. And the Inkna were great at lurking, hiding their presence so as to use their Gift in secrecy. It was cowardly, but much more effective.
“Ready.” Lucius stood poised, balanced, coiled for action.
She and Lucius headed further into the city, trying to stay central until they either knew where Sanders was, or Shanti could identify more Black Shirts. Amazingly, the city didn’t hold as many troops as she expected. When the villagers and traders scrambled away or took up arms, it was a little less than two to Cayan’s one. The Inkna were vastly outmatched, however. The Spurna, Cayan’s people, were larger, stronger, and fiercer. They feinted and stabbed, or cleaved, or picked a body up and broke its back. It was vicious and nasty, utterly brutal. No one would be spared.
Shanti worked her blade, staying in the shadows of traders’ stalls or animal housing as much as possible, jumping out to surprise an Inkna and slice him through. Until suddenly there was a concussion of silence. The air got as thick as molasses, drifting between clashing swords and sweating men.
Cayan’s men screamed, scrubbing at their eyes, or chests, or other parts of their body. Cayan, sword bloody, standing amid a circling of dead enemy bodies, turned around in helplessness, knowing what was happening, but not knowing how to stop it. His gaze found and locked on Shanti, his mind dragging her focus toward him in desperation.
She swatted away his scrabbling, their deeper link still prevalent, and fell to her knees, eyes closed, trusting in Lucius’ blade. Her mind registered the pain and suffering of Cayan’s men at the north end of the open compound. The Black Shirts’ reach wasn’t far, but it was potent, the Gifts more like torturing devices than weapons. It was lucky, it meant they took longer to kill.
Shanti honed in until she could feel cold malevolence, a professional detachment with edges of pleasure radiating out of weak minds. Fire welled up in her from this horrible use of their Gifts. Of the joy they took in torture and killing. They minds were twisted with it. Corrupted.
Wasted.
Cayan riding her, she took a pause of two more heartbeats; she monitored the way their minds connected, ten in all, a link boosting their power similar to Cayan and hers. But not boosting it overly much. Probably only a couple like-Gifts. It hurt their effectiveness.
As if delicately picking apart a spider web, she dissected this link and followed the trail into their heads. Hello, vermin.
She lingered, gathering her strength. With one massive outpouring, she speared, flashing through the weak minds in one stroke. Screams ripped from throats before bodies dropped to the ground in crumpled heaps.
When she opened her eyes, she found Lucius in front of her, his body grimy and sweaty, blood splashed across his rippled arms. A pile of bodies lay around them, blood oozing on the dirt floor, reaching for her knees. To her astonishment, Sterling was behind her, protecting her back, heading off a rush of men.
The Inkna had realized she had the Gift. She had just made herself the number one target.
A moment later Shanti was up on her feet, sword whirling, working through the men trying to get a piece of her. The eyes of fighters in red shirts balked, not expecting a Gifted to also know how to fight.
She almost yelled surprise!
Ten paces to the left an Inkna raised his sword with the intent of putting it in Tobias’ back. Shanti snatched a knife from her belt and threw, sticking him in the neck before the blade swung down. Tobias whirled around, seeing the dead man slide before looking up with wide eyes, but Shanti was already focused on the next.
“Beware the black shirts!” she yelled as loudly as possible between slashes of her swords.
Chapter XLII
CHAPTER 42
“THEY HAVE A Sarsher,” a Black Shirt yelled at Betty. “He is powerful.”
“We have many! Bring him down!” Betty screamed back.
Sanders had never actually seen the man ruffled. He must be nervous.
“He took down a Cospe.” Black Shirt stared at Betty through the haze, his voice wavering, trying to hide fear.
“Then they must have more than one, you idiot! Send out more of our Sarshers. Bring him down! Why do you laugh?!” Betty screamed at Sanders.
“It is not a he, and you are all gonna die.”
