Backing off, he eyed the warlord with new respect. The man’s movements were unnaturally fast, fast enough they had to be enhanced by ascard. He faced a warrior adept like himself, someone who used ascard to boost his ability in combat. The thought brought a thrill of anticipation with it as well as a touch of dread. This fight would be a true challenge.
The next attack Yiloch evaded at the last second with a touch of extra ascard speed. He spun back and his blade missed the warlord’s right arm by a small fraction. This time the warlord backed away. Now he understood Yiloch used the same methods and his expression turned thoughtful. After a moment, he gave the slightest nod, then smiled and charged. Yiloch swapped himself with the ascard in the air behind the warlord, but when he reappeared, the warlord was already facing him and Yiloch barely deflected the blade, the edge cutting a shallow gash in his thigh.
Frustration blasted through him and he attacked. Holding on to the power to speed his movements, he charged in on the warlord with a flurry of strikes, catching the blade deep in the biceps of the other man’s right arm before he managed to predict and block the rest of the attacks. The warlord reeled back and glared, pain twisting his expression as he switched arms with his weapon. He attacked fast, the blood that soon ran down Yiloch’s sword arm showing that he used the weapon proficiently with either hand.
They engaged again and again and Yiloch drew blood several more times, but his own wounds were increasing in number faster than his opponent’s and his sword arm was growing heavy. Pain, the general loss of blood, and the fatigue of using ascard were all starting to tell on him and none of his own soldiers had managed to breach the circle yet, assuming they even realized what was going on amidst the chaos of the fighting. The odds looked less favorable with every passing moment.
The warlord swept in again, his attack high this time. Yiloch moved himself into a new space, but his reaction time was slowing. He backed away again with a deep cut along his jaw. Warm blood streamed down his neck and under his armor to mix with his sweat. With the mass of fighting bodies around them, direction became confused and a grey haze now threatened at the corners of his vision. The warlord was weakening as well, but all his stumbles meant was that Yiloch had barely enough time to block his attacks. The attacks themselves were still stronger and faster than he could manage in return.
Lightheaded and dizzy, Yiloch staggered. The warlord lunged, his cruel smile hinting that he expected this to be the end of their fight. Yiloch lifted his sword. Too slow. Much too slow. Something struck him from the side and knocked him out of the line of attack. He hit the ground, the churned earth grinding into the gash in his arm. The impact and pain stunned him. Before he could recover, the warlord hit the ground in front of him. The man’s black eyes stared into his without expression. Blood gushed from a long gash that ran down from the edge of his jaw on the left to his collarbone on the right, laying his throat open.
A dark hand moved into Yiloch’s line of sight, offering assistance. Fighting dizziness, Yiloch followed the arm up with his eyes to find a familiar face hovering over him.
Suac Chozai.
There was a distant sting of wounded pride as he realized the other man had finished the job for him, that he had been unable to defeat the warlord alone. Too weary to care for long, Yiloch accepted the hand. It would take far too much time to struggle to his feet alone. The strength in the grip was reassuring. The suac had a shallow gash across his chest just below the collarbone, but appeared otherwise unharmed. Moving slow so as not to worsen the lightheadedness he felt, Yiloch looked around them.
Kudaness warriors surrounded them, fighting with the savage intensity that made them such feared opponents. Even the Grey warriors seemed stunned by their ferocity. A young Grey warrior shoved his way into the circle, dodging attacks with surprising agility and Yiloch tightened his grip on his sword. The man looked down to the body of the warlord lying at Yiloch’s feet with a pained expression. Turning away, he let out a hoarse cry. More warriors picked up the cry and it gained momentum fast, spreading through the rest of the Grey army. The sounds of steel clashing faded as the remaining Grey warriors knelt and placed their weapons on the ground in apparent surrender. With the Grey warriors kneeling down, Yiloch saw that there were as many dark Kudan warriors on the field now as there were pale-skinned Lyran soldiers. More perhaps.
He offered a tight smile of gratitude to the suac and instantly regretted it for the resulting pain and the surge of fresh blood running from the wound on his jaw.
“I thought you predicted that my empire would fall,” he said, grimacing as more blood ran from the wound, soaking the collar of his undershirt. How much of the moisture he felt against his skin was his own blood? More than was good, that much was certain. He leaned on his sword in an effort to appear steadier than he was.
Chozai shrugged. “It turns out that there are some things in this world that can change prophecy. Things the gods do not always show us.”
“Like what?” he rasped.
“Like Indigo un Ani,” Chozai replied, a flicker of amusement shinning deep in his copper eyes.
A flood of relief made Yiloch’s head spin and he caught the stabilizing arm Suac Chozai offered him.
“Is she all right?”
Chozai answered him with a chastising scowl. The moment seemed to stretch for eons as Yiloch struggled against the darkness at the edges of his vision. Around them, there were still lingering cries, the sound that appeared to declare surrender for the Grey Army. He didn’t know exactly why they had given up, though the sudden loss of so many adepts and the arrival of the Kudaness had certainly put them at a disadvantage. Steel still clashed in a few places, but a familiar cry rose up from his own people now. Victory. The sound made him feel a little stronger, even with blood running from his many wounds sucking away his strength. His people had won. Lyra was still his.
