Transcendent: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 4)

by Anderle, Michael

  "You're weak." Bryc ignored the finger in his face. "Soft in the mind as well as the body."

  Even though he was still a young man, Ashley was thick in the chest and back and corded with muscle. His hands were calloused and capable, his skeleton straight and strong, his wings enormous and limber. He peered at Bryc through bleary eyes. Something about the grizzled henchman reminded him of feroth jerky—–so tough you could hardly bite through it, and when you did, it took ages to chew. By the time you swallowed it, your jaw was sore.

  Next to Bryc, Ashley actually did feel about as gooey as a soft-boiled egg. He struggled for a witty retort and came up blank.

  "I despise frailty." Bryc hooked the handle of Ashley's mug of beer and took an enormous swallow.

  Ashley belched out a strained laugh that was more beer than mirth. "I'm not afraid of you." Even as he said the words, a small, cold voice whispered that it was a bald-faced lie.

  Bryc put the mug down with a clack. Beer sloshed over the bar. "You should be, boy."

  "Don't you dare!" Ashley roared, sending patrons jumping away from the pair as he jabbed his finger into Bryc's unyielding chest. "Don't you dare call m—–"

  In one fluid motion, Bryc lay hold of Ashley's hair and drove his face into the bar.

  It happened so fast, there was no time to breathe or even think. Stars of light and pain exploded and then meshed into a single blinding sheet. Ashley's legs gave way, and he slid from the bar down on to the floor, landing in a boneless heap. He tasted blood. When he tried to suck in air, his nose hurt so much he gagged on the pain. It felt like a spike was being driven into his sinus.

  "Sorry to interrupt," Bryc's tone was flat, remorseless. "It’s just that the last man to lay a finger on me like that had to eat that finger. Then the others. Then his hand."

  Ashley groaned and groped at his belt, somehow finding the floor with his knees. The world spun, and his stomach clenched, fighting to keep his last meal and his beer on the inside. Ashley sucked in a deep breath through his nose and closed his eyes, going inward, finding the warrior's instincts that had been chased away by the alcohol. They were there… somewhere.

  "You see, boy, appearances matter in my line of work." Bryc loomed over Ashley, reaching down with one scarred paw to grip him by the hair again. "After all, what would it look like if I let some snot-nosed runt lay hands on me without teaching him a lesson? What would others think?"

  "Please! Please!" The hoarse cry came from the barkeep, an older man whose shoulders drooped from years of lifting barrels. "Good fellows, not here! No fighting. Go outside. Take it outside!" The barkeep's hands were outstretched in a plaintive gesture, but he did not touch either of the fighting Strix.

  "Shoo, little fly, before you––"

  Ashley surged into action, yanking his shortsword free from his belt in a reverse grip. He punched upward and gouged a furrow across Bryc's forearm where his bracers did not cover. The grip on his hair loosened, and the younger Strix rose from his knees with a hooked slash that drove Bryc back a step.

  The entire bar, at first frozen by the sudden violence of Bryc's initial assault, exploded into frenzied movement at the sight of drawn steel. People were getting out and quick, giving the quarrelling Strix a wide berth. In the din of movement and voices, the protests of the barkeep could still be heard. They were ignored.

  "Do not touch me again," Ashley growled, swaying on his feet but finding he still had access to his reflexes. He felt a trickle of hot blood run down over his upper lip and chin. He glared at the Nycht, ignoring the rush of patrons passing them by.

  The bartender wailed inaudible words over the roiling crowd.

  Bryc took a second to examine the bloody wound on his forearm before barking with laughter. "Good!" Bryc bellowed, his smile still fixed, wide and unnerving. "I am glad this gets to be business and pleasure." He made for something on his own belt.

  Ashley couldn't afford to give the monstrous Nycht a chance. Darting forward, he feinted a head-high swipe with the blade jutting from his fist. Bryc was taller, heavier, stronger, and infinitely meaner, but Ashley was certain that he was faster, even with beer in his belly. He couldn't let Bryc get the upper hand again. The Nycht may have come here to beat him back into line, but he wasn't going to make it easy for him.

