Brothers of Blood (Fall of a King Book 2)

by James Fuller

  Meath could barely feel the stinging across his arms and face from the branches that whipped across him in his pursuit. He was sure he could see a figure up ahead. His mind raced with who it could be, or why they would attack Kara. Could Astaroth have someone still within Salvas, still acting for him? This only fueled his steps more.

  Meath ran into a high grassy clearing, the figure he had been chasing stood ideally near the center, facing him yet his head was down. “Who are you?” Meath screamed, barely able to keep control over his voice. “Why did you attack her? Do you work for Astaroth?”

  When no answer was forthcoming, Meath charged, flames quickly springing to life within his hands. By the time he had cleared half the distance those flames leapt from his hands towards Kara’s silent attacker. The man side stepped the first blazing sphere and the other hit a wall of air that burst it into a spray of fire.

  Before Meath could act, a torrent of air hit him from the side and threw him to the tall grass. He was quick to regain his footing and saw another man now standing in the clearing with them. Meath could feel the tingling of cold surround his left hand and gripped the thick icicle, as another sphere of fire sprang to life in his right. Meath ran at the man who had attacked Kara, knowing if he allowed them any time, they would both began casting against him and he would be killed. He released the flames that swarmed his hand and a heartbeat later, released the ice blade nearly in its wake.

  Movement to the side caught Meath’s attention and he dove into a roll as the crackle of power nearly hit him. He came up onto his knees and looked over to see his ice blade embedded in the man’s side. Meath grinned to himself, glad he had anticipated correctly. He got to his feet and pain laced his back, followed by the biting sting of cold, and he knew he had been hit with several small ice shards. He turned back to face his new attacker and could tell the man was working on something - with a thought, a pillar of flames sprung from the earth. Meath had misjudged and the intense column sprouted a hand span in front of his enemy, but the incredible heat threw the man back.

  Meath ran for the staggering wizard, knowing he would only be disoriented for a moment and was almost upon him when he slammed into a barrier of earth that jutted up in front of him. He stumbled back, lost his footing, and fell within the long grass. The earth wall toppled forward and smashed into the ground where Meath had fallen.

  “That was not so hard,” the wizard behind the wall chuckled.

  “Easy for you to say, you did not get skewered,” the other replied, his wound already healing.

  “You should not have been so easily fooled; he is not a complete idiot,” the other wizard jeered as they both stared down at the wall of earth that now covered Meath.

  “I guess this means he will not be ready in time.”

  “Ready for what?” Meath hissed, grabbing a handful of hair and wrenching Kara’s attacker's head back, exposing his throat and a toothy blade of ice.

  “Whoa, calm down!” The other wizard stammered, putting his hands up in defeat.

  “Calm down? Calm down?” Meath raged out. “You almost killed that girl back there and then, you tried to kill me.” The blade of ice shot from Meath’s hand into the thigh of the other man, dropping him down, screaming. “Shut up or the next one ends your life!” The man did his best to suppress his agonized sobs. “Why did you attack her?” Meath’s free hand came to life with a wicked flame as he neared it to his captives face.

  “Sweet mother of mercy!” The wizard cried out as the wizard’s fire got closer. “Meath, it is not what you think, please, just stop and I will explain!”

  Meath’s hand clenched the man’s shoulder, the fire ate through the thin shirt and began its eager feast on his flesh. The man bellowed out and Meath pulled away. “Speak now, fool, or I swear to you, you will suffer for what you have done.”

  “Meath, let him go!” a commanding voice ordered.

  Meath held firm and turned to face the voice, keeping his captive as a shield in case of trickery. His eyes locked on Titus and Zada’s. “You do not understand,” Meath called to them. “They attacked Kara and nearly killed her!”

  “I know, Meath,” Zada replied, stepping forward. “It is okay, let them go and I will explain.”

