He looked up into her amethyst eyes. “They’re going to heal him?”
“Yes,” the Allosian man answered loudly.
Tyrus shot him a baleful glare.
The white-robed Allosian walked to the side of Jekaran’s bed and peered down at him. “Normally healing a human would be a waste of our valuable time, but the malady Lady Kairah described intrigues us. And it afforded an opportunity for my students to receive an introductory lesson on healing the mind.”
Hort growled.
“Students?” Tyrus glanced back at Kairah.
“Elder Sallynder is the master over healing at the College of Disciplines.”
Tyrus resumed his scowling at the pompous purple-plumed peacock of a man. “He can fix Jekaran’s mind?”
Sallynder leaned in close to Jekaran’s face and scrutinized the boy’s right eye. “I am the most accomplished Allosian healer in over a thousand years.”
“You could’ve just said ‘yeah,’” Hort scoffed.
Sallynder looked up with narrowed eyes. Then he turned to his three students. “Let us begin.”
“Will you need my assistance, elder?” Kairah took a step toward Jekaran’s bed.
Sallynder laughed. “No Lady Kairah. I think not. This is best accomplished only by a master and my advanced students.”
Tyrus mouthed a silent mocking of Sallynder’s words and Hort laughed. Then, remembering the ring Irvis gave to Kairah, he met her eyes and opened his mouth to ask if it should not be part of the process. Before the words could form, Kairah’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head. How had she known I was going to ask? Why didn’t she want him to bring up the miraculous talis? Didn’t Jekaran need every bit of healing magic they had? He let it go, trusting in the Allosian woman’s knowledge of magic over his own anxieties.
The four, white robed, Allosian healers surrounded Jekaran’s bed. They each placed a single hand on his chest, Sallynder’s first, topped by the right hands of each of his three students. They closed their eyes. Tyrus wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but the ritual lacked any display of magical light, or arcane thunder. If not for what was at stake, Tyrus would’ve found the whole thing disappointing.
Five minutes into the silent ceremony, Sallynder’s brow twitched and his jaw tightened.
“What’s happening?” Tyrus whispered to Kairah. “Is it working?”
The woman’s only response was a curt shushing.
Tyrus’s worry turned into panic. He didn’t know the first thing about Allosian magic, other than how to use talises, but his gut screamed at him that something was wrong. He looked at Irvis, probably the human who knew the most about magical healing among their group. The chubby former monk’s eyes were wide, and he chewed his lower lip.
“Aek!” the Vorakk shaman standing behind Tyrus shrieked.
So, the others sense it, too. Just as Tyrus opened his mouth to demand an explanation, Sallynder sucked in a gasp, and staggered backward. One of his students caught him before he could fall to the ground. The Allosian master healer looked sick, strands of his jewel colored hair sticking to his sweaty brow, and dark circles now ringing his eyes.
“Master?” the Allosian student holding Sallynder up said. “Master, are you all right?”
Sallynder breathed in deep and then straightened. He gently pushed his student away and looked at Kairah. “I cannot put the shards of his mind back together,” he admitted, all arrogance gone from his tone.
“Why?” Kairah’s voice was taught and Tyrus thought she sounded on the edge of tears.
Sallynder stared down at Jekaran. “Because,” he hesitated, “a piece of his consciousness is missing.”
Mulladin’s ghern bellowed a trumpet-like cry as it precariously slid down the hill. It scrambled to regain its balance which nearly resulted in him being thrown from the beasts’ back. When they reached the level ground of the road below, the ghern staggered drunkenly before righting itself. Unfortunately, the advantage he’d gained from charging down the hill was negated by his mount’s loss of balance, allowing Keesa to pull ahead of him.
Mulladin had caught up to her just after sunrise, and this was his latest failed attempt to cut her off or overtake her. Erassa was visible down the road, and they would soon be in range of the city’s Apeira well. Mulladin had to get the sword back before Keesa bonded it.
“Ya!” He slapped his ghern’s flank with the flat of his stolen sword. The beast surged forward, but foam at its mouth and a shudder to its breathing told of exhaustion.
