With her heart hammering wildly, Theodora picked her way across the drawbridge. Twice she felt the wood sag beneath her feet and both times she cringed at the thought of falling into the foul, brackish water below. Fortunately, both times the planks held. Soon, she was on the other side, staring up at the tall estate. Ivy covered most of the brick and stone walls, but in some places, she could see where the mortar had failed and sections of the wall itself had crumbled. She had never seen an estate in such disrepair.
“Lord Roth?” She was answered only by the cawing crow. Had it followed her as she trekked through the overgrowth? “Lord Roth?”
What if he wasn’t even home? Theodora sighed. Should she leave Lumist’s scroll on his doorstep or try to find him within the city? Except for the courthouse, she couldn’t begin to imagine where else to search for him.
Skirting past the weed-infested flower boxes, she finally reached the main door. Brushing aside the cobwebs covering the brass knocker, she lifted it once and let it fall. The dull thud didn’t sound nearly loud enough to stir anyone, and when no one came, she tried again. Pressing her ear against the door to hear if anyone called out, the latch gave, and the door swung open, moaning loudly on its rusty hinges.
“Hello!” she shouted into the estate. “Lord Roth are you home?”
Theodora heard a frightened scream overhead and a scrambling of boots, as if someone was running. She stepped cautiously into the foyer, and peered up, following the sound. The noise was moving away from her, she thought, although the echo could be playing tricks on her ears. Dust motes hung in the still air as beams of sunlight streaked through the dirty windows and broken sections of the wall, creating a hazy, half-lit shadow world around her. She took another tentative step forward. Should she go any further? She wanted to deliver Lumist’s scroll, but Lord Roth’s creepy estate was giving her second thoughts.
The tinkling sound of glass breaking drew her eyes up again. That had sounded closer. For a moment, she thought about turning around and fleeing, but Lumist was counting on her to deliver his message.
Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves, she edged across the circular foyer and entered a long, narrow hallway beyond. Cobwebs hung from each of the antique wall sconces. Bits and pieces of broken chairs or benches littered the floor. A bloody hand print stained one of the otherwise richly colored tapestries and beneath it was a dried pool of vomit.
What had happened here?
Near the end of the corridor was a tall archway on her right. A strange squeaking noise emanated from the hall beyond. She quickened her pace.
“Lord Roth?” Theodora stepped into a grand-scaled dining room and gagged. The pungent stench of overripe fruit, decaying meat, and old urine caused her stomach to turn, and it wasn’t until her eyes had adjusted to the dim light that she saw the true horror within . . .
The room was alive with rats.
Hundreds of rodents squirmed over each other, fighting and feasting on the rotting remains of what looked like an interrupted banquet. Theodora stepped back and covered her mouth with the back of her hand. Large platters lined the center of the table. Expensive wine glasses, some shattered, some still half-full rested beside at least fifty dinner plates all covered with beady-eyed rats and their foul, black droppings.
Theodora gagged again and turned back toward the foyer. If Lord Roth still lived here, there was something very wrong with him, and she did not want to find him now. Not here. Not alone. She felt sorry for Lord Ian, and she truly wanted to help him and Lumist, but this was just too much! Somewhere close, she heard another scream, a weeping wail of sorts, and the sound of more breaking glass. She quickened her pace.
The corridor hadn’t seemed this long when she entered.
“WHO ARE YOU?” a deep voice bellowed behind her. She turned and spied Lord Roth charging toward her from the end of the hall. His blond hair was unkempt, as was his clothing, but it was his bloodshot eyes, burning with a maddening fury that frightened her most.
“I am . . .” she stammered.
Lord Roth stopped cold and the blood drained from his face. His mouth opened as if a contorted scream would escape him at any moment. Nothing came out. An empty bottle of wine dropped from his fingers.
“No . . . no . . . NO . . .” he screamed. He shoved his fists into his eyes. “WHY DID YOU COME BACK AGAIN?”