  Bryc didn't duck or backpedal as Ashley was sure he would, but instead stepped into the shallow swipe. The sword pommel and Ashley's fist thudded into Bryc's meaty chest. The angle was all wrong, and the blade turned, pinched by the flat between Bryc's body and Ashley's arm. The two were so close that Ashley could see every knot of scar tissue on his enemy's face before Bryc's head snapped downward.

  Unable to deny the cry of pain from having his crushed nose so mistreated, Ashley fell back and tried to keep the blade point up between himself and Bryc. His eyes were full of light and tears, so he never saw the hand that swept in beneath his guard and wrenched the sword from his grip with a savage twist.

  "Enough, sirs, please!" the barkeep begged.

  Ashley's eyes cleared enough to see Bryc look at the barkeep for the first time.

  "Would you mind holding this for me, friend?" the brute asked, before he rammed Ashley's sword through the man's outstretched arm and down into the rough wooden bartop. The barkeep looked like he might have screamed if he could get over the shock of seeing himself pinned to his own bar.

  Ashley's skin crawled at the ease with which the Nycht had been able to injure the innocent barkeep. Fury flushed his face, but he no longer had a weapon to avenge the poor man with. He took a few steps backward as Bryc drew his own sword. The bare steel glittered in a way that matched Bryc's glistening smile.

  Bryc picked up Ashley's mug from where it sat next to the pinioned barkeep and threw back the remaining beer in one gulp.

  "Now," Bryc intoned with a casual flourish of his blade. "Where were we?"

  Ashley kicked a stool at him in reply.

  Bryc batted it aside and advanced.

  Eyes darting every which way, Ashley searched for something, anything he could use as a projectile. Spotting a pitcher on a table next to the bar, he scooped it up and hurled it at Bryc's face. Bryc tilted his head to one side, and the glassware bounced off one thick shoulder and tumbled behind him to crash upon the floor.

  Bryc kept coming.

  "Come now, boy, don't give up yet."

  Ashley's eyes shot to the exit, but he was on the wrong side of the building. To go out the front, he would have to get around Bryc, and that was not looking likely. Instead he retreated further into the bar, among tables arranged around a big brick fireplace. He snatched up an overturned tankard and another from a pool of ale on the floor.

  "What's in your head, boy?" Bryc chuckled as he slid between the tables after his prey. "You going to batter me with pewter since you've got no steel, or you just looking for one last drink?"

  Last drink?

  Ashley's stomach twisted around its liquid contents as he realized he may have underestimated Bryc's plans for the evening. That realization, alongside some merciful seconds since the last time Bryc bludgeoned his head, brought a clarity and energy to Ashley he desperately needed. He shuffled backward, keeping his eyes on Bryc, until he felt the rough texture of the fireplace against his heels.

  With terrifying ease, Bryc tossed a table out of his way as he closed the distance between them. "Looks like you are going to have to do something now, Ashley," Bryc remarked sagely. "Nowhere to run."

  "You talk too much," Ashley snarled before he hopped up to plant both feet on the brick, and drove himself forward.

  The ceiling was too low and the room too cluttered for Ashley to open his wings fully inside the bar, but all he needed was a quick, shallow pump to send him sailing over Bryc's skewering sword. As he passed overhead, Ashley brought one tankard down across the back of Bryc's outstretched swordhand, knocking the weapon from his grip. Then he brought the other tankard hard across the side of the brute's head as he completed his leap. Ashley mi
ght have been proud of the acrobatic move—–well executed, even in an inebriated state—–if he hadn't been so frightened. Adrenalin pumped through his system and seemed to have more control over Ashley's faculties than Ashley did himself.

  Bryc staggered to the side and collided with a table and pair of chairs, which drove him to one knee. Pouncing, Ashley was on top of the big Nycht, punching down onto his head, neck, and shoulders with the tankard that hadn't already been crushed against Bryc's skull.

  As he rained down blows and felt the satisfying crunch of each impact, Ashley dared to think that he might come out ahead in all of this.

  Until Bryc's hand shot out and wrapped around Ashley's fist.

  Ashley groaned and tried to twist away, beating his free fist against Bryc's arm. Iron-fisted, Bryc tightened his grip on Ashley's hand as he rose to his full height. Ashley ground his teeth against a scream as he was forced again to his knees.

