Nerot Scior, on the other hand, would writhe like a snake stuck on a spike. Junel had often thought impaling would be good for him. He’d use a blunt stake and let the man try to escape his doom by standing for as long as he could. Nerot would fight the tremble in his legs, buying seconds of life with sheer willpower, all the while confident his mother would be coming to his rescue. Even when his legs failed him and he slowly sank onto the stake, he would be looking for his salvation. He would die believing a deal could be struck and his wounds healed.
And Prince Cyron . . . Had there been the least chance of his escaping death, Junel would have undertaken the mission to kill the Naleni Prince himself. The challenge drew him. Slipping through the remaining Keru would have been all but impossible. While the citizens of Nalenyr might accept him as an ally because Prince Pyrust hated him, the Keru trusted no Desei regardless of pedigree. Their mothers’ milk flowed with bitter hatred for the Desei and the Keru did nothing to expand their vision of the world.
Of course, he would have had an advantage. The Prince knew of him. Prince Cyron had been concerned for his welfare after Nirati Anturasi’s death. Junel had even been promised that her killer would be found and the evil done to the both of them avenged. Junel had even offered his help, but the Prince’s ardor for catching Nirati’s killer had long since faded.
How will he accept death?
Junel suspected Cyron would not go easily into Grija’s realm. He might have once, but accepting a serious wound to mask the murder of Count Turcol had shown an aspect of him Junel had not believed was there before. They believe Cyron incapable of fighting because he’s never been forced to fight. But he is a son of the Dragon State, and a dragon without fangs or claws is still a dragon.
He looked down at little Karari. He’d drawn her hair up and away from her head so it would not get matted with blood. He wanted to take her scalp off in one piece so he could use it to form a beard for her. It struck him that that would be interesting, since she already looked so old. It would also mask the hole in her throat.
“How do you think the Prince will die, little one? Will he be as brave as you are?”
Her eyes widened, then her gaze began to flick. He thought for a moment that she might be having an allergic reaction to the tincture he was using to immobilize her voluntary muscles, but then a shadow fell over her face. When it touched her, she smiled.
He turned. The room’s thick drapes permitted no sunlight, so he’d lit several lanterns to illuminate his work. A butterfly had lighted on one, slowly beating its wings. Its placidity contrasted with the violence he’d already done to Karari and prompted him to think about her body as a cocoon and the chance for her to blossom into a beautiful creature in the afterlife.
He stared at the butterfly and was fairly certain he’d never seen its like. It was large, which made it unusual—not to mention that it was still very early in the year for butterflies. Moreover, the green-and-black markings were something he was quite certain he’d never seen before.
He swiped at it. The butterfly rose easily, eluding the blow. Being a master of vrilri, he could have killed it without much effort, but it pleased him to have a witness to his work. He’d long ago learned that butterflies can be drawn to carrion, and its presence confirmed he was working well.
Picking up one of his knives, Junel leaned forward. He reached out with his left hand to smooth the skin on Karari’s brow. He pressed the tip of the blade to her flesh and waited for a red drop to collect. He waited for the surface tension to break and for the blood to inscribe the line he would follow.
It made things so much more artistic.
But his hand jerked as something stung him in the neck. He dropped the knife and turned, clapping his right hand to his neck. He could feel a slight swelling, but knew it was nothing of significance. In fact, he was certain it meant nothing, then it occurred to him that he wasn’t stopping his turn.
His legs wrapped around each other and he sat down hard on the floor. His shoulders hit the wall and his head smacked into it hard enough to crack plaster. He felt flakes slip down his collar. He ordered his right hand to brush them away, but it fell to the floor, limp, beside him.
Junel looked up and found a tall, slender man standing beside the chest of drawers. He held the bottle of hooded viper venom and was replacing the stopper with the needle in it. The man had incredibly long fingers and hazel eyes that seemed to shift colors.
Junel tried to speak, but only managed to open his mouth.
