Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3)

by Anderle, Michael

  Sol lifted his eyes. There was pain there, and it sliced into Jordan like a hot blade.

  "You're right, Jordan. Maybe I chose the wrong path. Maybe I could have done something when I realized all those years ago in the Academy that something was wrong. Maybe I could have changed it."

  Jordan shook her head and put her palms on Sol's cheeks. "No," she said fiercely. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry. You're doing just what you should be doing, and you love your work. Don't let my stupid words make you feel like less than what you are. You are meant to be a courier for King and country."

  "Am I?" Sol looked troubled, but his face softened at her touch. "I'm having all these thoughts now that I've never had before."

  "Thoughts?" Jordan's hands dropped from his face to his shoulders.

  "Yes. Like maybe there is something I can do, I just haven't figured it out yet."

  His eyes dropped to her lips, and he blinked as though realizing just how close their faces were.

  Jordan became conscious of Sol's shoulders under her palms, his warmth, his breath. She could see the tiny braids threaded through his hair, and the details of the stubble shrouding his jaw. Her face warmed, and she made to step back—–but his hands closed around her waist. He pulled her closer, moving his weight away from the counter. His wings flexed outward, blocking Jordan's periphery.

  All she could see was him.

  She tilted her face up to his. When their lips touched, Jordan melted. Her arms slid around his neck, as his snaked around her lower back. Her own wings flexed outward, meeting his. Their primary feathers tangled as they kissed inside their own little cocoon. The air grew hot.

  "Hey, Sol, I was hoping…"

  Eohne's voice broke them apart. Jordan stepped back, snapping her wings shut. The Arpaks looked at the Elf, appearing for all the world like two kids caught stealing candy. A grin broke across her face and then disappeared, leaving behind dimples of suppressed mirth.

  "I just-–um…forgot something in the bedroom." The Elf disappeared again.

  Jordan and Sol had looked at each other sheepishly, but the moment was broken. They smiled shyly.

  "Guess I should see what Eohne needs," Sol finally murmured.

  Jordan had nodded and tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear, squashing an intense desire to throttle the Elf.

  That kiss had happened over a week ago now, and neither of the Arpaks had brought it up. They had hardly seen one another over the past several days, as Sol was kept busy running messages for Prince Diruk, and Jordan was focused on her training.

  As for Blue, the reptile had continued to grow at an alarming rate, and Jordan had become accustomed to seeing him only every few days, as his need for larger prey took him abroad. At first, she worried that the dragon would make dinner of the livestock on Lower Rodania, but Blue was too smart for that.

  In fact, Jordan suspected that Blue understood the risk, as he could no longer be classified as ‘miniature’. He seemed to come home most nights under cover of darkness—–the scales on his belly stretched over some meal he'd hunted down miles from Rodania, likely north of Maticaw.

  Blue was too big to sleep in the bedroom with the rest of them, so he curled up on the terrace, his long tail dangling down the stone wall toward the canopy below. Sometimes Jordan would join him there and fall asleep against the rise and fall of his belly.

  This is how life went, for a time.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  When the signal came, it came too late. The sun hoisted itself into the highest position it would reach that day, sending its unforgiving glare down on Rodania. Jordan thought later that if the attack had come at dusk or during the night, there would have been even more casualties.

  She was on the training grounds, her stomach empty and growling for food, going through her aerial drills. She recognized a broad-winged shape nearing the training island from the direction of Upper Rodania.

  As Sol approached, Jordan drifted to the ground.

  "You finally came." She sheathed her knives. "I was beginning to think you never would."

  "I had a quick delivery this morning and have a few hours to myself." Sol landed beside her and watched the skies where Strix continued training. A frown marred the Arpak's handsome face. "Is this all of them?"

  "More or less; there might be a few missing."

  "So few," Sol's voice sounded heavy.

  "I told you there were only about three hundred. You forgot?" Jordan turned to follow Sol's gaze where a pair of Nychts wrestled in the sky.

  "No, it’s just that seeing them really drives it home. Where's Toth?"

  "There." She pointed to where the mercenary stood on a far island, coaching a cluster of Strix on tight-quarters combat.

