Song (The Manhunters Book 1)

by Jesse Teller

  Other windows shattered as many and more citizens climbed into the pub.

  Rayph felt his body ripping open and he cried out in pain. A little longer and he could let go.

  He felt every last fire die. He let loose of the demonic magic and he dropped like a stone.

  “Protect him,” Smear said. Konnon and Glyss fell in around him.

  “No kill shots,” Rayph said. “They are innocent people. Do not kill them.” He sagged to the floor and stared out past the legs of his friends as Slinter walked into the room.

  “Rayph Ivoryfist!” she screeched. Her voice was abrasive as a fist full of sand being ground into his eye. Rayph felt the pure, unbridled rage rippling through the inn and he moaned. “My kind will be fed your bones. I will rip your friends to bits and make you watch them all beg.” She threw her arms out before her, fingers splayed wide, and she screamed. From all around her, innocents rushed forward to rip them to shreds.

  Rayph watched them coming and fought to get to his feet. Smear kept screaming for Trysliana to run. Rayph reached through the fetish, calling for Dissonance, the only hope they had. The presence of a holy warrior could cleanse the people here of Slinter’s domination. But Rayph realized there was no hope. Soon Trysliana would approach with a weapon and break all their hearts. Her two cousins and the man who loved her would never be able to protect themselves from her descent. Rayph wept as he realized nothing could defeat his friends except the love they felt for one woman.

  The people came in one great surge. Konnon and Glyss held out the longest. They were warriors at heart. They had fought odds like this before. But Smear was a spy. Standing shoulder to shoulder and holding back a wave of attackers was never his game. They dropped him to the ground and beat his head on the floor.

  Konnon reached down with his impossible strength and ripped Rayph to his feet.

  “Gotta run,” Konnon snapped. Glyss grunted out something before a woman crawling the ground wrapped her arms around his feet and squeezed. He was tied up and dropped like a stone. Konnon was taking hits. He could not fight them all back and carry Rayph at the same time.

  “You can’t save me!” Rayph screamed. “You have to get Glyss and get out of here. Think of Bree,” Rayph said. But a crowd already stood above Glyss, pounding on him silently.

  Slinter came closer. She shoved her way through the mob and stood over Rayph as Konnon was ripped to the ground.

  “Now you will watch as the things you love are butchered before you and—”

  A gong sounded nearby. Slinter closed her eyes and opened them again. She spoke, but the words came out a mumbled mess. The gong rang again, and her eyes rolled and twisted in her sockets, crossing and sliding unhindered in her skull.

  The men and women around them stopped moving. Slinter barked out a laugh and the gong resonated again. The demoness dropped to the floor and Trysliana stood behind her. She lifted an iron skillet above her head and brought it down again on Slinter. Rayph watched, fascinated as Trysliana lifted the pan up, over and over again, and drove it home in Slinter’s failing skull.

  When the beating had gone on long enough to turn Slinter into a distant annoyance, Trysliana shoved her way to Smear. Konnon rolled over on his back and stared up at the ceiling. Glyss crawled over to a table and grasped and climbed his way to his feet to drink from a stranger’s mug.

  “A frying skillet,” Rayph said. “Smear, she out did us with a frying skillet!” But when Rayph turned his head, he saw Smear and Trysliana kissing as if for the last time. Rayph realized his best friend had fallen deeply in love.

  A Mad Plan

  Rayph stepped out of the Mud Puddle and pulled back the cowl on his cloak. From behind, Konnon kicked him down the stairs and out into the street. Konnon laughed under his breath and Rayph whispered, “Could you enjoy this more?”

  Konnon laughed again. “Gotta make it look good, right?”

  Rayph shoved away his grin and concentrated on the hands. Glyss had tied them well. Without his magic, there would be no freeing himself. He felt helpless, but shoved it away to think about other things.

  The sun felt good as it caressed his face, and he realized, for weeks now, he had been hidden under his hood. The world seemed bigger, brighter, and as he looked at the face of the man across the street, he smiled when that face opened wide in surprise. The man stared at him. Then he ran off, and Rayph laughed.