Keesa’s mount looked to be in a similar condition, but the woman was significantly lighter than Mulladin, and so unlike his, it probably wasn’t ready to drop dead just yet. If he didn’t do something now, Keesa was going to win this race.
Mulladin tossed the camp soldier’s sword away from him. It clanged to the road behind him in a puff of dirt. Then he drew out his memento charitably given to him by Gnot’s constable. He jabbed the crossbow bolt into his ghern’s thigh. The animal bellowed and leapt forward. Ez had taken him, Jekaran, and Maely to Jeryn once to watch a race. He’d seen the ghern riders lean forward and put their heads against their ghern’s neck whenever they forced their mounts into a sprint, and so he did the same. He wasn’t sure if this helped, but his ghern did run a little faster.
Keesa’s wide-eyed glance was gratifying when he rode up beside her. He returned the crossbow bolt to his pocket, and then yanked right on his ghern’s tuft of hair. The beast veered toward Keesa and crashed into the side of her ghern. She screamed, and both animals staggered to the edge of the road, but remained upright.
“You’re insane!” Keesa shouted.
Mulladin flashed an impudent smile and then reached for her reins. Keesa kicked at him, her boot connecting just above his knee, the same knee that still throbbed from his clumsy crow’s cage escape. He grunted, and had to pull his arm back to maintain his balance. Keesa took the opportunity to veer her ghern left, this time slamming her mount against his. Both animals staggered back to the middle of the road, and the maneuver succeeded in putting some distance between them.
As Erassa loomed closer other travelers appeared on the road ahead, the closest of which was a wagon en route to the city. They split up, Mulladin riding around the wagon’s left side and Keesa on the wagon’s right. The driver–a man wearing clothes spun of sack cloth that marked him as a farmer–lost his pipe when his mouth fell open at the sight of what he was sure to think were bandits ready to rob him. Consequently, he hollered at his team of oxen while snapping their reins and prompting them to run faster.
Keesa made sure to keep the wagon between them, and both ignored the farmer’s pleas to leave him alone. Mulladin’s ghern started to flag, each of its breaths sounding increasingly labored signaling the beast was about to drop. It started to slow, putting Mulladin just behind the wagon’s left rear wheel and a metal peg on the wagon bed’s railing that was likely meant for anchoring rope when the farmer needed to tie down a load.
Mulladin shot out his hand and gripped the small post. He leveraged his weight, pulled his left leg up onto the ghern’s back, and pushed off. The poor animal fell and rolled backward as Mulladin left its back and landed hard on his knees in the empty wagon bed. He didn’t look back to see if the animal had survived–he very much doubted it–but instead launched to his feet and stepped across the wagon bed so that he was within reach of Keesa and her mount.
She glanced up at him, mouth forming words that Mulladin didn’t give her time to say. He thrust out both arms, enclosed her in a hug, lifted her off her ghern and fell backward into the wagon. The farmer was yelling at them now, in between his calling for help. Keesa threw her head back against Mulladin’s chest. It was probably meant to crush his nose, but he was so much taller that the blow struck the top of his chest. It hurt, and Mulladin reflexively released Keesa. She rolled off him, landing on her stomach. They both scrambled to their feet, but the rocking of the wagon made it difficult. Keesa reached for Jek’s sword, whi
ch was hanging at her hip in a sheath–where had she gotten that? Mulladin made to tackle her around the waist, but Keesa side stepped and elbowed him in the side of the head.
Mulladin grunted and spun, trying to get hold of the smaller woman a second time. He grabbed her around the chest, flushing when one of his hands gripped a breast. She growled and threw her weight back against him, shoving his back into the side rail of the wagon. The rail cracked, but didn’t break–praise Rasheera for that.
Mulladin regained his footing and shoved Keesa forward toward the front of the wagon. The driver cried out when Keesa slammed into his back. He glanced over his shoulder, looked at the ground, and then leapt from the driver’s seat. Mulladin followed the farmer with his eyes. The man’s straw hat flew off his bald, liver-spotted head as he rolled off the road and into grass.