  "He's not spending so much time with you anymore?"

  "I know the drills now. We rotate partners. This morning I had Chayla, but-–" she shrugged. "She hates me, so…" Her eyes tracked to the dark-winged Nycht, where she was throwing short spears with her back to them.

  "I'm sure she doesn't hate you." Sol's hands drifted to the hilts at his own hips, as though he wanted to join in. "What kind of signals has Toth set up?"

  "Every combatant takes a turn as a scout. He's outlined converging flight-paths around Rodania, and everyone gets one of these," she held up a small round device with three holes in it, which hung around her neck. "It's silent, but sends a pulse out to warn of an impending attack. We practiced with it a couple times. It feels weird; your ears pop, and your bones vibrate." She eyed the device dubiously. "It's not pleasant. It's amazing how such a small thing can be so annoying."

  Sol reached for it, when his eyes caught on a rapidly growing series of black wounds in an otherwise unmarred sky. His cheeks paled. "The system has a major flaw. Blow that thing," he snapped, then bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Harpies!"

  Jordan whipped around, feeling the blood draining from her skull. As she turned, someone blew the alarm, and her ears popped. An angry hive of hornets seemed to take up residence in the base of her spine, and she clenched her teeth against the sensation.

  Combatants moved liked a collection of marbles, rolling down an incline, winging their way to a central beacon on the main training island––Toth.

  "Jordan, go back to the apartment." Sol's words had a pleading tone. He'd drawn a blade.

  "What?" She shot Sol a look of horror. "Why would I do that? This is what we've been training for. You want me to hide? Are you nuts?"

  "You're not ready." Sol seemed on the edge of desperation. "Go, now. Please!"

  "We talked about this," Jordan snapped. " ‘You have as much right as anyone to defend your new home’," she mimicked, throwing his own words back at him. They'd had the conversation weeks before, when Jordan asked him how he felt about her taking up the sword. She hadn't been asking for his permission, only his thoughts. "Was that a lie?"

  "No." Sol swallowed, his eyes on the approaching cluster of harpies. "I meant it; it’s just too soon."

  "You don't even know what I'm capable of!"

  Jordan bit the words off, her face flushing with red. How dare he ask me to turn tail and run? She took off and joined her fellow fighters.

  Toth was shouting orders, and squadrons of Strix were winging their way into the sky, positioning themselves for battle.

  Sol followed Jordan. The depth of his fear for her took him by surprise.

  Toth was bellowing instructions that made no sense to Sol, so he hovered, blades drawn, and watched as Jordan winged off with a squadron. The sun glinted on her bright yellow wings as she went, and Sol felt a cold dread settle in his stomach, like he'd swallowed a stone. He caught Toth's eye, and the Nycht flashed him a surprised look of recognition.

  Toth drew his own blades as the last squadron flew straight up to level off between Upper Rodania and the approaching horde.

  "You're with me," Toth bellowed to Sol.

  The familiar stink of carrion reached their noses. Sol darted to hover at the
Nycht's right-hand and squinted his eyes against the sun. "The objective?"

  "Keep them from reaching the city. Fight in a minimum of two." Toth tucked his chin down and braced himself against a gust of wind laced with the smell of harpy. "And don't die."

  "Right," Sol said under his breath.

  He forced worried thoughts of Jordan out of his mind and responded to Toth's sudden forward flight. Sol picked up speed, chose a target, and brought his weapon to bear. The harpies, several dozen strong and a mix of males and females, were suddenly there, filling the air with screeching cries, stinking bodies, and bellowing wings.

  •••

  Only half a kilometer away, three harpies came shrieking toward Jordan and her fellow warriors. The world exploded into a chaos of deadly, winged missiles in a three-dimensional world. Jordan had no time for real terror, only action. Her thoughts numbed and became a quiet voice in the background. She knew the theory of aerial combat now. Any doubts that had haunted her nights evaporated as the battle struck.

  She couldn't help screaming as she dodged a set of raking talons. She wished it sounded fierce, like the cry of a valkyrie, but even in her own ringing ears, it sounded like the shriek of a woman trying not to die.

