by Max Irons
“What were you covering?” Bolthor turned to glare at Kolvein.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kolvein said. “Do I need to double your pay? That can be arranged.”
“That’s a lot of coin to burn corpses,” Galeron said.
Bolthor grabbed Kolvein by the throat and held him up. “You played me. You got me into this, dragged me in with promises of coin, and now you expect me to die for your nation?”
Kolvein squirmed and beat against Bolthor’s grip, but it did no good. He flailed like an infant and struck with the same amount of force. Kolvein’s bulging eyes turned a hate-filled gaze at Galeron.
Galeron gave him a half-smile. “I know. I’m not quite as dumb as I look.”
A wet snapping sound, and Bolthor dropped Kolvein’s corpse to the ground. A fierce rushing filled Galeron. It was over. Kolvein had been beaten, and Melia was avenged.
“That was satisfying.”
Galeron turned. Iven swung through the window and dropped lightly to the floor. He grinned at Galeron. “So nice for someone else to finally realize what a scumbag he is. Was.”
“This does nothing to clear the account between us, Galeron Triste,” Bolthor growled.
Galeron raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “Your employer is dead. It’s no longer worth anything to you to fight.”
Bolthor laughed grimly. “Do you think Queen Tulia will allow us walk out alive? You may not be as dumb as you look, but you aren’t that cunning.”
Lonni stiffened, a surprising feat, and trained one of the pistolettes on Bolthor.
“Go ahead and try it, wench,” he said. “Night dust might work on an earth mage, but not a steel mage.”
Steel mage? Judging by his confidence, it likely made him shotproof, but what else did that mean?
“You mentioned learning of Delktian tactics in the wars,” Bolthor said. “You forgot to mention they don’t choose death, but they will accept it if there isn’t another way.” He glowered at them. “You, Galeron, cornered him. Were it not for your interference, neither I nor Teuthras would be in this mess. Whether I can get out alive, I don’t know, but I’m going to make sure you’re ground into paste for costing me coin and life.”
Galeron raised his sword. This is what I get for trying to be clever. Solve one problem by creating another one.
His fingers cracked around the hilt. He’d been right to worry over a cornered animal. He’d just been thinking about the wrong one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Galeron swung his sword in an overhead strike, but Bolthor caught the blade in his hands. Not good.
Wrestling for control, Galeron yelled, “Iven, get your sisters out of here.”
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Iven said from somewhere behind him.
Lonni’s pistolettes went off, and a rush of heat filled the room. Orange and red flickered in the edge of his vision. Bolthor shoved Galeron to the ground and jumped on top of him. On reflex, Galeron swung his blade up, catching Bolthor in the throat, but it screeched as if grinding against metal.
“I’m going to take my time with you,” snarled Bolthor.
“I’m flattered,” Galeron grunted.
He kicked up, taking him in the stomach, but his injured knee slammed into a steel sheet. Pain flashed, so intense it drew red and white across his vision. Galeron gasped, his heart doing a strange, hiccupping beat in his chest. Sword spinning from his grasp, Galeron lashed against Bolthor’s grip, but the steel mage lifted him off the ground and tossed him across the room.
Galeron smashed his shoulder into the far wall and hit the ground.
“Galeron.” Iven, and he was close by.
“Ignore me,” Galeron spat out.
Getting up on all-fours, he glimpsed what looked like Phoebe vanishing out the window. Iven shook his head. “Once Dianna’s clear, I’m coming back.”
Galeron staggered to his feet. The pain in his knee had faded, but it wasn’t vanishing anymore. His back was killing him, and his head pounded like a mad drummer. He swallowed and looked for his sword. It had vanished somewhere. Lonni and Teuthras danced back and forth amid patches of flame and white smoke.
Bolthor stalked around the bed and lunged for Galeron, but he slid out of the way. Two arrows rattled off Bolthor’s skull, and he swatted at them as if they were gnats. Galeron ducked and drove up with his shoulder, plowing into Bolthor’s middle. He staggered a little, caught off guard, and Galeron cracked him across the jaw with a back-fisted blow. Bolthor’s head snapped up, and Galeron fell back, shaking his hand. Fortress walls were softer than his face.