His slurred words echoed wildly down the hall. Theodora backed away and inadvertently bumped a piece of broken chair. The noise stirred him, and he pulled his fists away from his face. “YOU CANNOT SEE ME LIKE THIS!” The red fury returned to his eyes and he started forward again, moving much quicker than she had thought possible for a man his size.
She turned to run. The outer door was only twenty yards away . . .
“HAUNT ME NO MORE!”
She reached the foyer. Something heavy struck her across the back of the head.
chapter 40
Lord Glavinas Roth staggered into the foyer and looked down at the ghost of his wife. He nudged her still form with the tip of his boot and a confused frown formed on his red face. Ghosts were not knocked out by a broken chair leg, nor did they have substance. He had only thrown the piece of wood out of frustration at seeing her haunting the estate again.
Glavinas crouched beside the woman, lost his balance and drunkenly fell back against the wall. The tremendous amount of alcohol sloshing around in his stomach threatened to come back up as he tried to focus on the woman’s face. Swallowing hard, he reached out hesitantly and touched her silky hair. Was this Leorna?
No, Leorna was dead . . . killed by a carriage . . .
The image of the woman at his feet doubled and swirled wildly around.
Leorna was dead . . . killed by a carriage on their anniversary . . . killed in the middle of a street like a stray dog . . . killed before she could return home to him and the surprise party he had planned . . .
Killed . . .
No, not killed . . .
Not killed . . . Murdered!
He remembered the voice whispering to him late at night when he was alone with his drink. Murdered . . . Murdered! The voice carried upon the winds whispered to him every night . . . murdered by . . . the voice of companionship and truth when he was all alone . . . murdered by a friend . . . the voice comforted him, calmed him during his bouts of uncontrollable rage . . . murdered by a friend incapable . . . it was on those nights of fury that he listened to the voice . . . incapable of admitting . . . a voice like a great foghorn drifting across the waves of alcohol . . . incapable of admitting his guilt!
The voice revealed the truth when no one else had.
Leorna was murdered by his friend . . . the voice whispered to him every night . . .
Leorna was murdered by his friend . . . Lord Ian Weatherall.
Glavinas buried his head in his hands and wept.
chapter 41
After Kin-Tar collapsed, Kylpin tried to rise again but the force of the buffeting wind shook the warehouse so violently that all the windows along the roof-line shattered. Glass rained down and Kylpin crouched and covered his head with his arms. While tiny shards gouged his exposed flesh, not a single piece struck the wind mage. Instead, the cruel winds swirling around his dark form collected the broken shards and spun them into a twirling mass of bitter edges.
“Bre’nen glas’tinia gehht!”
The pieces of glass twisted into a tight spiral, spinning faster and faster. A high vibrating whistle keened, its pitch rising until Kylpin thought his eardrums were going to burst. He dropped flat on the wooden landing and covered his ears.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Kin-Tar climbing stubbornly to his feet. The young Shi’kwaran’s piercing blue eyes narrowed and the venomous look he shot the wind mage caused the hairs on Kylpin’s arms and neck to rise. The Islander seemed unaffected by the headache-inducing whistle as he calmly began to spin the two-bladed Dulon dexterously in his hands.
“Gehht’an e’gehht!”
Gyl
falen gestured wildly, swirling his arms over his head as if gathering the strength of the wind behind him before dropping to one knee and pointing at the young Islander.
The screaming cyclone of shattered glass whipped across the warehouse. Kin-Tar dove gracefully to one side, rolled and performed a series of intricate somersaults as the deadly shards whizzed past, thudding into the wooden wall behind him. He deflected the last piece with a snap of his Dulon and raced back across the warehouse, closing in on the wind mage with a feral battle cry.
Gylfalen bowed his head. “Bre’nen viol’iate’.”
Another gale blasted through the busted doors and swept down on Kin-Tar tossing him aside. The young Islander slammed into a pile of wooden crates which split open beneath his weight and spilled dozens of Dulons across the warehouse floor. The two wardens hiding behind there darted for cover behind another stack of crates.