Chozai glanced toward the woods and said, “She is at least as well off as you are.”
That wasn’t extremely comforting given that he felt as though he’d been trampled by a herd of horses, but at least she was alive.
“My lord.”
Yiloch turned toward the call, staggering like a drunk despite his cautious movements, and saw Lyran soldiers and Kudaness warriors parting to make way for Hax. Another soldier rode alongside her, leading Tantrum behind him. He could only vaguely remember when he had lost the stallion at this point. He took the offered reins and leaned against the sweaty animal.
“My lord, you look dreadful.”
Yiloch chuckled weakly. He could imagine how he looked, bleeding from myriad wounds and struggling to remain upright. Hax was flushed, her hair soaked with sweat and a fair amount of blood in evidence, though he couldn’t tell how much, if any, of it was hers. He closed his eyes for a moment and the ground lurched beneath him. He snapped them open again.
“Your wounds need attention,” Hax stated, her firm tone telling him she would drag him to that attention if he resisted. “Ceryn will accompany you back to the palace. I can manage things here.”
He wanted to argue, but he knew he didn’t have the strength to. With a slight nod, he turned to Tantrum. Chozai stabilized him with a discreet hand as he pulled himself into the saddle.
“I need to see her,” he said, giving the suac a hard stare once he was settled.
Chozai nodded. “There is much to discuss. You will receive us this evening. If she is ready, I will bring her.”
Yiloch hesitated. The evening was still so far away.
“Go, my lord, or you won’t be receiving anyone this evening,” Hax prompted, her voice tight with sympathy, but unyielding.
Yiloch nodded and turned Tantrum toward the palace. The Grey warrior who had initiated the call to surrender met his eyes for an instant and then bowed low, touching his head to the ground. The frustration of not being able to understand the gesture fully only made his head spin more, but he managed to sit straight in the saddle. No one who saw him would know how much eff
ort it took to stay astride the big stallion. Blood continued to run unchecked from his wounds and each step Tantrum took made the world swim in his vision. The ride to the palace took an eternity. Once there, he slid from the saddle with none of his usual grace. With the first step toward the doors, the world spun. His gut spun with it and someone caught him as his legs gave out.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The usual elation and relief of victory evaded Adran. Physical, mental and emotional exhaustion had all taken their toll on him. The fear that Yiroth would fall and that Yiloch might not escape in time after he had only just returned had twisted him into thousands of knots of tension. Every muscle in his body taut with anxiety. Now the fear began to fade, leaving behind a painful mess of fatigued muscles and frayed nerves.
The soldier who came to the docks a short time ago with word of the battle’s end had consented to escort the Lady Auryl and her family back to the palace in his stead. Adran assured them he would follow soon, insisting that he must first collect the names of the many captains who were in a position to suffer losses as a result of having their ships commandeered for evacuation purposes. They had to be swiftly and adequately compensated, so he had gathered his list. Then he took a few minutes to lean against a building and appreciate his ability to breathe again.
Yiloch was home. The enemy was defeated. Leryc was safe and alive and busy helping Hax. There was hope for a return to normalcy or whatever passed for such in this life.
There had been no good end in sight for this battle. The destruction of the barrier, which took down most of the Grey Army’s adepts with it, and the arrival of the warriors from Kudan were both unexpected. Without those things, they would have suffered an ugly defeat. However, neither event had actually ended the battle. According to reports, the Grey Army had surrendered the moment Yiloch killed their warlord. At best guess, it was some rigid battle protocol, perhaps founded in religious beliefs, that led them to surrender upon the defeat of their leader. Given the language barrier, guesses were all they had at this point.
The soldier said Yiloch suffered numerous injuries in his fight with the Grey warlord, but nothing that was life threatening now that he was receiving proper treatment. Many other wounded were being tended and the Kudaness were helping round up and contain the remaining warriors of the Grey Army until they could figure out what to do with them. There would be negotiations with the Kudaness after the enemy was satisfactorily contained. That kind of help never came for free. There would be some price. Still, with Yiloch injured, negotiations would have to wait for a while.
Adran took a deep breath, pushed away from the wall, and began his trek back to the palace to see how he could be of service and visit the coffers. He had promised immediate recompense to one captain who had been ready to set sail when they boarded his ship and started unloading cargo to make space for passengers. Most importantly, he needed to go see for himself how Yiloch was doing.
The soldier who came to the docks in search of him hadn’t known how the barrier came down, but Adran had his suspicions. None of Yiloch’s adepts had that kind of power. If he were right, would she be there when he arrived, tending to Yiloch? From the sounds of things, the emperor could use a healer’s care. Then again, after such a feat, it was more than likely that she wouldn’t have the strength left to help anyone. Perhaps she would be lying next to the emperor receiving treatment as well.
Somehow that possibility made him smile. No matter how or why she had wronged him, Indigo had, in his opinion, proven her love for Yiloch.
