Something snapped in Kaltor. Varadour power combined with adrenaline, the mixture surging through his blood with greater strength than even his training with Master Taneth could have prepared him for. Somewhere in the logical part of his mind a warning sounded against drawing so much of his power, announcing the coming Blood Break, but he didn’t care anymore.
A Battleborn needed nothing more than his enemy’s weapons. One on the Blood Break—a Remnant, at that—didn’t even require those.
Exploding toward the creature wearing Jensai’s face, Kaltor jammed his feet forward, trusting the tiles to break under the force. They shattered, giving way as he slid under the creature’s outstretched arms, caught hold of a wing, and tackled it from behind.
They tumbled down the roof away from the other two attackers. The Jensai creature tried in vain to fly or to claw hungrily against his armor, but it was difficult to do either with any efficiency since Kaltor was in the process of ripping one wing to shreds from his perch behind the creature’s shoulder blades.
It tried to impale him, its tail careening toward him like a scorpion’s, but so intense were the Varadour Remnant’s reflexes that he caught the attack in mid-strike and guided its momentum into its own wing, delivering a final slash which severed the appendage from the body entirely.
They reached the edge of the roof and the creature shrieked in fear and pain as Kaltor rolled, tossing it from the edge with a grunt of disdain. Even as he rolled to his feet, toes gripping the edge of the gutter beneath him, the Tyran creature dove forward.
It flared its wings a few paces in front of him, flying just outside of his reach, stabbing forward with its poisoned tail like a wasp. Melshek dove beneath his pet’s attack and lunged forward. His eyes widened in surprise when Kaltor sprinted into his outstretched arms, ignoring his opponent’s claws as he grabbed him by his tunic and spun him aside with all his enhanced strength.
Claws tore the armor from his arms, drawing blood. Melshek sailed through the air, smashing into the stone wall of the adjacent building and plummeting twenty feet to the stones below.
A razor sharp tail-blade sliced Kaltor’s neck only inches from his jugular. To his enhanced senses, the tail seemed to float away like a leaf on a warm breeze, an easy catch. The Tyran creature shrieked in shock as he caught hold of its tail and plummeted both of them to street below.
To the beast’s credit, it did manage to reduce their speed enough to land safely. As soon as his feet hit the street, however, Kaltor jerked the creature down the rest of the way. Its tail snapped in two beneath his determined grasp and he leapt onto the animal’s back. It tried to twist, to throw him off, but his vice-like grip on its outstretched wings would not relent.
He stomped the middle of both wing bones with all his strength, pulling upward on the outstretched wings for good measure. Two sickening cracks echoed through the streets, imitating the similar sounds coming from Melshek’s direction as he stood and reset his own bones. By now the Tyran creature was in too much pain to adequately avoid a dagger to the head, and it apparently lacked its master’s recuperative healing abilities.
Both beasts lay dead at Kaltor’s feet. Melshek still stood in his combat form, claws extended, black blood pulsing. A wave of nausea overwhelmed Kaltor, driving him to his knees. He could feel Melshek’s poison counter-acting his Varadour power. Something else took hold as well, darkening his vision. A voice echoed in his mind, feminine and seductive.
"You could be king," The world changed, and everything shifted.
Suddenly, Kaltor’s pain was gone. He sat upon a throne dressing in fine satins, silks, and gold, holding a scepter. Krin and Gereth stood on either side of him, the proud parents of the Varadour Remnant.
Master Taneth stood before him, presenting their military leaders, Honmour and Talen among them. The scene shifted again, to countless nights in his bedchamber with countless women awaiting his command. Among them was one fire-haired Battlescorned, in particular.
Again the scene shifted, and he stood overlooking the capital, emissaries from every city marching to his palace to grant him tribute. He turned, finding himself in battle array, and sparred with Master Taneth and the other Battleborn in public. No secrecy, no fear of discovery.
"You could be king," the female voice continued, the vision growing dark and cold. "But you must choose to obey me," He fell, the air turning increasingly cold and dark.
"Follow me here or in the Abyss," she finished. "Choose now."
His life passed before his eyes. He knew what his answer should be, after so many years of fearful hiding, after the great efforts they’d expended to train and protect him. His parents deserved better than to fade into nothing as failures in the king’s eyes. They deserved the rewards a king could grant, a Remnant king.
He felt the strange woman waiting in the back of his mind, breathing serenely. He knew the answer he had to give, yet somehow he knew it was Melshek’s poison. Something in his mind held back these temptations. He understood them on a theoretical level, but their real appeal, the power they wielded over the hearts of men, couldn’t touch him. He knew what the deal would cost him. He would never find his brother if he accepted it.
Finding Keevan and repairing his broken family meant everything.
As if from far away he heard another female voice rise. Krin’s. He knew what his parents would truly expect of him, especially her. "You have a good heart, my son. We will find a way," she said comfortingly.
With a painful, rasping breath Kaltor struggled to sit upright, sitting cross-legged on the hard ground. Though his vision was still dark, he felt his back against rough brick and mortar, and someone breathing in his face, decaying flesh on its breath.