  The good humor was gone from Bryc's dark eyes. "How disappointing," he hissed between his bared teeth, giving Ashley's fist a fresh twist.

  Bryc's other hand snaked out and took hold of Ashley's throat. Incredible pressure closed off Ashley's airways, his head filled with blood, his eyes bulged. He was lifted into the air and slammed down on a tabletop. Pain sparked along the primary bones of his wings as they spread wide and took the brunt of the blow. His armor and wings had kept Ashley's spine from snapping, but the table gave way with a crash. Wood splintered beneath him, and something stabbed Ashley in the side, slipping between the ties of his leather armor. He gritted his teeth against another scream.

  Bryc released his grip on Ashley's hand and throat, but it did the Arpak no good, as he could barely move. He lay on top of the broken wood, desperately sucking in air. The pain which had struck between his ribs seemed to go numb. At least there’s that.

  Bryc appeared over him, his sword recovered, and sank down to place a knee on Ashley's laboring chest. Ashley wheezed as the considerable weight of the Nycht pressed him against the rubble of the table beneath him.

  "I have a message for you," Bryc sneered as he held the blade in front of Ashley's face. "From your mother."

  Ashley's eyes widened at the reference to Jaclyn as his mother. It had been a secret they'd kept for years, and Ashley had only just himself learned why it was important no one know. Apparently, Bryc knew.

  Ashley's mind whirled with shock.

  With aching slowness, Bryc brought the blade tip down, pressing its needle-sharp point to Ashley's lips. Ashley tasted blood and steel as the very tip of the blade cut the corner of his mouth with cruel promise.

  "It might not matter to you," Bryc mused as he held the sword blade in Ashley's mouth, letting the edge cut a little deeper. "But when I report back to your mother, I would like to tell her you said goodbye. For closure, you understand. Go on now," Bryc pressed coolly. "Say it. Say goodbye to mommy."

  "The lad was right, you talk too much," came a ragged voice from behind Bryc, just before a stool exploded across the back of the Nycht’s head.

  Bryc and his sword rolled free of Ashley, and the latter took a little more blood on its way out. Ashley got to his feet in time to catch the hilt of his sword, which the barkeep tossed to him.

  One arm hanging useless and bloody, the poor man looked ready to collapse. Instead, he fixed Ashley with a steady stare. "Run, lad. I'll have no death in my bar tonight."

  Without thinking about it, Ashley rose and staggered toward the door. He was halfway across the bar when he heard a bestial roar. He looked over his shoulder in time to see Bryc plunge his sword into the chest of the barkeep. The old man took it, back straight, head up, before dropping to the floor of his bar. A crimson stain spread across the hardwood floor.

  Ashley gasped in horror, astonished that Bryc would actually murder the man for helping him. Shame burned in him, turning his eyes into two hot coals.

  Pain laced through Ashley's body. His vision bleary, his crushed fist useless, and his wings badly bruised, Ashley seized the chance the man had died to give him. He bolted for the door, as a peal of thunder ripped across the skies of Maticaw and shook the bottles of liquor behind the bar.

  He felt the sword in his hand and spied a bundled fishing net, hanging as a decoration over the doorway. Legs pumping, Ashley raced. Behind him, he could hear the sound of Bryc crashing through the furnishings like an enraged bull. Ashley doubted such collisions would slow the hulking Nycht in the slightest, but he found enough room in his diminished consciousness to hope Bryc tripped over a stool and fell on his own blade.

  Bryc did not fall, but all the same, Ashley knew that he was going to beat the Nycht to the door, if only by a hair. Ashley flew through the door, raking his sword across the net's fastenings as he did so.

  With a sound that, to Ashley, was as beautiful as music, there was a slither of rope and cord unwinding. The Arpak burst out onto the storm-wracked streets of Maticaw. Rain stung his skin with cold fury, but Ashley felt only relief as he heard a crash and bellow as Bryc became caught in the net. It wouldn't take him long to disentangle.

  With an internal promise that a reckoning would come, Ashley moved like a silent shadow through Maticaw's soggy alleys, disappearing into the endless maze of narrow streets.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hunkering against the rain, Jordan arched her wings over her head in a makeshift umbrella and made her way to the Silver Pony. Her boots splashed in the rapidly rising puddles, and steam rose from the soaking stones as the heat of the day was diffused by cold droplets. The storm had moved in faster than anyone had expected, and though it was only mid-afternoon, the sky was so pregnant with thunderclouds that it seemed like night.