  Rayph moved through the people, as Glyss pulled him along from a leash they had fastened around Rayph’s neck. Glyss tugged it every now and then, and snarled back at Rayph when he thought it would look good. Rayph decided it looked a little too convincing, and he fought back a ripple of fear that radiated through his body.

  When Shalimarie had been snatched, the games had closed down, the contests ended, and the city had gone into a quiet reserve. The city had mourned her as word passed through the people as to who had taken her. But that shadow had lifted from the face of Song. The people had their daughter back, and the city had risen in celebration. Rayph entered the gardens with a slight nod to the guards waiting at the gate. They waved back at him, though they looked at one another with a questioning glance as he was led away.

  Rayph smelled the turkey legs being sold by a vendor and decided he should have eaten before letting the plan begin. He tried to shove the smell from his mind and kept walking as Konnon kicked him again.

  Glyss stopped long enough to take his shot in an archery game. He cut the rope with the arrow, dropping the paint on the man’s head, while everyone looked shocked at his ability. The crowd saw Rayph as Glyss grabbed the leash again and tugged it violently. Rayph’s name whispered from every mouth as they walked deeper into the gardens.

  The crowd behind Rayph grew, and he smiled. He wondered which of them hated him and which would weep at the things they would see. He tried to guess as more and more of them joined the mob, but he found their faces too pleasant. He realized these were good people. He could not imagine any of them deriving joy from the suffering that lay just ahead, and he tried to shake off the fear that raced through him.

  The crowd behind him was immense now, and he could hear their footsteps as they followed. Many were speaking loud. Voices rose in anger. Fear collected in Rayph’s gut and shoulders, bringing a painful tightening to his spine. He fought to push it back down, but it possessed him, and he soon regretted his plan. He could still go back. One word would send him flying into the air. He could race from the city and make for Ironfall. He could leave all this madness behind and gather his strength for the next hunt.

  But he wasn’t finished yet. There remained one villain alive in the city. He had a responsibility to finish it right. He cried out when the first stone hit him. The blow came in from behind, and he stumbled, almost losing his feet. Konnon turned and hissed, ripping his swords from their sheaths. Rayph heard the name ‘Konnon Crillian’ being whispered, and the attacks stopped.

  Glyss pulled him along violently and jerked him on through the gardens.

  There was a fist in his hair, and a kick from a hard boot landed in his back. More stones struck him and more people surged around him. Konnon raged and pulled his weapons, swinging at a few people and roaring. The citizens around them drew back, but grew closer again as they continued their march.

  With the mausoleum growing in the distance, the crowd’s scream grew to such cacophony Rayph could not think. He watched the illusions of the battling tourney wizards, and he tried to make sense of what looked like a whale devouring a massive hound. Both illusions turned to face him, and Rayph was soon carried out into the fighting arena and tossed at the foot of the grandstand. He landed hard on his knees and palms and pushed himself back. He brushed back his hair and raised his gaze to Phomax.

  The king took to his feet and stared wide-eyed at Rayph. His expression was one of wonder and surprise, and Rayph realized that, for one comic moment, the king had nothing to say. He smiled at Phomax and waved.

  “Lovely day,” Rayph said, and Glyss
backhanded him. The king stood and stormed to the edge of the stand and stared down in disbelief.

  “You!” he said. He shook his head and shook it again. “You’re here? You came to me like this?”

  Rayph nodded and smiled. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  Medey stepped to the edge of the stand and placed a hand on Phomax’s shoulder. Both men seemed shocked, wondering at what could possibly be happening. Rayph looked to the rest of the stand, to Thomas, who stood now, staring with thoughtful eyes, also clearly wondering.

  Thomas knows no two men could have brought me in. He knows I could have escaped them. Konnon and Glyss did not even bind my mouth. Thomas knows I am not crazy, no matter how insane my current actions are. He knows I’m up to something, and he can’t see it.

  He looked at the queen, who whispered to Dran in urgent tones. Dran’s hard face was as readable as a stone or a cliff. She stared with no expression.

