“Give it to me,” he demanded.
Marshal looked back, confused. He had no idea what Talinir wanted.
“You’re the only one who would take it,” he said in a low voice. “Give it back.”
Marshal spread his hands helplessly. He hadn’t taken anything.
“What is the problem?” Aelia asked. Beside her, Victor set down the the cooking gear they had been washing.
“I have misplaced something,” Talinir said. “I was hoping Marshal might have seen it.”
Marshal shook his head. Shake is no.
“I guess he hasn’t,” Aelia said.
“What is it?” Victor asked. “We’ll help you look for it.”
Talinir hesitated.
“Well?”
“It’s my starshine pouch,” he said at last.
Aelia’s eyebrows went up, but she said nothing.
“Oh, that stuff you use to heal, right?” Victor immediately began combing the ground around their camp. “It’s pretty dark already. We might have to wait until morning to find it.”
Talinir stared hard at Marshal, still accusing him. Marshal lifted his hands and shook his head again. He had no idea what had happened to the pouch. He didn’t even know where Talinir kept it now.
All four of them searched as well as they could in the dim firelight, but without success.
“Maybe an eidolon stole it,” Victor said. “I saw one yesterday. I think.”
“They wouldn’t do that,” Talinir said without looking at him. He went back to searching through his pack.
“How do you know that?” Victor asked.
“Perhaps you dropped it down by the creek,” Aelia suggested. “We can look in the morning.”
Talinir’s face didn’t move. “As you say.” He spread out his bedroll and turned away from the others. Marshal couldn’t be sure, but it looked like the Eldani warden trembled a little. Already?
Remembering how bad he had felt after being deprived of the starshine after just one dose, Marshal worried. If Talinir had been using it as often as Aelia implied, then he would be in bad shape by the morning.
Who had taken the starshine, then? Aelia? Possible, but didn’t seem likely. Victor had no motive. Marshal hadn’t taken it. Could Talinir have merely misplaced it? That did not seem possible. That left only one conceivable answer.
Marshal kept his sword at hand throughout the night. He slept very little.
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
MARSHAL FINALLY FELL asleep not far from sunrise. When he woke up, he discovered Aelia back in command. Talinir would not be doing much of anything, it appeared. He lay on his bedroll, sweating and twitching.
“Guess we get another rest day,” Victor said. He poured his cup out in disgust. Apparently, making Talinir’s tea wasn’t as easy as it looked.
“Victor, start searching all around the camp for Talinir’s pouch,” Aelia said. “Marshal, once you’re up, go find us some more firewood for later in the day. Might as well be prepared.”
Marshal nodded and got to his feet. He put on his sword belt, and walked down to the creek. After splashing some water on his face, he found a private spot to relieve himself. From there, he set out upstream to find Aelia’s firewood. He had already cleared out everything close to the camp on the day before.
He heard Victor complaining in the distance, but soon moved out of earshot. He gathered a few sticks, but his concentration wasn’t on it. Once far enough away from camp, he dropped the sticks and drew his sword. At least Aelia and Victor would stay safe now.
He stood at the edge of the stream and waited. This was a good place. The stream, barely more than a couple of inches deep in most places, flowed smoothly down a short incline here, trickling around rocks and tree roots. The early leaves of Spring shimmered in the morning sun, still damp with dew. One of the smaller trees beside the stream exploded in large white blossoms in various stages of opening.
He did not have to wait long.
“I would ask you to tell me your curse, but I already know it now.” The assassin’s familiar voice came from across the stream. Marshal turned to face him. The assassin stood there, clothed exactly as before. They stared at each other.
“You’re more clever than I thought. You knew I had taken the starshine and came out to meet me away from the others. I respect that. As long as they do not interfere, I will not harm them.”
Marshal nodded. The assassin idly swung his sword in an circular motion at his side. Talinir’s old sword. Warpsteel. Indala had been unsure if the star would protect him from that. So be it. He took his stance and gripped his own sword with both hands.