  “You used us?” Meath barked, his anger seething from every word as he paced the large room of the training house. “You recklessly risked Kara’s life for a chance? In the hopes that I would be able to heal her because of simple necessity; what if I had not be able to? What, she would just be a causality of chance for the greater good?”

  “Meath, you do not understand,” Titus began.

  “I do understand - you were willing to risk her life,” Meath pointed to Kara, who sat on a chair off to the side, still looking weak. “To see if I was strong enough when pressed with desperation to heal.”

  “Meath, calm yourself at once!” Zada commanded as she stepped forward, her tall, powerful voice stilling everyone within the room. “You do not have to understand, nor do you have to agree with our methods. But the fact remains - you did something remarkable and far beyond your talents, which only proves to us that you may very well be able to stop Astaroth and get your revenge.”

  Meath glared at Zada his anger barely keeping in check. “Do not ever do something like that again or I swear to you...”

  “How dare you even consider threatening Lady Zada!” A middle aged man - nearly the same build as Meath - bellowed out as he stepped towards him.

  Before the man could say another word, Meath hit him with a right hook that snapped the man’s head to the side and he stumbled to the stone. The glaze in his eyes showed he fought to stay conscious from the blow. Two more wizards stepped forward their hands aglow with energy.

  “Stop at once!” Zada commanded. “Meath, leave now.”

  Meath stormed out, his eyes cold. He wanted to scream and shout, to lash out at anything near him. He knew he needed to be away from here before he did something he would regret.

  “Meath! Meath!” Daden wheezed as he turned the corner at a full run - he seemed to have aged a decade. “Is she all right? Is Kara okay? Please, tell me she is okay!”

  Meath could easily see the distress on his face; the man loved her and it was plain to see, though she did not feel the same about him. Meath almost felt remorse for him. “Kara is all right, thankfully.” The relief in his face was immediate.

  “Thank the Creator!” Daden sighed out.

  “She nearly died for a training ploy,” Meath told him. “One that she was not even aware was taking place.”

  Daden’s face twisted in anger. “She had no knowledge of what they were doing?”

  “None - they used her like an expendable pawn in some sick game,” Meath spat. “They are lucky it happened to work.” Meath turned to leave.

  “Wait, where are you going?”

  “I need to release some of this anger before I change my mind about all of this.”

  “May I come with you?” Daden asked, his tone giving way to the same urge Meath felt.

  Zada went over to the chair where Kara was being attended by Mervain, one of Salvas’ strongest healers. “How are you doing, Kara?” Zada’s eyes were glazed with genuine concern.

  Kara grimaced as she tried to stand, but Mervain kept her seated. “I will be all right, thanks to Meath.” Her tone sharpened.

  “I apologize deeply, Kara. It was not intended to play out as it did. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Cameron decided it best to use the moment. You were in no real danger; Cameron and Stefan were hidden close by, in case Meath could not heal you in time.”

  “I understand, my Lady.” Kara replied as she fought to meet Zada’s eyes. “I am just thankful it all worked out and Meath was able to see he can do more than he knew.”

  Titus placed his hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Because of this, he will learn much quicker and become much stronger before he must leave to face Astaroth.”

  “Mervain, please ta
ke Kara to her house. She needs rest,” Zada ordered and watched them leave.

  “It would seem Daden was correct,” Titus said after the door closed again.

  Zada stood silent for several long moments. “It would appear so, but I fear what we did might have been more destructive to our cause than good.”

  “What do you mean?” Titus asked.

  “Meath has little trust for us as is and this did not instill any in our favor and very well might have put him back behind his wall of mistrust.”

  “Bleh, he is a smart man - he will see reason and come to his senses in time,” Titus muttered.

  “Again, time is not something we are gifted with much of.”

  “There is always the other way,” Titus reminded her.

  Zada nodded. “If we must, we will.”

  The loud crack of hard wood against hard wood rang out repeatedly in the growing dusk. The two wizards circled each other, exchanging blows with the ironwood swords they had borrowed from Donner’s training grounds. Both of them needed this aggressive, immediate form of physical release after the day’s baleful events.