If he could be distracted again, maybe Lonni could shoot him and end this. It might be enough. Galeron dodged another punch. For that to work, they had to kill Teuthras, but he couldn’t just scream that intention. Iven could help, but the instructions had to be veiled. Didn’t have to be complex, just vague enough for him to understand and confuse everyone else.
“Iven,” Galeron yelled and pointed across the room. “Lonni.”
Iven laughed. “I’ve got it.”
Galeron kicked Bolthor’s knee with his good leg as Iven’s bow thrummed. Arrows buzzed, Iven swore, and a meaty thock accompanied by a scream pierced the air. A firelock cracked.
“Nice shot!” yelled Lonni.
Bolthor’s punch smashed against his chest, and several ribs cracked under the chain mail. His breathing came in small spurts. Anything more drove a lance up his sternum. Galeron bent over, wheezing, and spat out bloody froth. That wasn’t good. A blow to the top of his back drove him to the ground, his chin striking the stone floor.
Lonni’s scream echoed in the bedchamber, followed by the sharp crack crack of her pistolettes. A deep tone rang overhead, and hands dragged him across the floor. They flipped him over, and Lonni peered down at him.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Galeron gritted his teeth and nodded. “Mostly.”
“They’re not working,” said Lonni. “He’s stunned, but I can’t break his skin.”
Steel mages must’ve differed from their earth counterparts. Galeron frowned and sat up on one elbow. His whole body felt like a giant bruise, and his knee’s throb shifted from dull to piercing. They couldn’t leave, or they’d be up against two fresh mages keeping the legions in check. Going up the rope was too slow and would leave one of them alone with Bolthor.
“What do we do?” asked Lonni as she jammed a round shot down a pistolette barrel.
He shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Somewhere in his mind was a well of cleverness, none too deep, that had just dried up. He was out of ideas. A fine time for that, and Bolthor was immovable, unbreakable. A way to break him simply didn’t exist.
Bolthor shook his head and stalked over to them. “Step aside, wench. You can’t hurt me.”
Lonni got to her feet, standing in front of Galeron, and raised her pistolette. “I’ll keep ringing your head until it cracks.”
Bolthor closed the distance and batted her weapon aside. “You’ve a great deal of grit for a woman.” He grabbed her right arm in both hands. “We’ll explore that further once I’ve killed him.”
Bolthor twisted his hands. Bones snapped.
Lonni’s howl of agony raised the hairs on Galeron’s neck, and rage exploded in his chest. Even steel had a breaking point, and he would beat his hands bloody until he found it. His pain vanished, his mind raced, and he got to his feet.
Galeron’s first blow landed on Bolthor’s chest. He released Lonni into a crumpled heap and staggered back. Galeron pressed on. He threw blow after blow into Bolthor’s belly and jaw, his own fingers ripped and bleeding from impact. A part of his mind knew the strikes weren’t having full impact on his opponent. His rage didn’t care, and if he let up, Bolthor would recover.
There had to be another way. Bolthor had a weakness, something that could kill him, but how to know? What would do it? Galeron’s fist bounced off Bolthor’s nose. He was regaining focus. Bolthor could harden his
skin as part of his power, but it wasn’t a passive ability. He had to be aware of what he was doing, and each time he did it, the effort would cost him.
Galeron’s hammer fisted strike thudded into Bolthor’s temple. The impact shook his arm and his teeth buzzed angrily.
Hurry, hurry.
Iven didn’t have any sweet oil to save him if he got cornered this time.
Concentration. Concentration and energy.
The energy to utilize such power had to come from the mage. Galeron plowed into Bolthor and slammed him against the wall, but Bolthor gathered himself and shoved him away. If Galeron could make him expend the energy, his power would fail, but there weren’t any helpful pillars here. He didn’t have the stamina to keep going until Bolthor dropped from exhaustion, either. What could do it?