The assassin’s hairless brows went up. “I know the warden has been training you, but you cannot think that a couple of weeks has made you my equal.”
Marshal did not move.
The assassin took a step into the stream. “You must know that what your mother seeks is impossible. Curses cannot be lifted. Not by any means.”
Marshal scowled. Why did he keep talking?
He took another step. “You and I, we are condemned by Theon, whether justly or unjustly. It is what it is. It is who he is. There is no changing the will of God.” He spat the last word in defiance.
Marshal grew tired of waiting. He took a step forward into the stream himself. The cool water trickled around his boot.
The assassin made a casual swing with his sword and Marshal dodged it.
“In a way, I envy you. In a few moments, you can ask Theon himself why we are all cursed. That is, if he’ll let you talk even then. Do curses extend beyond this life, I wonder?”
That was a disconcerting thought. Surely curses did not last beyond death. Yet what little Marshal understood about Theon gave him no comfort. A god who allowed his misbegotten life could not be a god who cared much for humanity.
“Enough. You know your curse. Yet you won’t embrace it. You cling to a bizarre hope of removing it. That will not happen.”
The warpsteel blade swept through the air, creating that curious warping effect. Marshal blocked it, but staggered under the blow. The assassin was stronger than he appeared. He felt a vibration beginning in his hands, but he deliberately channeled it into the sword.
When Marshal blocked the next blow, the assassin held it there, pressing. Marshal looked across their locked blades into the clear and bright eyes. Again, the incongruity of the life-filled irises surrounded by dead flesh.
He felt a sudden impact against his stomach. He glanced down and saw that the assassin had attempted to stab him with an obsidian dagger in his left hand. The dagger had slammed against him, but refused to cut into his skin.
“Interesting. Some kind of light armor under your tunic?”
Marshal focused on the sword. How did he release the power once stored? Talinir had not explained that yet. He concentrated on imagining the sword as an extension of his hand.
Unfortunately, the assassin did not give him time to learn a new trick. He stepped back, pivoted, and swung again. The warpsteel sword battered aside Marshal’s defensive attempt and the dagger swept at his leg. The blade did not cut him, but the impact knocked him off his feet. Marshal fell back into the stream.
No magical city nearby to heal him this time. This was it.
The blade of warpsteel stabbed down at his chest.
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
FINALLY! KISHIN SLAMMED the sword down at Marshal’s chest. To his shock, the point of the blade stopped and did not penetrate. He almost lost his grip with the sudden jerk.
Even more shocking, Marshal’s mouth burst open in a silent scream. His face contorted in agonizing pain. How was that possible? The sword hadn’t pierced him.
What kind of armor could stop this sword? Kishin pushed harder. Marshal writhed, but the sword went no further.
Kishin dropped his dagger, reached down, and ripped Marshal’s tunic apart. He took a step back and stared.
The youth had no armor. Beneath his tunic, Kishin saw nothing but bare s
kin. Where he had attempted to stab him, a massive bruise began to form, but the skin had not been pierced.
“How is this possible?” Kishin roared. Anger gave his next slash more force. The sword ripped through Marshal’s tunic, but bounced off his skin.
Marshal rolled and came to his feet, still holding his sword. He held it shakily out toward Kishin. The young man looked barely able to stay on his feet, dripping wet but still fighting.
“The Eldanim did this to you, didn’t they?” Kishin smashed at Marshal’s sword with his own, sending him staggering back. He almost slipped and fell again.
“What is it? Some kind of blade warding magic? That’s–” He smacked Marshal on the side of the head with his sword. “–Not–” He came back from the other direction and knocked Marshal’s sword down again. “-Fair!” He slammed his sword against Marshal’s hip.
The triple blow sent the target stumbling back. He fell into the water and rolled.