  She banked up from a dive, a throwing knife in her hand, but the harpy was sweeping wide, and a group of Strix and harpies locked in combat came into her field of fire. She didn't trust herself not to strike one of the Strix. She gripped the knife in her hand hard enough to make her fingers hurt, and gave a snarl of frustration.

  The harpy she'd dodged took its time circling back, seeming to mock her by dragging out the wait. Somewhere amidst the sudden sensory overload and the wild exhilaration, she exercised the patience Toth was constantly on about. She'd wait and ambush the oncoming harpy with a series of thrown blades.

  Her plan, or a facsimile thereof, might have worked, but she was hit from behind and sent tumbling downward. Pain laced through her wings, and a cry tore from her throat. Something clutched her wings as she fell, and Jordan tried frantically to beat them, craning her neck to lay eyes on the thing holding her.

  A small male clutched her primary feathers with his talons, mere centimeters from her skin. Together they fell, spiralling, unable to arrest their gathering momentum. The towers, terraces, and gardens of Middle Rodania pinwheeled into view. Her wings jerked painfully where the joints attached to her shoulders. With her throwing knife in hand, Jordan stabbed upward.

  She thrust wildly with her blade, flailing desperately. Then steel met flesh, and the thing at her back shrieked and loosened his grip.

  Some of her cheerful yellow feathers went spinning away.

  Talons. Poison. The thoughts whispered through her brain and were gone again as Jordan broke free of the beast’s grip. He hadn't punctured her, but it had been very close.

  Her wings snapped wide to catch a cushioning of air. Warm, wet spatters on her face made her think rain was coming, until she swiped at her eyes with a gloved hand and saw blood darken her leather. She grimaced. At least it’s not mine.

  Jordan slowed her momentum as a jutting rooftop came up sharply. It rose too quickly to avoid, and she tucked in her wings to hit and roll. There was the cracking sound of tiles breaking, and a sliding sound as they fell from the roof, tumbling into the streets below. Jordan hoped there was no one in the streets below the falling tiles.

  The battle was not supposed to have made it this far east; Toth's directive was to keep it west of the city. So much for that.

  She caught herself in the air as she dropped off the edge of the roof. She was aware of her bones hitting against something hard, and of having no pain—–only the dull sensation of thuds. Shock, and then the world was turning. Her senses were not entirely convinced that she wasn't still spinning end over end. She twisted to find her harpy pursuer, and a cloud of stinking feathers across her face sent her tumbling a second time.

  Why am I suddenly alone?

  The thought flew apart like a shattered glass as the ground came up fast. She hit hard and rolled. Wind gusted from her chest, and she struggled for breath. For a heartbeat, her face pressed into grass, and she had an errant feeling of gratitude that it wasn’t stone. She considered just staying there and lying very still.

  A close cry broke through her ennui. She raised her gaze to see the devious little male that had ambushed her and separated her from her comrades. Likely not yet full-grown, the male stood at a little over five feet, but he may as well have been death itself as he came streaking down toward her.

  So much had gone off-plan in the chaos of battle: she was alone, on land, without a moment to orient herself.

  Down, down he came, until she could see the glitter in his eyes and the glint of sunlight off his outstretched talons. A little voice screamed at her to get up. Brain connected with muscle, and she rolled to the side, expecting talons to rake the earth beside her. There was the sound of a hard strike of flesh on flesh behind her, and she scrambled to her feet as a dark blur struck the harpy a second time.

  Chayla.

  Blood streaked down her sinewy arms. It seemed her eyes were more whites than pupils as she landed between Jordan and the male. Two hand-axes spun in her hands, spattering the ground with red.

  A gash had appeared in the black feathers of the male's chest, but still he landed, still he came on. A low rattling hiss could be heard as the crimson eyes locked on the bloody Nycht and her blades.

  Chayla gave what sounded like a strange low laugh and foreign words. Jordan scrambled to her feet beside the Nycht, her blades drawn. Chayla ignored her. So did the male. It seemed she had become invisible, inconsequential to both of them.