  Sabrar watched quietly, his eyebrow lifting slightly.

  You would, too, wouldn’t you? You would blast a path for me through this crowd and set me free if I simply nodded at you. Rayph shook his head ever so slightly, and Sabrar crossed his arms and studied Rayph.

  Shalimarie, still gripping her puppy, stared at him before turning and speaking to Thomas. The two talked, and Thomas placed his hand on Shalimarie’s arm. The girl went silent, and Rayph looked to Kristla.

  The Red stared shocked. She stepped forward, moving to Phomax’s ear. She whispered harshly in his ear, but the king seemed not to notice any words she might be saying.

  “What are you doing here?” Phomax asked. His voice was a bit too loud, a bit too confident, and Rayph winced. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

  “We have brought the villain in and expect our money,” Konnon said. “Pay us now, or we will release him and see if you can hold him.”

  Medey looked down at Konnon and Glyss, with rage so great as to be a thing of myth. Medey knew they were friends of Rayph. This betrayal incensed him, and Rayph knew that, if allowed, Medey would gut them both where they stood. He looked at Rayph, who shook his head. Medey pulled back, his expression a mask of puzzlement and confusion.

  “You will be paid,” the king said. He looked as angry with Konnon and Glyss as Medey.

  “I am a wanted man,” Rayph said to Phomax. “Pay my captors and do your worst.” He looked up at Phomax. An entire conversation played out right there, words being spoken and questions being asked, before Phomax smiled a devil’s smile and nodded.

  “Seize him!” he screamed. “Pay these…” Phomax stared at Konnon and Glyss, then shook his head, “…noble men, and send them away.”

  Medey was talking, but Phomax was not listening. Medey looked to Rayph, then to Sabrar. The dark mage shook his head and Medey crossed his arms over his chest and stepped aside. He seemed to wish for his spear, to long for something to fight, but this was not his fight.

  The queen held a kerchief to her face, blotting her eyes. Rayph hated the look on her face, but he did not stare for long. He made sure not to ask her anything with his eyes.

  Phomax stormed down the stairs and stopped before Rayph. He pulled his sword and gripped it with two hands. His face seemed bewildered as he held the blade high above Rayph’s throat, and he screamed.

  A hand gripped the king’s wrist. Rayph looked to the intruder, seeing Dissonance stop the king. Phomax jerked his arm back in horror at being touched, and Dissonance bowed her head.

  “Cor-lyn-ber respectfully asks for a trial for this man and a sentencing. An execution in this fashion would look to the god as a murder. The church does not wish for that taint to stain the king.” With that said, Dissonance bowed her head and stepped away. Her part had been played, her lines spoken. She did not make eye contact with Rayph as she pulled away. Rayph looked up at Phomax, who actually looked relieved. Rayph clenched his jaw and shook his head.

  “How about it then? A trial? Will you be civilized about my death, son of Pax, or will you be a brute as I have always known you to be?”

  Phomax screamed in fury before turning his back and stomping away. “He will sit the dungeons this night!” Phomax stated. “I will decide his fate after hearing his testimony tomorrow.”

  “What dungeons will I sit?” Rayph asked. “Song has sealed her dungeons forever, a move made in a great show of justice many generations back. Will you house me in the jails of Tyr, the god of Justice? Will you let the judges of Tyr decide my fate?”

  “Your life belongs to me, not some priest judge. My word is law of this land. If I have not a dungeon to chain you in, it will be a stable or a closet. Someplace uncomfortable, someplace where you will suffer indignity and pain.”

  Rayph looked to Konnon and Glyss being led away to get their pay, and he smiled. He approved of the plans Konnon had made for the money. He thought of the good it would do, and was pleased by his own choice. He looked back at the king and nodded as Phomax walked away. Rayph was grabbed and jerked to his feet. The guards beat him with the flats of their blades until he could not stand, and the crowd seemed divided by the sport.

  Some of the people howled in glee, screaming for more abuse and spitting at Rayph. But many of the people of Song stared, weeping as Rayph was beaten and shamed.