“There are other ways to kill,” Kishin said. He stepped forward menacingly and Marshal scrambled back, trying to get to his feet. “I can strangle you, or beat you to death. I prefer to drain the k’uh from your body with your blood, but I will settle for less this time.”
Kishin could not remember a greater rage than he felt now. This target had gone from something simple, to the biggest challenge of his career, to a denial of his preferred method of killing. And it dared suggest to him that curses could be lifted! That a man could live without a curse!
Marshal scrambled back some more, using one hand and both feet. He still held his sword in his right hand, in somewhat of a defensive pose. Kishin stalked in a circle around him. How to kill this one? Suffocation would probably be the easiest, if not the most satisfying.
Marshal pointed the sword at him again and closed his eyes. Kishin frowned. What was the boy thinking? Was he surrendering to the inevitable?
A wave of force slammed into him and threw him into the air. He crashed through several tree branches, then altered direction and fell into the stream. White flowers petals rained down around him. He sputtered and looked up.
Marshal looked as surprised as he felt, but he had regained his footing. He stood firm, taking hold of the sword with both hands again.
Madness. The target’s magical power was unpredictable. That wave of force had hit him like a wall in motion. He felt bruises forming all over his body. However, one burst of power had been all that he had ever seen Marshal able to conjure. After that burst, the boy was now practically helpless.
“It was downright rude to start this without me,” said another voice.
Kishin rotated. Victor stood nearby, sword in one hand, flail spinning slowly in the other.
“I told you before. I’m bound to him. You want to kill Marshal, you have to go through me.” He pointed his sword at the assassin.
Kishin gritted his teeth. “With pleasure.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
MARSHAL THOUGHT VICTOR had never looked more like a true warrior than he did in that moment. He stood tall and strong, both weapons at ready and a fierce look to his face.
“You all right, Mars?”
Marshal nodded and looked back at the assassin. In reality, he didn’t know whether he was all right. Every time the assassin had stabbed or cut at him with the warpsteel sword, he felt as if it had worked. Except, of course, it hadn’t. His skin looked battered and bruised, but remained unbroken. He hadn’t felt pain like that with the dagger, so it must be something specific to the sword.
He took a step to his left. Seeing this, Victor took a step to the right. If they kept themselves far enough apart, they would have a better chance in fighting this enemy.
The assassin ignored him and focused on Victor. “You I can kill!” he snarled. He lunged forward. Somehow, Victor managed to block his swing with his flail and bring his sword around in a sweeping blow. The assassin dodged back, where he met Marshal’s charge. He deflected Marshal’s sword and punched him in the face.
Marshal stumbled, but kept his feet this time. At least, he did until the assassin shoved him. Both feet flew out from under him and he tumbled into the stream yet again. This time, his sword flew out of his hand and landed on the shore. His head bounced off a rock and he saw stars spinning around his eyes. He blinked several times and nearly lost consciousness.
When he finally focused his eyes, Victor was in trouble. He had lost his sword, but somehow managed to wrap the chain of his flail around the assassin’s blade. The assassin, however, grabbed Victor’s throat with an iron grip. Try as he might, Victor couldn’t break it.
Unable to think of another option, Marshal grabbed a fist-sized stone from the stream and threw it at the back of the assassin’s head. His throw struck true, but he only got a grunt of pain in response.
He grabbed another rock and held it for a moment. What if…? He concentrated and hurled the rock with all he had. In mid-air, it vibrated apart into about a dozen shards that slammed into the assassin’s back. He screamed and stumbled forward, losing his grip on Victor’s neck.
Victor staggered away and tried to yank the assassin’s sword out of his hand with his flail. It didn’t work, but he put some distance between himself and the killer.
But it wasn’t far enough. The assassin slashed upward, cutting a gash across Victor’s back from his left hip to his right shoulder. He screamed and went down, the flail tumbling out of his hand.