The man nodded and his cloak closed—a cloak woven with the emerald-and-black pattern of the butterfly’s wings. “You will be wondering if I was the butterfly, or if it merely served to distract you while I entered the room through a locked door, unheard and unseen. My transformation from insect to man, despite being the more improbable of solutions, is the one you will believe. Your vanity will not allow you to accept that someone could be more skilled in the shadow arts than you are, would you, vrilcai?”
The man squatted and closed Junel’s mouth with a finger. “You’ll want to know who I am, and why I am doing this. I am Kaerinus. You know of me, the last vanyesh, the magical imbecile who lurks in Xingnakun, save when he emerges once a year to heal those who don’t have enough sense to fear him. I can heal them, you know. The blind, the lame, the diseased.”
Kaerinus glanced at Karari. “Alas, you’ve done too good a job on her. I can’t heal her.”
Though the man’s voice had a cold edge to it, Junel took pleasure at his words.
“And you have figured out, Junel Aerynnor, that I’m here to kill you. I will. I would even enjoy taking my time at it, but I haven’t much to spare. I’m meeting a friend to the south, and the sooner I arrive, the better for everyone.”
The vanyesh stood, then crouched again in a billowing of his cloak. “Oh, yes, the why of it. You killed Nirati Anturasi, and she is most dear to a friend of mine. Next time, don’t choose a victim with powerful friends.”
Kaerinus stood, then laughed. “Next time. There won’t be one. And, yes, I know the hooded viper venom isn’t fatal. Your body will recover.”
He looked at the girl. “Yes, you’ve quite broken her. I can’t fix her, but I can do this . . .”
Kaerinus gestured and light sizzled before Junel’s eyes. It poured over his face and burned into his brain. His world went black for a moment, then vision snapped back. During the time he’d been unconscious, the vanyesh had moved him.
Then, as the pain began to gnaw at him, he glanced to the right and saw his body propped up against the wall.
Junel’s eyes widened with horror.
Not my eyes, her eyes! I am now in her body, and she in mine!
“Splendid, you understand.” Kaerinus smiled. “You did very good work, vrilcai. It will take you hours to die.”
It did take him hours to die, many hours. And while pride in his work insulated Junel at the start, despair and horror claimed him at the last.
Chapter Fifty-three
2nd day, Month of the Hawk, Year of the Rat
Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
737th year since the Cataclysm
Tsatol Deraelkun, County of Faeut
Erumvirine
I could scarcely imagine a finer martial display. Though I had the sense that I’d seen it all before, I could not summon up any memory that matched what I saw from the battlements of Deraelkun. The kwajiin had drawn itself up in a broad line running from the Imperial Road to the east, paralleling the fortress’ broad front to the west. Bright banners flew, each of them with legends in precise Imperial script, and I imagined this is why I was thinking I’d seen this before. Sunlight glinted from swords and spear blades, and bamboo mantlets protected the front ranks from our archers and ballistae.
The troops defending Deraelkun, though numbering no more than four thousand—roughly a fifth of the force facing us—had raised their own banners to proclaim membership in a
military unit, a noble household or, with a few xidantzu, the schools where they had gotten their training. I actually thought our display outdid theirs, for each banner marked a hero, while most of the kwajiin wallowed in anonymity.
Still, the enemy had to take heart in the fact that they had five for our every one. Deraelkun could fall, and if the kwajiin below were half the fighters of those I’d already faced, the fortress would be lost before the day was out.
Taking it would not be a simple matter, however. The road itself curved west and ran along below the first fortress wall, and the two bridges that spanned the gaps had been drawn up. This cut the road and split the front, so that the armies would have to come in three sections. Shifting reinforcements to any one of the sections would necessitate a withdrawal and redeployment—or a deployment from so far back in the line of battle that they wouldn’t be able to advance for a critical amount of time.