Kylpin heard the wind mage laugh. It was a dark, satisfied cackle and it made him want to smash his fists in the man’s face or ram his sword through his chest, but he saw no way for him to get anywhere close enough to do either. He’d seen how fast the Islanders moved and Kin-Tar had barely covered half the distance between them before he had been knocked aside.
“Bre’nen viol’ . . .”
A dark figure dropped out of the sky and landed on the mage’s shoulders driving him down to the ground. Kylpin didn’t need to see her face to know it was Mai-Jun. The nimble woman had raced around the wet roofs of Belyne all night without slipping once; dropping on a man from above seemed almost easy by comparison. The buffeting winds around the warehouse settled almost immediately and Kylpin leapt to his feet.
Leave it to the Shi’kwarans to figure out a way to get close enough to hurt the mage!
He raced down the stairs to join the fight. Mai-Jun was up, her sword was out. Her attacks were precise, elegant, vicious . . . and not finding a solid form.
Kylpin frowned. He had some experience with wind mages. They came in handy on ships, especially when speed was needed or during a battle when their mastery of the winds could shred an opponent’s sails or send them wildly off course.
But he’d never seen a wind mage become insubstantial before. Mai-Jun’s blade sliced through Gylfalen’s dark image again and again, but it looked like she was attacking a black-caped mirage.
Then, in a blink of an eye, the mage appeared behind her. He wrapped his arms around hers pinning them to her sides and jumped into the air. “Bre’nen Uf!” he cried. Together they soared toward the ceiling with Mai-Jun struggling against his crushing strength.
Kin-Tar raced to the spot where the wind mage had shot skyward and stared up at the two, spinning his Dulon, waiting for the mage to return.
“Kin-Tar, no!” Kylpin shouted. “Get away from there!”
The young Islander didn’t listen, and the mage didn’t come back down. Instead, he released Mai-Jun as he neared the ceiling. He landed on one of the thick wooden purlins which stretched across the entire width of the building and supported the pitched roof. She did not.
Kylpin had seen Mai-Jun fall from similar heights and land with the grace of a cat, but this time she wasn’t just falling. She had the recoiling strength of a magical wind seeking equilibrium driving her down. Kylpin shouted another warning. Kin-Tar didn’t move. He tossed his Dulon aside and tried to catch his plummeting mother.
She and the rebounding wind slammed straight into him and even his great strength couldn’t stand that force. He crumbled. Mai-Jun’s skull cracked against the warehouse floor with a sickening crunch. She twitched once and went still.
“Kylpy, what’s happening?” Evie shouted down from the room above. “I’m all alone in here. Is it safe to come out?”
Before Kylpin could answer, the wind mage called out, “Evie, my love, step out. Everything is fine.”
The mage had used his speaking voice!
“Evie, no!” he shouted, but his words didn’t travel far. A preying wind zipped past him and captured his cry, like a hawk snatching a rabbit.
Without regard for himself, Kylpin raced up the stairs. Above him, the door opened.
“Bre’nen viol’iate’.”
A beastly wind growled outside the building and pushed against the whitewashed walls like some ferocious beast eager to burst inside and do its master bidding.
Evie stepped out onto the landing.
Still perched on the wooden purlin, the wind mage released his grip on the vertical support beam and swirled both hands over his head. The winds gathered and . . .
Xo-Taro swung through the broken window behind him, feet first, and kicked the mage square in the back. Gylfalen pitched forward and fell. Xo-Taro followed him.
“Bre’nen uf!” the mage cried, throwing his arms out wide.
The winds gathered beneath the mage and slowed his descent until Xo-Taro slammed into him from above. His extra weight countered the rising wind and the two dropped.
“Bre’nen Uf! Bre’nen UF!” the mage shrieked, but to Kylpin’s eye, it looked like the winds responded too slowly. With Xo-Taro clinging to his back, the two struck the warehouse floor hard and neither moved.
The agitated winds inside the warehouse quieted. The swirling debris dropped like foul rain. Kylpin raced up the stairs and gathered Evie in his arms. “Hurry! Follow me!”