Marshal scrambled to the shore and grabbed his sword. He jumped to his feet and spun around. The assassin stood near the opposite shore, glaring at him as he tried to reach the stone shards still impaled into his back. He took a step forward, but nearly lost his balance.
“This is not over!” he snarled through gritted teeth. “The next time, I will not leave until one of us is dead.”
He turned and reeled away into the trees.
Marshal hurried to Victor’s side. He had managed to get his face out of the water, but not much more. He tried to push up with his hands, but cried out and let himself slump down again.
“Ahhh, Marshal, this is… bad one. Burns like fire. Might… want to… get your mom.”
Marshal examined Victor’s back, but couldn’t tell much from all the blood. He stumbled back across the stream and moved down the shore as fast as he could. The impact point on his hip made running difficult. His head swam and he almost collapsed a couple of times. He couldn’t remember hurting this bad.
Aelia met him halfway to the camp. She carried Talinir’s sword and saw Marshal as soon as he saw her.
“I thought I heard someone screaming,” she began, but stopped at the sight of him.
Marshal knew he must look horrible. He was dripping wet. His tunic hung in tatters. He knew he had huge bruises on his chest. His face probably didn’t look much better. But only Victor mattered right now. He grabbed Aelia’s arm and pulled. He pointed back the way he had come.
“Victor?”
Desperate nod means yes.
Aelia followed, but couldn’t hide the look of concern on her face as she watched Marshal limp back. When she spotted Victor lying in the stream, she pushed past her son and hastened to his side.
“The assassin?” she asked. She knelt in the stream and pulled the ragged strips of Victor’s tunic aside.
“Yeah, he got me good,” Victor said.
“I can see that. Is he gone?” She glanced around. Marshal nodded.
“This wound was made with the warpsteel blade. It won’t be easy for these muscles to heal.” She frowned. “Marshal, give me your tunic. It’s not doing you much good now.”
Marshal stripped off the remains of his tunic. Aelia pressed it against Victor’s wound. “Now you go–” She broke off and glanced up at his condition. “Never mind. You hold this in place. Hold it tight. Like that. Good. Don’t let him try to get up.” She got to her feet. “I’ll need to fetch my kit from camp. Wait here.”
Marshal did as he was told and waited. He shivered. Spring had arrived, but not s
o much that getting soaked in cold water wouldn’t chill you. He hoped it wasn’t too much for Victor.
“At least… you got him pretty good…” Victor managed. “Gotta tell you… never hurt like this… before.”
Marshal reached down and put a finger on Victor’s lips.
“Got it. I’ll… stop.”
It seemed like an hour before Aelia returned, though it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. “That fool Eldani tried to get up and come,” she grumbled. “I had to make him lie back down. Why are all you men so stupid?”
Marshal didn’t know how to react to that.
“All right.” Aelia knelt next to Victor. “I’m going to have to clean this, which should be easy enough, and then stitch it up. Only then can we move him.”
“That’s… going to…”
“Yes, it’s going to hurt. A lot. I’m sorry, Victor, but I must do this.”
Without waiting for a response, she readied her needle and began. Marshal got to his feet and turned away. He never liked seeing this part. “Don’t go far, Marshal,” she said without looking up. “I’ll need your help to get him back to the camp.”
Victor tried to control his outbursts, but grunts and even a few sharp cries of pain escaped his lips in the process. Finally, Aelia finished. “All right, let’s get you back to the camp and warm you up. I really need– well, we’ll see. Marshal? Help us here.”
In the end, there wasn’t much they could do to help Victor walk. They couldn’t put arms around him without touching the gash across his back. They helped him roll up into a sitting position, then they each took one hand and pulled him up. The three of them walked together back to the camp where Victor collapsed.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
KISHIN STAGGERED THROUGH the trees. Wrong, so wrong. All of this was wrong. When the Eldanim healed Marshal, it created a challenge. When they protected him from blades, it was just wrong. It wasn’t fair.
Until All Curses Are Lifted Page 28