The ravines that trifurcated the battlefield had been expanded so that a small island existed in the center. From the roadbed heading south, and the battlefield heading north, two narrow bridges connected the island with the fortress. This island made the center utterly impractical for attack and had long been used as a spot where warriors fought duels of honor. The center had been set with a ring of stone, and dotted outside with several small monuments to warriors who had fought and died there.
So, in reality, any advance to take Deraelkun would be heading uphill, would be divided into two parts that could not communicate with or support each other. Siege machinery could be brought up to breach the first wall at the place where the road turned to the west, but archers in the towers overlooking that point would murder the soldiers trying to break the wall.
I listened to the snap of banners in the breeze. The wind blew north, toward the fortress, bringing with it the faint stench of the vhangxi. The kwajiin had herded them to the center and would release them as a distraction. I did not think they could leap to the top of the battlements, but they might be able to scale the walls. Even though we would slay them all, they would use up arrows and demand attention at a point away from the two main assaults.
And I knew it would be assaults, two of them, coming hard and fast. The enemy leader had no other choice. If he concentrated on one wing or the other, we could mass our troops and fend him off. Along either of the two fronts we could match his strength easily. Only by engaging us along the entire front could he tax our supplies and slowly bleed us to death.
And the logic of it was not the only motivating factor he had. He was arrogant and overconfident. He’d already had reports of troops abandoning Deraelkun, heading north into Nalenyr. If we knew the defense of Deraelkun was hopeless, our morale would be low and his troops would be that much more elated. He’d not faced any strong opposition prior to this and Kelewan had fallen easily, so he had no reason to suppose his troops would not function perfectly and take the fortress without much trouble.
But, trouble he would have, and I meant to be much of it.
I descended from the battlements, taking the broad stone steps two at a time. At the base I bowed to Consina and her son. They returned my bow, then I turned toward the fortress’ central tower and bowed again. I held it deeply and long. Without a word I straightened up, turned on my heel, and marched out through the small sally port in the center of the fortress wall.
I quickly crossed the road and mounted the narrow footbridge to the island. Once there I bowed to the enemy, then turned and saluted the fortress and its defenders. A great cheer rose, then a dozen flaming arrows arced down and struck the bridge I’d crossed. It began to burn merrily.
I turned from it and entered the circle. Like many circles where duels had been fought for ages, this one had absorbed a fair amount of wild magic. The grasses in it, long-bladed and supple, were silver, and tinkled as my legs brushed them aside. I moved around toward the east so the rising sun’s reflection would not blind me. I took off my helmet and the snarling tiger mask, and set them on the circle’s white marble edge.
Looking at the kwajiin arrayed to the south, I began speaking a challenge, using the same formula and archaic words I’d heard from the first kwajiin I encountered far to the east. I kept my voice even but loud, allowing the barest hint of contempt to enter my words.
“I am Moraven Tolo, jaecaiserr. For years beyond your counting I have defended the people of the Nine. I have opposed tyranny. I have slain highborn and low-. In this spot, over a hundred and seventeen years ago, I killed the bandit Ixus Choxi. Before that I slew eighteen disciples of Chadocai Syyt, and then I killed him, ending his heresy. In the east I have slain your brethren. I led the escape from Kelewan. I do you a great honor by considering you worthy of dueling with me. I fear nothing you can send against me.”
I knew my words would slowly spread back through the kwajiin army, though I had meant them for only one pair of ears. Whether or not their leader deigned to meet me in combat was important, but my fighting others would suffice to accomplish my goal. Making his people wait meant they would become hungry and thirsty, hot and tired. Every minute I gained was a minute in which they worsened.
A kwajiin commanding the vhangxi prodded one with his sword’s wooden scabbard, then pointed at me. The beast began to gallop in my direction. Its powerful shoulder and chest muscles heaved as knuckles pounded into the ground. It didn’t even head for the bridge, but made to leap the gap and, in another jump, pounce on me.