Bolthor’s punch slammed toward Galeron’s face. He jerked back, but still caught a blow over the eye that threw him off his feet. He landed next to Lonni, curled up and cradling her broken arm. A plan slid into place. A very bold, very stupid plan.
“Rope clear?” coughed Galeron.
“Yes,” Iven said, his bow thrumming.
Galeron whispered to Lonni. “When I say, you’ve got to shoot Bolthor in the head.”
She drew a shuddering breath. “He broke my shooting arm. I can’t aim as well with my left.”
“Just breathe, Lonni.”
She pawed at a pistolette with her good hand. “I’ll miss.”
Galeron got to his feet and backed up towards the door, Bolthor stomping after him. “I trust you.”
He set his feet. This was going to need a lot of power. He took a breath, tensed his muscles, and bolted forward. The bedchamber wasn’t that large, but Galeron drove himself forward with every footfall. He lowered his shoulder and drove the steel pauldron into Bolthor’s chest. He resisted, but Galeron plowed forward, shoving him into a stumble and knocking him toward the window.
“Lonni!” he screamed, and ducked.
Crack!
A deep ringing reverberated through the chamber, and Bolthor’s head snapped back.
Galeron scrambled to his feet. “Iven, hang him.”
Iven stared at him for a moment, then his eyes widened. He grabbed the rope and wrapped it swiftly around Bolthor’s neck. Galeron rushed forward as Iven dragged Bolthor back towards the open sill. As he stirred, Galeron snatched up the end of the rope and dove out the window.
“Hold onto your hats, legionaries!” called Iven.
Wind whistled in Galeron’s ears as his stomach tried to sprout wings and fly away. A sudden jerk wrenched him to a halt, and he swung in midair, slamming against the side of the palace. His arms screamed in their sockets, the pain spiderwebbing through his chest and back. Galeron looked up. Bolthor clawed at the ropes around his neck.
This had better work.
“What—” Bolthor started to say something, but his face turned red and he stopped.
Galeron bounced up and down on the end of the rope. Bolthor’s face went from red to blue, and then from blue to purple. His eyes bulged.
Jerk.
Snap.
Bolthor’s struggles ceased, and Galeron took a deep breath.
It was over.
“Is he dead yet?” asked Iven.
“Completely,” Galeron said. “Can someone get me up?”
#
With the death of Kolvein and Bolthor, the two remaining mages surrendered without conflict. Galeron, sword back on his hip, watched legionaries lead them away in shackles. Lonni, her arm in a makeshift sling courtesy of one of the more knowledgeable soldiers, stood next to him in the throne hall. Iven had wandered off with his sisters, but Queen Tulia requested that Galeron and Lonni stay behind. What she might want, he wasn’t sure.
“Amorin is a very strange leaf,” Lonni mumbled. “I can feel the break, but it’s not pain, just a lot of pressure.”
Galeron nodded. “Sounds about right.” A legionary had given him another infusion as well, but that wasn’t staving off the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm him. “You’re a fantastic shot.”
Lonni shrugged one shoulder. “I suppose. How did you know hanging would work?”
“I guessed. Magic needs energy, and I doubted he kept his skin hard for longer than a few moments. That combined with constant pressure from a rope exhausted him.” Galeron rubbed his eyes. “After his magic wore off, he was a regular man again.”
Lonni shifted on her feet and looked at him. “It was really brave,” she said softly.
Galeron looked at the floor. “It had to be done.”
“And it was incredibly foolish,” Lonni snarled. “I swear, do these jobs always end with you pulling some stunt like that? First the funeral pyre, and then this?”
Galeron paused. Hadn’t thought of it that way. “At least I’m not boring.”
“As if that’s an excuse.” She sniffed. “Have a good reason for being so foolhardy.”
Galeron frowned at her. Her life had been in danger. Was that not reason enough?
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
“I had a job to do,” he said. “I did it.”
Lonni sighed. “At least you’re consistent.”
The door opened. Queen Tulia and Arlana, who was dressed in scarlet hooded robes, walked into the throne hall flanked by two legionaries. Tulia turned around to face the soldiers.