He realized his mistake a heartbeat too late. Keesa kicked out, catching him behind the left knee and sweeping him. He fell onto the wagon bed, back hitting the wood followed by his head. Keesa tried to step over him and make for the open back of the wagon, but Mulladin rolled to his right and hugged her legs. She went down, kicking back at him before she even hit the wood. Her heel connected with his shoulder. The lightning strike of pain made him let go but it also fueled his rage. Mulladin scrambled forward, took Keesa by the shoulders and slammed her down against the wagon bed–hard. Her eyes widened and she coughed, trying desperately to get a breath; his slam having expelled the air from her lungs.
“Stop it!” Mulladin shouted in her face. “We’re supposed to be on the same side now!”
“I’m on my own side,” Keesa wheezed.
Mulladin shook her. “No! We have to take the sword to Allose!”
Keesa coughed out a mocking laugh that was cut off when the wagon violently bounced, throwing Mulladin off her. He quickly climbed to his feet, but stayed crouched low, one hand on the top of the wood back of the driver’s seat as he surveyed their surroundings.
They were no longer racing down a dirt road. Instead they were bouncing along a cobblestone street, oxen panicked and charging. People were shouting at them, some calling for the guards, and others jumping out of the way. That’s when the steel point of a sword pressed against the side of his neck. He berated himself for having dropped his guard–again.
“Careful.” He gulped. “We hit another bump and that could stick through my throat.”
Keesa’s eyes were narrowed, and she gripped the handle of Jek’s sword with both hands. Mulladin flicked his eyes to the Apeira well rising from the center of the city. Any moment now the sword talis would recharge and then bond with whomever was holding it.
The reins of the oxen were sliding back and forth across the wooden plank that was the driver’s seat. They were within his reach, if he dared to move. But would Keesa kill him?
“Fine,” he said. “You win.”
Keesa scowled. “You’re giving up?”
“I know when I’m beaten.”
Keesa didn’t lower the sword, but she did let the point stray a little from his neck. That’s all he needed. Mulladin shot his hand out, grabbed the oxen’s reins, and pulled right as hard as he could. The beasts turned so sharply that the wagon tipped up onto its two right wheels. Keesa fell forward, the sword flying out of her hands and clanging to the cobblestones. One of the wagon’s wheels buckled, then snapped, and the naked axel hit the street in an explosion of sparks. The wagon flipped.
Mullidin landed hard on his left shoulder, the sudden stab of pain signaling a break. He screamed as he rolled to a stop on the street. The wagon smashed into a shopfront in an explosion of wood and glass. Another of the wagon’s wheels broke loose and spun through the air, crashing into a passing carriage. Still in a frenzy, the oxen continued charging down the street dragging half of a wagon behind them in a flurry of sparks.
Mulladin forced himself to sit up. He frantically glanced around until he found Jekaran’s sword. It was a dozen feet away, and the amethyst jewel embedded in the cross guard was glowing. That’s when he spotted Keesa, about an equal distance from the sword. Her loose shirt was torn open exposing a scandalous amount of breast, and a large gash marred her forehead. Their eyes met, and for a heartbeat the entire world seemed to freeze.
The moment thawed and they both burst into a desperate charge for the sword. Pain stabbed Mulladin’s broken shoulder with every fall of his foot. He grit his teeth, ignoring the agony and throwing all of his strength into the sprint. Keesa dove, and so Mulladin did the same. He reached his hand out as he flew toward the sword. If he could just brush it with the tip of even one of his fingers, he would bond it.
An explosion of light and sound stunned Mulladin at the same time something slammed into him. He crashed against a wall, a muffled thunk accompanying a new explosion of pain in the back of his skull.
When he opened his eyes, the world was white and silent. Then shapes formed, and his vision returned along with the sounds of the city. Where the sword had lain just a moment ago, there was now a shallow crater in the street. He desperately looked around, ignoring the warm wetness running down the back of his neck. Jekaran’s sword lay nearby, and it was smoldering.
Laughing.
Mulladin looked up and found a tall figure robed in black standing a short distance away. His raven hair was windblown and several strands stuck to his pale face. Loeadon’s sling was gone, and he moved his arm like it’d never been broken.
“I must thank you again for this lightning ring.” He examined the talis that was fitted to his right ring finger. “A suitable compliment to my restoration ring.” He wiggled the fingers of his other hand, one of which bore the healing talis. “But I’m afraid both of these are nowhere near as valuable as that sword talis.”