  Meath stepped in, repeating a basic attack routine he had learned in his years in Drandor's army. The routine was not meant to defeat the opponent outright, but to force them back and test the speed of their defense, to expose a weakness. Meath was surprised by Daden's respectable ability, even though he had no real training.

  Daden parried an attack wide and lunged in to score a hit. Meath had expected the move and kept the momentum of the parry, spinning around to the side and avoiding the thrust, landing the flat of his sword against Daden's back.

  “Damn it, I thought I had you that time,” Daden said, squaring up with Meath once more.

  “You might have, but your eyes and footing gave you away.” Meath came in fast and surprised Daden, who barely had time to deflect the advancing blows.

  “How did my eyes and footing give me away?” He managed to ask.

  Meath came forward with a downward chop and Daden easily raised sword up. As soon as they connected, Meath stepped in and his foot circled around the inside of Daden’s. Daden tried to back step to add distance but his foot snagged on Meath’s and he tripped.

  Meath smiled down at him. “Your eyes go where you think to attack next and your footing naturally adjusts for it, giving your next move away before you have even begun.” Meath offered his hand and pulled Daden to his feet. “Your eyes should never leave your opponent’s. Through the eyes, you will be able to see the moves unfold and will be able to act and react as needed.”

  “I will remember that,” Daden said as he set himself in a stance once more and charged.

  Meath parried and sidestepped the wild swings and, when the timing was right, lunged in with a stab. The ground shifted beneath his feet and he stumbled, his well-aimed blow lost as he tried to recover in time to intercept the coming attack. He recovered fast enough to deflect the attack, but when he stepped forward his footing dropped as the ground sank under him. Meath tried to save himself by rolling forward, but it was too late. Daden’s sword tip rested on his neck.

  “Seems a waste to not use every advantage one can,” Daden laughed, helping Meath from the hole.

  Meath laughed, dusting himself off.

  Daden chuckled again, but this time it was different.

  “What is it?” Meath asked, his brow raised.

  “This is the first time you and I have gotten along and have not been trying to kill one another.”

  “I have not thought of that, but you are right.”

  “I am sorry, Meath, for-”

  Meath held up his hand and stopped him. “Let us not do this, Daden, not now.”

  Daden nodded his understanding. “Then let me thank you for saving Kara. Had I known that they were going to use her, I would never have mentioned the idea to them.”

  Meath’s eyes hardened. “The idea was yours?”

  “Yes, it was my idea,” Daden said and when he saw the look on Meath’s face realized the mistake. “But it was not meant to happen like...”

  “Save your breath,” Meath growled, dropping the ironwood sword to the ground and stalked away.

  Daden sighed deeply as he watched Meath stalk away. “It was not meant to happen like that at all, Meath.” He retrieved the fallen sword. “But maybe it is better this way, if you ever discover the lie I told...” He sighed again. “It is better this way.”

  Chapter 8

  Zehava stared at the dirt wall in front of him - from a distance, it looked of one color, a dark brown, but up close he could see the rich, multiple colors within the layers of aged soil. The silt deposits of countless centuries before, to the tiny flakes of fool’s crystal littering nearly every inch of the dirt wall, layers of drying clay and scattered stones of all sizes. Up close and in the right frame of mind, it was almost like looking into an artist’s mosaic. Zehava knew when he turned back around the only mosaic he would see was one of blood and death.

  His ears picked out the thump of someone jumping into the pit over the loud primal jeering above him. He closed his eyes, blinking away the tears that threatened him. Two deep breaths steeled his nerves once more. With a snarl, he turned to face his new opponent. The man before him was in rags, much like the last one, whose body had yet to be removed. Captured men much like himself; tortured, beaten, underfed, with nothing left except whatever cheap promise was offered to them if they made the slavers enough coin. Promises held no truth, yet hope was a cruel mistress.