I exhaled slowly and set myself. As I did so another mask and armor settled over me. Jaedun flowed, filling me, strengthening me, and altering the way I saw the battlefield and my enemy. Even before the beast made the first leap to the island, I knew how it would die.
I strode forward quickly, drawing the sword from over my right hip. As the vhangxi began his descent, claws raised high, mouth gaping, I reversed my grip on the sword. The blade stabbed back along my forearm, the tip touching triceps. I leaned forward, letting its left hand sweep above my head, then I twisted my wrist.
The blade’s tip caressed the vhangxi’s armpit. Blood gushed, steaming, splashing silver grass. It pulsed scarlet over the stone, spraying out in a vast arc as the vhangxi spun to face me. It took one step, arms raised, letting blood geyser into the air, then it collapsed. It clawed at the green grasses outside the circle. More blood jetted from the severed artery, then it lay still, grunting, as its huge lungs emptied for the last time.
In one fluid flash of silver, I resheathed my sword and turned to face the kwajiin again.
“Am I mistaken for a butcher that you send a beast at me? Or have you less courage and less honor than this lifeless lump?”
I had actually hoped that the kwajiin in the front rank would send several more vhangxi at me, in a group this time, but he saw the consequences of doing that. If I defeated three, he could send five, and if I killed five, he could send nine, but none of that would show his courage or honor. He had only one option.
He stepped forward and bowed. He wore the crest of the bloody skull and raised his voice for all to hear. “I am Xindai Gnosti of Clan Gnosti. I have fought for years beyond my own remembering. I have slain many here, and slew many of my kinsmen to earn the honor of leading troops . . .”
I interrupted him. “You are a beastmaster, not a warrior.”
He stared at me, startled, and faltered as faint rumblings of displeasure filtered back from the kwajiin line. He began again. “I am Xindai . . .”
Again I interrupted. “Your name, your lineage, and history bore me, herdsman. If you have courage, come, meet me.”
He drew his sword and began to run.
I turned my back on him and moved to the center of the circle as I awaited him. His footsteps thundered over the bridge. They thumped more softly as he sprinted toward the circle. They chimed metallically in the grasses, then stopped six feet from me. He leaped into the air, his sword raised high, both hands on the hilt, already bringing the blade down for the blow that would split me from crown to breastbone.
> I took a half step back. Raising my arms, I crossed my wrists and caught his wrists firmly. Bending forward, I shortened his leap’s arc and smashed him into the ground. He bounced up, grunting, but before he had hit the ground again, I tore the sword from his grip, reversed it, and stabbed it through his throat, pinning him in place.
I turned, not wanting to watch him thrash out his life, and let the din of the grasses describe his final agonies. When the ringing faded, I opened my arms and looked to the south.
“I see now why you let the beasts fight for you.” I seated myself on the circle’s edge. “Is there no one among you who is a warrior?”
More came, fifteen in all. The young came swiftly and foolishly, and died quickly. Some came cautiously and fought formally, but their fear hobbled them, and their ancient forms served only until they met an attack they had not learned how to counter. The most dangerous came nonchalantly, without a care in the world. His blade cut me beneath my right eye, and he took great delight in watching my blood flow.
So I blinded him, such that the beauty of that vision would never be eclipsed.
Finally, their army split as a wedge of banners moved forward. Tallest among them was one featuring a ram’s head; the beast seemed quite angry. Below it flew a number of pennants, each with the crest of another clan subordinated. The front ranks parted and a tall, slender man strode forward. Like me, he wore two swords and had abandoned his helmet and face mask. He came to the far end of the bridge, stepping aside so the blind warrior could stagger past, then gave me a short bow.
I decided to bow in return, deeply and respectfully. The warriors on Deraelkun’s battlements cheered.
The kwajiin shook his head. “I am Gachin Dost. This is my army.”
“I am Moraven Tolo. I do not need an army.”
My enemy smiled slowly. “I know what it is that you are trying to do.”
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