  The Silver Pony was nestled a few streets back from the harbor, and Jordan made her way toward it without thinking. It had been a haven for her once; it would do for tonight, as well. She was cold, wet and hungry after a fast flight from Rodania, weighed down with gold coins for Sohne.

  Turning left down a narrow alley, Jordan was jostled by a couple of humans moving quickly and muttering to each other in hushed and fearful voices. She put her back to the wall to let them by. The sound of muffled crashing noises several streets over made her cock her head and listen. A peal of thunder raked across the skies of Maticaw, then all returned to quiet, and the patter of rain and sloshing of distant waves was the only soundtrack.

  She continued on.

  The alley opened into a small square sheltered by a large tree in the center. The yellow glow of four streetlights, one in each corner, threw criss-crossing shadows across the cobblestones. Jordan made for the alley straight across the square.

  A large, winged shape came barrelling from the alley. With a thud, and the smell of beer on the wind, Jordan and the Arpak hit chest-to-chest, hard enough to send her staggering and the other sprawling onto the ground.

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," Jordan said with a gasp. She bent over the fallen Arpak man and held out her gloved hand to help him up.

  Her answer was a groan. The tangle of wet feathers moved aside, revealing a bloody face.

  Jordan staggered back in shock.

  The familiar brown eyes of Ashley blinked up at her. Blood ran down his chin, one lip was puffed up, and an impressive goose-egg had sprouted from his left temple. His eyes were bloodshot and one of them was half-closed with swelling. Blood caked the side of his face and trickled from his mouth.

  "Jordan?" he gasped, his voice ragged. He held a palm out. "I won't…" he panted, but didn't finish the sentence explaining what he wouldn't do. He seemed in a daze.

  "Ashley!" Jordan drew one of her blades and stepped back into a fighting stance. Her wings opened out, framing her as she snarled at him like an avenging angel. Every nerve in her body was suddenly afire, and the desire to leap forward and send her dirk into his chest was nearly overwhelming. Jordan bared her teeth. "Come at me," she hissed. "Give me one reason."

  Ashley was on his feet in a flash, his eyes full of her steel. He cradled one hand across h
is chest and held the other out at her defensively, the fingers splayed.

  His expression made her hesitate, took her off-guard. He was Ashley, of that there was no doubt—–but the expression on his face was so different from the last time she'd seen him, not to mention the wounds, that she was a bit disarmed.

  Ashley had not drawn a weapon. He only looked at her, eyes wide and seeking to predict what she would do next. One of his shoulders drooped as though injured. His chest heaved as he worked to catch his breath. He stole a glance into the alley he'd come from and then stared back at Jordan.

  "Sister—–" he began.

  The word set Jordan off like a bomb. How dare he call me ‘sister’! She lunged forward and slashed at Ashley.

  He moved just fast enough to block her strike. His training lay hard in his muscles, and he danced by her, sending the power of her stroke harmlessly to the side. Jordan spun, sending her fist toward his head. Ashley ducked and ran his shoulder into her ribs, sending her reeling back and off her feet.

  "Not here!" he cried. "I understand you want to kill me," his words came out on a long, pained groan that was thick with the scent of hops.

  Jordan brought her elbow down on the side of his spine, and he grunted.

  Rain dripped from the leaves of the tree down onto the Arpaks, running into Jordan's eyes. The sound of heavy boots on the pavement came to Jordan's ears as Ashley carried her backward into the alley at the far corner of the square.

  "Shhhh," he whispered into her ear as he crammed them into the dark space of a doorway. His hand came up to cover her mouth. "I don't want to hurt you."

  Jordan's nostrils flared as she struggled for breath. Ashley's bulk pressed her into the hard wood of the doorway, crushing her. Light from the streetlamps were blocked out as Ashley's wings spread wide to hide them from view. The feel of his hand over her mouth sent her into a panic, and she was only vaguely aware of the sound of leather bootsoles scraping against stone as the footsteps passed by them and continued down the same alley she'd come from only minutes before.