  Rayph fumed as one of the guards pissed on him. The words of the spells that would rip the man to bits ran through Rayph’s mind as hot urine splashed his chest and neck. He stared into the man’s eyes and bit back the power that rested just within his reach. The stench of the urine clung to him no matter how the wind blew, and his face was streaked red with shame as he was dragged to the castle.

  The hooded face of Smear flashed in the crowd. Rayph saw unspilled tears in his friend’s eyes, and he looked away.

  They reached the castle and dragged Rayph into the stables. They led him into one of the stalls and chained him to the walls. He dropped to the ground, fighting to regain his wits. He needed to settle down. He needed a minute to calm himself. Too much power rested within his grasp to let his emotions carry him away. He slipped to a seat and closed his eyes. Calm returned, and he kept his mind relaxed. He needed one more thing. They had yet to think of it. If they failed to, then all was lost. He needed them to remember how powerful he was. If he had to show them, he would. Maybe the pissing guard would come back for a second drain? Rayph decided then that if he did, Rayph would make an example of him.

  He woke a scant few hours later to the feeling of something hot and heavy slamming his legs. He looked up to see horse dung being shoveled in on him. The guards watching him filled his stall with shit in an effort to make no place for him to rest. As Rayph struggled to his feet, the piles filled the stall until only the spot where he stood was clear of dung. They laughed at him, took up their posts at a table, and began rolling dice.

  Rayph picked at the idea of reducing them to cinders. But his pissing friend was not there yet, and he decided to wait in case the man showed up.

  A few hours later, the guards snapped to attention as Medey stomped into the stable. He growled at them, waved his hand, and they ran.

  “What in the hells has gotten into you?” he said. “This is the most insane thing I have ever seen. They have given me this to bind to you!” Medey said. He held up a collar bearing a large pearl of Cin-ci-dal. Rayph smiled, feeling a great weight roll off his shoulders.

  “Well, I guess the pissing guard lives then,” Rayph said.

  Medey scowled and shook his head. “This makes no sense to me, Rayph. Tell me what is going on.”

  “Do you want to help?” Rayph asked.

  “I don’t know. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  “I want no part of that. Let me tell you this, if that man tries to kill you again, I will not hold myself back as I did today.”

  Rayph leaned closer. “You have to. You have to let him kill me if he wants to.”

  “What are you saying? This nation needs you, Rayph Ivoryfist. You are ou
r national hero. This country forgot how to run without you a long time ago. How long have you been with us now?”

  “Ten thousand years.”

  “Ten thousand years of one steady hand aiding and directing the course of this nation. Tell me to break you out of here, and I will do it. I will snap these chains they have put you in, give you a horse and a pack, and send you out. Tell me not to put this thing on you, and I will do that, too.”

  “I need you to put that on me. Secure it to my neck.”

  Medey looked at Rayph as if he had lost all rationale, then he shrugged his shoulders and fastened the bind around Rayph’s neck. He locked it into place and pulled back.

  “Well, now you are helpless. They have taken it all from you, and you are incapable of breaking yourself free.”

  “They have not taken it all from me, Titus. I have given it away.”

  “Don’t ask me to watch you die tomorrow.”

  Rayph said nothing. Medey stayed long enough to scream at the guards and order them to clean up Rayph’s stall, and Rayph settled in for a long night.

  An Expected Guest

  They dragged him in chains, before a mob of onlookers, to the courtyard of the Song castle. Rayph was set on his knees in rags before the throne, where Phomax sat steaming. The king looked to have been up all night. His face was curled in a knot of exhaustion and his body seemed sapped of rest. The queen sat beside him. She looked to have been up all night weeping. Her maidens had brought her to a shine with her perfect hair, her immaculate dress, and her flawless face, but they could not erase the swollen eyes that spoke of worry and sorrow.

  Thomas was present. Beside him sat Shalimarie, who hugged her dog and wept. Thomas held her tenderly, his face held in tight check as he looked upon his tutor and confidant. Mandrake hovered beside Thomas, his face screwed up in rage, his hands curled into fists.