  Zehava envied these men - the only responsibility they had was to themselves. If it was only him, he would have let himself die and saved his soul the blemishing of sins he was forced to commit within this hellish pit. But sin he would, until his soul was so tainted that even the Keeper would balk at the sight. He would keep the only heir to Draco Kingdom alive, no matter the cost to himself - the Queen would live through this and sit on the throne. That was his promise - that was his sanctuary.

  The wild-haired man in front of him banged his corroded sword against his small, wooden shield in challenge and set himself into an untrained stance. The man had likely once been a horse-breeder or potter or something of the like, with no training aside from bitter survival.

  Zehava pulled the rusty sword he had been given from the ground. This was his second fight of the day and his last fight to spare his friend the same twisting fate. Dahak had been healed by Lance’s wizard Elsrath, but he had lost much blood and strength and had been in no shape to fight. Zehava had convinced Lance to spare Dahak and give him time to rest. At first, Lance scoffed at the notion of showing sympathy to a slave, but Zehava had played on his sense of profit. Two able-bodied trained soldiers would bring him far more profit than just one. The next time the Pit was used, they would throw Dahak in and he would have to kill for the sport of slavers.

  Zehava quickly shook that away as his opponent began ambling towards him, the fire of desire to see tomorrow burned in his dark, sunken eyes. Zehava met the man’s charge and steel rang out above the roar of the crowd.

  Zehava slashed down, but his sword was deflected off the round shield and his guard went wide. The pommel of the man’s sword cracked into Zehava’s exposed jaw. He staggered back from the blow, his sword tip biting into his opponent’s leg. The man ignored the pain and lunged and Zehava parried the sloppy attack. He kicked him, his boot digging deep into the man’s gut, doubling him over.

  Zehava brought his sword down again and again, across the man’s shield, battering him to his knees, until finally he could no longer raise it. Defeated, the man let the shield fall from his arm and lowered his eyes to the ground. As Zehava stepped forward, raising his sword for the final blow, the man’s arm swung up. A spray of dirt peppered Zehava’s face, causing him to lose sight of his opponent. A searing pain ripped through his side and he knew he had been hit. He blindly kicked - his boot struck flesh and he felt the man fall back. With a snarl, Zehava hacked his sword down, his vision still blurred. His b
lade slashed across the man’s back as he tried to roll to avoid the attack. Had the sword been sharp, the blow would have likely severed his spine. Instead, it just tore a deep laceration.

  Zehava kicked again, cracking into his opponent’s ribs and flipping him over. Zehava refused risking another blunder and slammed his sword down, piercing through the man’s gut, pinning him to the ground. The man wailed out and many in the crowd roared in excitement while others cursed at their lost coin.

  Zehava’s eyes locked onto his opponent’s, a full world of understanding shared between them. “You fought bravely,” he whispered, “but my need to see tomorrow is much greater…of that I promise you.” Zehava pulled his blade free and pushed it through the man’s heart, ending his suffering quickly and igniting the men surrounding the pit.

  The ebony-skinned man swirled ale in his horn mug, watching from the canvas dais as the bodies of two of his fighters were removed from the pit. “That is quite the new fighter you have got yourself, Lance,” he said, turning his eye to Lance, drinking deeply of the honeyed ale.

  Lance smirked arrogantly. “That may very well be the nicest thing you have ever said to me, Reed.” They shared a short chuckle. “Yes, I have a sense he is going to make me a fair bit of coin before he falls.”

  Reed pulled a small coin purse from his belt and tossed it across the table. “The coin I lost to you.” He folded his arms across his broad chest. “I do not suppose you would consider selling him?”

  Lance grabbed a ripe fruit from the plate in front of him and bit into it. “Everything is for sale, for the right price.” He wiped the escaping juices from his mouth with the back of his hand. “But, I think I will hold onto him a while and see what he is capable of.”

  Reed finished off his ale. “What of the other one I saw within your paddock?”