Chapter XLIII
SHANTI FELT INVIGORATED. HER BODY thoroughly warmed up, she laid into the enemy, punishing them for taking Sanders and his men. She was covered in blood and working her way toward a large building at the south end of the compound. Leilius had disappeared into the building, closing in on Sanders’ whereabouts. Attackers came at her in a steady stream, those closer to the outcropping of buildings more skilled and experienced than those in the outer parts of the city. They were protecting their leader. Who must be with Sanders.
She longed to meet him.
Sterling was still with her, protecting her as Lucius was doing, probably staying in case more Black Shirts arrived. Just when she was about to head into the building through a large archway, a large throb of stinging power slapped at her shields. Lucius and Sterling sank to their knees, eyes closed up in pain, swords clattering to the ground as their bodies bowed.
A swarm of red assaulted her, swords flicking by her head so fast she could barely get out of the way. The pulsing power pounded at her shields, distracting her, trying to break through.
Through her power-mated connection with Cayan she dumped a fervent plea, needing help. She couldn’t even spare enough attention to look around for his location, such was the press of enemy.
She blocked a strike, kicking out, crunching a knee and slashing at an arm. Another sword barely missed her head. Yet another made a shallow slice down her arm. She whirled, gearing up for a widespread mental assault, lacking the time to search for just the Black Shirts. It would severely reduce her energy level, making her less able to confront whoever had Sanders. But it would save her life.
Power gurgled up and blossomed out, at the edges of her command, ready to lash out.
And then Cayan was there, slashing through a wall of enemy to reach her, a pump of power boosting her, swirling their strength to the brink. His blade spun so fast it was hard to see, his strength and skill easily dominating four to his one. He slashed through a red shirt, then turned, knocking another with an elbow while he sliced through a third’s face. Turning back, he stabbed a man in the eye with a magically appearing dagger before turning to Shanti’s back and taking out someone else.
Together they cleared their attackers in minutes, cleaving and slashing and stabbing through eyes or hearts or guts, all the while feeling the steady pressure of a cluster of minds focused on theirs, beating down, pounding and pulling and pushing, trying to work past their defenses.
In between strikes and slices, swords glinting as they swished by her head or narrowly missing her body, Shanti pinpointed a cluster of twenty or so men, hiding off to their right, focusing all their energy on Shanti’s location. They still did not know
about Cayan.
“To the right, Cayan!” Shanti shouted, thrusting her sword through the gut of a red faced man, then stepping back as the body fell to the ground. “Cover me while I ta—“
Pain blossomed in her leg, cutting off her speech and momentarily causing her to stumble. She ducked under her sword as a downward strike threatened to cleave her head in two, metal clashing. Ignoring the throbbing pain from the gash, she forced herself back up, realizing that time was running out. There were too many for just her and Cayan, and no one else could get close without the radiating pain from the cluster of Black Shirts dropping them to their knees.
A thick surge of gooey fear shot through the link from Cayan. He turned to the right, rage now taking over logic. His eyes glowed like a beacon in the failing light. He put his hand on the back of Shanti’s neck, sweeping her mind and power toward him like dust toward a broom. He mentally wrapped around her, cushioning her in a protective embrace, threading into her, sinking deep, becoming one, power swirling in wide, broad bands, billowing out, arching up, and waiting for his command.
Then, unthinking, just reacting, he gave it.
A pure pulse of energy rocketed out from their two bodies, powers matched and equal, one specializing in finesse, the other now realizing he had something else. A raw, uncompromising punch of knock-down strength. He didn’t crunch or twist or stab. He DESTROYED.
The cluster of minds couldn’t even scream out the pain. They were trapped in it. It thundered into their bodies, shaking and twisting them into gnarled things that could no longer be recognized as human. Other Inkna, standing with swords or knives, trying to bring them down while they were caught in the mental bombardment sank, screaming. Those on the outskirts yelled until they were hoarse, bashing their heads into walls to escape it. Wave after wave of teeth chattering power surged out, pounding the Black Shirts and anyone unlucky enough to be in the way.
FIERCE: Sixteen Authors of Fantasy Page 51