  The harpy flared its wings and made a hopping charge. Chayla launched forward, the twin hand-axes spinning from her hands to meet him. She threw one hatchet, then the other. The force of the successive blows brought the harpy up short. Chayla met him to tear her blades free, and the dying harpy snapped at her face. Liquid-smooth and lightning fast, she dodged him, planted a foot on his chest, and back-flipped, taking to the air. The harpy hit the ground with a thud.

  Jordan watched Chayla shoot upward, amazed and bewildered. She would never be capable of what she'd just seen.

  In the next moment, Chayla came to bear on another target, drew some small blade from some invisible place, and sent the shining metal hurtling. A second harpy dropped at Jordan's feet. She leapt back as the beast fell and landed a mere foot from her boots with a leaf-shaped throwing blade buried in its eye.

  She looked up, and Chayla was gone. She'd simply vanished, leaving Jordan alone again. Dark shapes blotted out the sun as the battle raged on overhead. The sound of something heavy striking the branches of a tree made Jordan whirl, but whoever—–or whatever—–had fallen was now out of sight, lost in the forest beyond.

  A cry drew her eyes to a tumbling Arpak in an imitation of what Jordan's own descent must have looked like. A large, craggy female harpy floated lazily behind the combatant.

  The Arpak, a lanky male, struck the ground in a roll, came to a stop, and lay still. Unconscious or dead? The harpy was still coming; her horns bent low, eyes locked on her quarry.

  Jordan moved. Snatching Chayla's blade from the fallen harpy's eye, she faced the beast. She sent the first of several throwing blades hurtling through the air.

  ***

  In the air far above Jordan and off to the west, Sol's spear flew into a harpy's back, passing through meat and between ribs to tear through the monster's chest. The harpy floundered, throwing back his scarlet head. He gave a wet, choking warble as he tumbled from the sky. Sol gave chase. He grasped the spear and yanked it free as the creature plummeted to the sea far, far below. The blue expanse swallowed the harpy, and Sol searched the skies for Jordan.

  How did she simply vanish?

  The battle had spread like a contagious disease, leagues of space growing between small groups of fighting creatures. Even with the distance, the sounds of talons on swords, beaks on spear
s, seemed to fill the skies.

  Toth was hot on the tail of a female, his wings hammering the air, fighting for altitude. The windy currents swirled with the thick scent of blood and harpy stink. Sol nearly lost his balance as a pair of Nychts shot by in pursuit. Straining upward after Toth, they closed in on the large female.

  With a cruel set of horns glistening atop her haggish head, she bore toward Upper Rodania, beating her way there like she knew it was where the King lived.

  Not for the first time since the battle began was Sol shocked by the determined nature of the harpies. The Strix men cut a path through the tumultuous skies after her. Toth strained to come up on her right flank, while Sol aimed for her left. Both had short spears drawn of the same weight, same length, same deadly iron tip.

  The female screamed and wheeled, banking toward Sol; her body rolling like a barrel, bringing talons slashing toward him. Sol tucked his feet and lurched upward, releasing the short spear with a powerful throw. He aimed for her gut, but struck too low. His steel plunged through feathers just above the claw of her leg. It caught there like a pin in a cushion.

  The harpy pulled up short, sending Sol’s spear wagging as she turned her horn-framed stare upon him with a terrible malevolence. He banked sharply to keep from drawing too close, and an overpowering smell of death washed over him.

  Fortunately the harpy had forgotten about Toth.

  Two blades appeared on either side of the harpy's wattled throat—–her head came off as the spurs scissored sharply. The Nycht rose into view as the beast was claimed by gravity, and he churned the air between them with steady wingbeats, a bloody shortsword in each fist.

  The battle raged around the two warriors for a heartbeat as a measure of respect and camaraderie passed between them.

  A monstrous and deep-throated croak shattered the stillness, and their heads turned to the source the sound. An immense female, her bulky body streaked with dirty grey speckles, sailed lazily amidst a covey of smaller ones. The matriarch looked old in the way a twisted tree was old. She was swollen with bitter strength and bent with authority. Lesser creatures took shelter in her wicked shadow.