Something moved on Mulladin’s periphery and Keesa lunged for Jekaran’s sword. Loeadon waved a hand at her and a bright blue bolt of lightning fell from the cloudless sky, striking down between her and the sword. She was thrown sideways into a fruit stand, knocking the flimsy wooden structure and its produce into a mess of splinters and juicy pulp.
Mulladin stood, but froze when Loeadon pointed at him.
“Don’t,” the renegade polymath commanded.
“The world is falling apart, or hadn’t you noticed?” Mulladin retorted. “You saw what happened to Aiested. If I don’t get that sword to Allose, then…” Then what? He didn’t know. All he had was the word of a little girl quoting her “talking flower”, and a nagging foreboding that grew by the hour.
“Allose?” Loeadon took four steps toward him. “You mean to say that you, a Rikujo thug, know where the legendary hidden city is?”
“Well, not really.”
“I thought not.” Loeadon pointed at him and a crackling bolt arced from the polymath’s finger and struck Mulladin in the leg.
He cried out, falling to the street, the sharp sting of his broken shoulder suddenly shamed by the burning in his leg. He looked down to find a smoldering black spot on his pants.
Divine Mother, it hurts!
Mulladin rolled onto his side, cradling his wounded leg. He looked around, desperate for any kind of help, but the citizens of Erassa had fled at the first obvious use of weapon talis magic. A contingent of armored guards stood fifty feet away, but they didn’t approach. Probably waiting for more of their fellows before attempting to take down a man who commanded lightning. Keesa was gone too. For some reason that comforted him. Ez’s daughter would live.
Loeadon was already striding toward Jekaran’s sword. He’d gotten to within five paces of the weapon talis when Keesa leapt from a nearby rooftop and crashed into him. Loeadon screamed–an entirely too feminine scream–as he went down. Keesa pummeled the renegade polymath repeatedly in the face, so hard that a stream of blood shot up and splashed her in the eye. She had to take one of her fists out of the fight to wipe the blood away, but before she could resume smashing in Loeadon’s face, she was hurled off him in a burst of electricity.
Loeadon staggered to h
is feet, his nose and mouth covered in blood. But his nose was no longer bleeding, and a swollen eye suddenly opened as the inflamed skin reduced and smoothed. The restoration ring was making killing the man a near impossible task. When he was fully healed, he walked over to Keesa who lay writhing on the ground.
“You lying bitch!” He kicked her hard in the stomach. Keesa’s cry of pain was cut off as Loeadon kicked her a second time. This time she vomited. He stepped back and pointed the finger adorned with the lightning ring down at her.
A thin stream of crackling electricity arced down and connected with Keesa’s stomach. Unlike Loeadon’s other attacks with the magic, he maintained this bolt in one continuous stream at a level that wouldn’t kill Keesa outright.
In the short time Mulladin used the lightning talis, he learned he could control the intensity of his blasts. With a little concentration and practice, he could produce enough power to simply stun a foe, or enough to fry their internal organs with a single shaft of death. Loeadon obviously had experience with controlling electricity, because what he was doing now was sadistically impressive.
Keesa convulsed and tried to scream, but her jaw wouldn’t unclench, muffling the sound. Her neck muscles bulged, she arched her back, and balled her fists in unnatural contortions like that of an arthritic crone. Loeadon’s entire focus was on torturing the woman, giving Mulladin an opening. He glanced at Jekaran’s sword. It lay maybe twenty paces away. If he could just touch it, he’d have the power to cut Loeadon down, lightning ring or not. But what would happen to Keesa?
Loeadon was increasing the power of his continuous stream of electricity, the man’s face foreshadowing an ensuing homicidal climax. He met Keesa’s wild eyes. If Mulladin went for the sword, Keesa would surely die. Something in her eyes told Mulladin that she knew it too.
He had to get the sword back, no matter what. His instincts had told him that long before Jesh delivered the message of her prophetic flower. Keesa was his enemy, there was no denying it. She’d tried to kill him. But she was also Ez’s daughter, a cousin to Mulladin in a way.
The Lure of Fools Page 68