He turned to run back down again, but the two royal wardens climbed out from behind the crates they were hiding and pointed their swords at him. “Come down, Captain. We arrest you and your lady companion in the king’s name!”
“Kylpy? What do we do?”
“I’ll go down first,” he whispered. “If you’re able to run free, head to the Prancing Piper and find a man named Sir Lumist Tunney. Tell him I said, ‘Ragget is responsible for everything’, and stay with him until I come to collect you. Do you understand?”
“But Kylpy . . .”
“Do you understand, Evie?”
“Yes, of course, but . . .”
Kylpin raced down the stairs with his sword drawn. He might not have had the skill to face the wind mage alone but against two wardens, he felt confident in his chances. He leapt over the handrail and dropped the last ten feet. The wardens had been waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, but they quickly came around with their swords drawn and an eager gleam in their eyes. After watching the Shi’kwarans and the wind mage fight, it seemed they too were anxious to see some action. Kylpin was more than willing to oblige, but not yet. He wanted to draw them both away from the stairs, to clear a path for Evie’s escape, so he retreated. The wardens followed.
The large one finally had enough of the cat and mouse and darted forward. The clanging of steel against steel sent a jolt through Kylpin’s body and the nerves up and down his sword arm sang out. He felt a rush of savage joy course through him and he realized he needed this fight. After everything he’d suffered recently, he needed to punish . . . someone. Anyone. And right now, these two wardens would do the job just fine.
He fell into a defensive and controlled retreat as he beat back both of their swords all the while keeping an eye out for a weakness to exploit. Though he was used to a rolling ship beneath him when he fought, he quickly adapted his style. Across the warehouse floor they clashed, Kylpin constantly giving ground until he spied a pattern in their attack. He waited for the precise moment to repeat itself and when it did, he pushed the tall warden aside, spun quickly around him and dodged the short warden’s thrust. The blade whistled past his ear, just as he thought it would and drove on toward the tall warden’s chest. The tall warden reacted quickly and parried his partner’s errant thrust but that gave Kylpin the split second he needed to act. He lunged, and the tip of his sword punched through the short warden’s armor and bore into the shoulder beneath. The man cried out in pain and cowered away, clutching at his injured arm. The tall warden covered his retreat with a couple of vicious hacks. Kylpin deflected them both and sent a stunning riposte in after the tall man which nearly found its mark an
d chased him back a step or two.
Kylpin wanted to press his advantage but doing so would push the wardens toward the stairs. Instead, he feigned exhaustion, which wasn’t too far from the truth, and backed up. If they fell for his ruse and followed him, Evie should have enough space to slip past and run free.
But then, Kylpin saw something behind the wardens he hadn’t thought possible. Xo-Taro was stirring. The Islander pushed himself off the wind mage and struggled to his feet. His copper face was a pale yellow and his lips were pulled back into a pain-laced grimace. He limped forward, somehow walking on two broken legs. Kylpin wanted to tell him to be still, he had things under control . . .
“TO ME!” Xo-Taro roared, brandishing his sword.
The wardens, sensing an easier target, rounded on the crippled Islander. Xo-Taro shouted a wild battle cry and hurled his sword at the nearest.
The blade plunged into the short warden’s stomach, folding him in half, and tossed him backwards off his feet. The tall warden thrust straight at Xo-Taro’s unprotected chest. The Islander accepted the blow with little more than a grunt, grabbed the warden’s sword arm and pulled him closer even as the blade pushed through and out his back.
“Xo-Taro!” Kylpin cried.
The Islander spat a mouthful of blood in the warden’s face and grabbed his throat. The warden released his trapped sword and hammered on the hand crushing his windpipe. Xo-Taro didn’t seem to notice. His fingers closed and with another grunt, he yanked his hand back, ripping out a chunk of the man’s esophagus. Blood gushed from the gruesome wound and the warden staggered away.
Xo-Taro dropped to his knees and bent forward until his forehead touched the warehouse floor. The warden’s blade, smeared with blood, stuck straight up in the air.
Stolen Justice Page 23