Pain twisted viciously in his sides. "You deserve better, Mom," he whispered. "But I can’t make this deal. We’ll find another way," His vision cleared, revealing Melshek standing over him, his claws digging into Kaltor’s chest, dangerously close to his heart.
"Submit!" Melshek screamed, and Kaltor could feel all the poison the creature could muster siphoning into his blood, weighing it down. His Varadour power and adrenaline faltered, and he felt consciousness fading fast.
Another way, he thought. There is one other. The price I always knew I would pay.
His eyes rolled up to face his opponent’s. His fingers found Melshek’s wrists and grunted with exertion as he pushed the claws from either side. The venom flowed out of his wounds now, pushed by immense Varadour power. The Blood Break took full effect now, turning his blood corrosive, but the power it granted— that was undeniable.
With a howl of frustration Melshek grabbed Kaltor by the hair and threw him across the street. He hit the ground hard, rolling into the opposite building roughly, barely managing to deflect his momentum and keep his bones from breaking.
Pieces of metal poked him from odd angles, a few of his own throwing blades sticking into his flesh. A faint pulse of Varadour energy oozed from his struggling heart, pushing another bit of poison from his veins. A sickening crack of breaking bone and tearing flesh echoed from across the street.
From beneath his trembling arms Kaltor caught a glimpse of Melshek pulling the tail blade from his winged pet with Jensai’s face. His intent was obvious as he squeezed the sac at the base of the tail and smiled at the venom rushing from its tip.
He’s going to keep doing this to me, Kaltor realized. Until I break, he’ll just keep this up.
His heart beat a bit stronger, sending another trickle of energy through his body, steadying his limbs. Tainted blood oozed from his wounds as he forced the poison from his system. This is my last chance.
Melshek leaned over the Tyran creature’s remains, performing the same action. In the starlight his ripped and tattered tunic could no longer hide the metal links around his neck and down his chest. ‘He took an amulet,’ Rivatha had said that night at the camp. ‘Then he slept a few hours and headed for the inn.’
Melshek leaned over for a better hold on the tail-
blade as he pulled, but the metal links did not hang to the ground away from his chest as they should have. The metal is embedded in his skin, Kaltor realized. So that would mean the amulet itself is—
With a gut-wrenching rip, Melshek tore the tail tip free from the body and walked toward Kaltor. "You have caused me a lot of problems," he grumbled in his half-animal voice. "It’s only fitting you repay me for the delays you’ve caused."
He reached the middle of the street and Kaltor’s heart pounded again, stronger this time. It wasn’t sufficient to close his wounds, but enough to expel the poison. He had to end this soon before he lost too much blood. His fists settled on two loose stones nearby, and a long piece of metal.
When he was just outside Kaltor’s reach, Melshek took one last content look at his poisoned tail blades. Varadour energy surged, and the Battleborn struck.
His left hand hurled a stone into Melshek’s open right eye with all his strength. The blow knocked his opponent back a step, more surprised than hurt, but it bought Kaltor enough time to roll onto his shoulders and flip forward onto his feet.
When the creature dropped his guard to charge, a second stone followed, scratching its other eye. Varadour energy blended the colors around him, camouflaging his movements.
"I can smell you, fool—" Melshek sputtered, taking a handful of dirt to the face. He took one last step back, confused and disoriented before charging forward, holding both tail-blades like daggers.
Power surged from Kaltor’s heart. The rush turned to pain, agony flowing through every vein and artery of his body. Dropping to one knee, he let Melshek’s attacks swing over his head, and with his Varadour-enhanced strength he drove the tip of his throwing blade through the former-prince’s demonically hardened chest, just above the heart.
The force of the blow brought Melshek to one knee, his tail-blades clattering to the ground. His claws fumbled around Kaltor’s chest, slicing up the Battleborn’s skin and armor, trying to wrench the weapon free.
With a final grunt of exertion Kaltor sliced down, feeling the weapon stop at something metallic, and he pulled outward. The amulet tore free of Melshek’s chest, pulling portions of his heart out with it.
The former-prince’s eyes widened with shock. His struggling claws weakened. His teeth snapped in vain, trying to lean toward Kaltor for a throat-ripping kill. The Battleborn sliced the metal chain, pulling the relic completely free from Melshek’s skin with one last Varadour-enhanced jerk.
Melshek howled in pain, grasping Kaltor by the throat and lifting him into the air with his left hand, strangling his windpipe. His blood slowly solidified, even as he stood poised to strike. He pulled back his claws for one final blow. The image of the viper hound striking while he lay helpless washed over Kaltor’s mind, fear consuming him.
He hung there, helpless.
"Finally!" a female voice whispered aloud. "The plan worked perfectly," Melshek paused a moment. His breath steadied, and he looked around at their surroundings like a convict enjoying his first walk outside in years.
"I’m free," he muttered gleefully, tears rolling down his grey face and thick fangs. He looked at Kaltor in surprise, eyeing his wounds, loosening his death grip on his victim’s throat ever so slightly.
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 a
nd 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
Decoy Page 29