What he found in the palace entry and main halls was a wild flurry of activity. Those soldiers who weren’t rushing around with the intense looks of men and women fulfilling important duties were standing watch over the many nobles and merchants who hadn’t yet returned to their homes. Palace servants scurried about seeing to the needs of the soldiers and civilians both. All had a glow of relief in their eyes. Young noblemen and women were flirting and laughing to settle their nerves while the politically inclined nobility postured amongst their peers as though it were intended to be a political gathering of some kind. Already, they were trying to put the events behind them.
Adran huffed at the noise and bustle while he waved down a harried looking servant. The young woman, stray wisps of brunette hair that had escaped from her tight bun creating a halo around her flushed face, altered her course toward him. Brushing a strand away from her mouth, she bowed, her eyes never actually focusing on him. He suspected she was running through a list of things she needed to do in her head. She looked distressed enough that he almost apologized for bothering her before he reminded himself that it was part of her job to deal with this kind of thing.
“How can I help you, my lord?”
“I need to know where Emperor Yiloch is being tended.”
Relief lit her eyes at the prospect of something she could take care of quick and painlessly. She nodded once and pointed to a hallway at one end of the room. “Down there. Second door on the right. You can probably still follow the trail of blood. We’ve cleaned most of it up, but we’ve not made it down that hall yet.”
It chilled Adran that the room she sent him to was the same room Yiloch had kept his father’s body in for a few days after he had killed the man. Why, of all the rooms in the palace, had they chosen to tend him in that one? It was no better suited to medical treatment than so many others were. Then again, it would probably appeal to Yiloch’s sense of ironic humor that they were using the same room for him.
As she had indicated, there was still a smeared trail of blood running from the end of the hall to the door. Stepping to one side of the grisly mess, Adran knocked twice and walked in without waiting for an answer. The attendant who had been coming to answer took a quick step back out of his path. Adran left him to shut the door and walked to where Yiloch lay on a narrow bed on top of several layers of bloodied linens. His eyes were closed and his face ashen, but his breathing was steady. A woman was carefully stitching a long gash along his jaw while another surgeon, this one an elderly man, sat stitching a deep wound in one arm. Several other wounds had already been tended and still another man was holding pressure on a wound in one thigh.
Adran winced, resisting the desire to touch him, to feel the warmth and the pulse that would prove he was alive rather than relying on the faint rise and fall of his chest. There was a peculiar twist of disappointment that Indigo wasn’t there. Had she been the one to take down the barrier or had someone else figured it out? And why was Yiloch unconscious through this process? If he had simply blacked out from loss of blood, shouldn’t the pain of the stitching have woken him?
The three working on Yiloch ignored Adran. They were very intent on their work, so he turned to a young man seated at the foot of the bed. It appeared that he was only watching at first glance, though the inward focus suggested more.
“How is he?” he asked in a whisper, trying not to jar any of them from their work.
The young man stirred as though waking and his pale lavender eyes flickered to Adran with a flash of irritation. Then recognition lit his eyes and his face warmed with a welcoming smile.
“Lord Captain Adran,” he greeted. “Emperor Yiloch will be fine. He’s lost a lot of blood. Some of those wounds were very deep, but it will all heal. Have a seat.” He gestured to the bench he was sitting on.
Surprised by the warm reception, Adran accepted the seat. From here, he had all too good a view of the wound on Yiloch’s jaw and he pressed his lips together with concern. Such a scar marring those perfect features would not please him when he woke.
The young man seemed to read his thoughts. “Don’t worry. Lerana’s very good. The scarring will be minimal.”
“Yes, well, that’s minimally comforting to hear,” Adran returned wryly. “Why doesn’t he wake?”
The young man chuckled softly. “Because I won’t let him.”
Adran shifted his seat to look at the youth. Pale, elegant features and long silver-blue hair tied
back in a tail attested to strong Lyran heritage, though something in the strong brow hinted at a little bit of mixed blood. His focus was intent on Yiloch. Adran followed his gaze to the still figure on the bed and grimaced. How he yearned to do something more than watch. He envied the young man and the surgeons the skills that allowed them to help their emperor.
“Are you a healer?”
“Not at all. I grew up in a bad part of Tunsdal—”
“I didn’t know there were any good parts,” Adran interrupted.
The youth chuckled again and continued. “I learned at an early age that finding a way to use ascard to put thugs and thieves to sleep rather than killing them outright got me into a lot less trouble. Turns out the skill has other uses too.” He indicated Yiloch with a wave of one hand.
“So it would seem.”
“I’m Adept Ryn,” he glanced at Adran, offering an encouraging smile. “I promise you, Emperor Yiloch won’t only come through this fine, but he won’t feel any of this pain.”
“Thank you,” Adran murmured.
He stayed there silent for a long time watching Yiloch breathe. His breathing was slow and even, suggesting that he really didn’t feel any of the pain of their ministrations. That was comforting at least. He wasn’t going to wake in a good temper though. If Adran hurried out to the docks now with the compensation for the one captain, he should be back in time to help the emperor when he woke. “I’ll leave you all to your work. Take good care of him.”
Ryn smiled. “We promise.”
Adran nodded. Yiloch was in the best possible hands for now. “Thank you. If Emperor Yiloch wakes up before I’m back, tell him I went to the docks to settle some things.”
Apostate: Forbidden Things Page 18