“You may leave us,” she said. “I doubt these two will be much trouble.”
They bowed and closed the door behind them. Tulia ascended the throne and sat down, Arlana at her right hand. Galeron frowned. Something was not right. Arlana gave him a devilish grin from under her hood.
“Galeron Triste, you stand accused of high crimes against the crown,” Tulia said, her face stern.
Wait a minute. What?
“The burning of a sacred crypt is a capital offense,” she continued. “These charges were brought before the crown two nights past, and they are thus resolved. No witnesses have been procured, and your accuser is dead. You are cleared of these accusations, in accordance with law.”
Galeron blinked. Strange, but he’d take it.
“Lonni Tomkin,” Tulia said. “You stand accused of possession and use of illegal night dust. As the crown has seen it in action, smelled its residue, and heard its rapport, there is no doubt to your guilt. You will be imprisoned for a period of one year, pending further inquiries.”
A snarl rumbled in Galeron’s throat, and he stepped in front of Lonni. “She helped us kill a treacherous Delktian and his sell-swords, and you want to toss her in the dungeon?” He drew his sword, wielding it before his face. “You’ll do it over my dead body.”
Tulia’s icy glare fixated on him. “The crown attempts to be merciful, Galeron Triste, but—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Galeron growled. “That’s not mercy.” He glared at Arlana. “You dragged me into this. What are you going to do about it?”
Arlana just kept giving him that grin.
Anger bubbled in him. He’d had enough of her conniving, scheming, and half-truths.
“Speak, or I’ll tell her what you did,” he said.
“Galeron,” she began.
“You don’t get to sit and do nothing.” He strode forward to the throne and pointed his sword at Arlana. “She stole a vial of mousebane from my pouch, a vial I found in the crypts. You want a reason, a reason for Fletcher being here? Blame her. She killed King Balen.”
He breathed heavily and watched Tulia, but her face didn’t change. No one had a blank face that good. Why wasn’t she stunned, angered, or even curious?
“Galeron, she already knows,” Arlana said softly. She pulled back her hood and shook out her hair. The grin was gone now, replaced by a thin line.
Galeron blinked. “What do you mean, she already knows?”
Tulia exhaled. “When the Delktian Wars ended, my husband came back a broken man. At first, it was nightmares, but then it devolved into visions during the day. He’d see men who died
years ago, think he was still on the battlefield. Finally, he began to think drakes lived in the walls, spying on him and laughing at him when no one else was looking.” She shook her head. “The man I married never came home. I have been a grieving queen since the wars ended.”
“You had your own husband, your king, killed?” asked Galeron.
As sick as someone might be, how could anyone end the life of another like that? In wartime, it was done out of necessity. Some men couldn’t be helped, and there were others to care for who might live. In peacetime…in peacetime, it was supposed to be different.
“We tried to help him,” said Tulia. “It all came to naught. He sent all his sons and daughters away. All but Carys.”
“Killing him won’t solve the problem,” said Galeron. “You both know it. There’s still Soren to—”
“No, there isn’t,” said Arlana. “If my brother does try something, plans exist to…remove him from the chain of events.”
Galeron blinked again, and he stared at Arlana, and then at Tulia. If Arlana had sent Fletcher to do the deed and come to finish it herself, then…
“Someone’s in Harracourt to kill Soren,” Galeron said. “Someone from Raya.”
“They’re supposed to,” Tulia said, casting a sidelong glance at Arlana. “The plan allowed each of us to avoid suspicion, that the succession might continue without stain.”
“Soren may yet surprise us. His madness is not as delusional as Balen’s,” Arlana said. “And my nephew is a good influence. Lattimer may succeed where you could not.”
He rubbed his temples. “I don’t understand. Why? How?”
“For the good of our kingdoms, it had to be done,” said Arlana. “We couldn’t allow war to break out so soon, and if that meant the death of both monarchs to secure peace, then it is a price well worth it.”
“Your own family, though.”
Tulia gave him a saddened smile. “It is often our family who hurts us the most, sir knight, and for whom we must make terrible choices.”
