Lies of Descent

by Troy Carrol Bucher

  Riam and Loral moved closer to the man shouting orders.

  “Section leaders to me,” the man yelled, and four regulars ran to him.

  “Rollen, take your men and protect the warehouse. Once you have it secure, take half your section and clear the walls. Dorel, take your section to the rear gate. Errin, take yours to the front. And be ready. We don’t know how many there are or what they’re up to.

  “Once the gates are secure, each of you work back toward the middle and clear out any swaugs you find. If you’re engaged by a large force, don’t be a hero. Form a line and defend until one of the other sections works their way to you and flanks them.” Three of the soldiers nodded, and the man in charge turned to the fourth, a female with cropped hair. “Valora, get the closest water barrels and blankets for the fire. There’s no saving the barracks, but you have to stop it from spreading, or we’ll lose the whole outpost.”

  The four saluted and ran to their sections where they formed. Men and women still climbed out of the windows, and the section leaders called to them.

  “First section, here!”

  “Second! Let’s go! Form up!”

  “On me, third. Time to make the swaugs pay.”

  The man in charge saw Riam and Loral. “What are you two doing here?”

  “Sir, we were going to the privy when we saw the fire.”

  “By the Fallen, I forgot the children. Valora!” The female section leader turned back toward the leader. “Take half your people and protect the children as soon as you have them ready, I’ll get the remainder working on the fire.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was another scream in the distance. The voice sounded young, and Riam had the sinking feeling that it came from where he and Loral had been sleeping.

  “Errin, hurry up and get a half-section moving to the front gate! You two,” he pointed at Riam and Loral, “stay out of the way.”

  Someone on the top floor began throwing weapons and armor out the window, and men scrambled for the equipment. Judging by what could only be deemed organized chaos, it would take some time before any of the sections moved out.

  * * *

  —

  Gairen’s heightened senses saved his life. Two knives flew toward him through the darkness, thrown by unseen hands. He slipped into the mahl-shae, and the knives slowed until they floated leisurely through the air. He avoided them both easily. The mahl-shae didn’t allow him to move any faster—momentum, speed, and strength remained unchanged—but it significantly improved his reaction and decision time.

  His could slip in and out of this state at will, as long as his weapon contained the energy it required. As if on cue, the last of the power faded, and the knives flashed past him.

  Four stripe-faced Esharii followed the knives. Two of the tribesmen held heavy, sweptback Arillian swords out in front of them. The other two carried the long, curved fighting knives the Esharii favored. One of the swordsmen came at him high, while the other came in low. They were young, but they worked like veterans who’d fought together for years. Gairen wished he still had both of his swords. He’d carried two for the majority of his life; fighting with only one felt awkward and clumsy.

  He leaped forward and to the left, angling to prevent both of the tribesmen from bringing their swords to bear at the same time. Gairen’s main advantage was in his speed and freedom, while the tribesmen were limited in the way they attacked by their numbers. The tribesman with his blade held high swung in a downward arc meant to split Gairen in half diagonally.

  Gairen sidestepped and deflected the blade. He used his momentum to spin and swing his trailing foot toward the tribesman’s front leg. He put all his strength behind the blow. The top of his foot smashed into the tribesman’s kneecap—the force shattering bone—and the Esharii pitched forward.

  Coming out of the spin, Gairen stood up straight and arched his body sideways just in time to avoid a thrust by one of the knifemen. He used his free hand to grab the tribesman’s wrist and pull him forward, then struck with his other hand. The tribesman leaned away from the blow.

  With a quick pivot, Gairen threw the tribesman face-first to the ground. He slid his sword along the man’s neck, cutting into the throat and severing the artery. Stepping backward, he brought up his sword, ready to defend or attack.

  Energy coursed through his weapon as the tribesman’s life bled out, letting him slip back into the mahl-shae. The world froze. The second swordsman was only a long-step away, coming in over the top of the Esharii with the broken knee. The remaining tribesman prepared to throw his knife. Gairen pressed his attack.

  He lowered his center and drove his sword toward the Esharii. The attack was a lightning strike, driving the blade toward the tribesman’s face in a committed thrust.

  To his credit, the warrior was quicker than Gairen expected, but with his blade too wide, he was unable to block the attack. The Esharii jerked his head back, attempting to keep his face out of reach. It did no good. The point of Gairen’s blade drove like a needle up into the soft tissue beneath the jaw until a full hand of steel passed through the roof of his mouth and into his brain.

  Before he could fall, Gairen was past the dying warrior, propelling himself at the remaining tribesman. Unfortunately, he was forced to leave his sword lodged in the previous attacker’s face. It was a maneuver he’d used many times, and if he’d been carrying two blades, it would have worked perfectly.

  Luck was with him, though. The knifeman misjudged his throw. The blade swept past Gairen’s shoulder. The two men crashed together, both weaponless.

  Chapter 12

  Gairen tried to get his weight onto his shoulder and into the Esharii’s midsection, attempting to knock the air from the warrior’s lungs when they hit the ground. The tribesman shifted his body to prevent it. The two fighters hit the ground and rolled in a cloud of dust, each fighting for a position to dominate the other. This fight wouldn’t be won with technique or finesse. This was a brawl in the dirt that would end with one of them ruined or dead. They rolled several times, coming to a stop with the tribesman on top.

  Under different circumstances Gairen might have laughed at the irony. Master Iwynd had insisted that every one of his students carry a knife at all times throughout their training, even when they bathed and slept. For six years the unforgiving master had berated them all endlessly on the importance of carrying a small blade where it was easy to reach. Gairen’s knife was back in his quarters, under his pallet.

  Without a weapon, Gairen attacked the man’s snarling face, digging and tearing at his brow and cheek and leaving long lines of torn skin and blood where his nails scraped away the green-and-black paint. His fingers sought the tribesman’s eyes. The tribesman punched wildly at Gairen’s head and neck. He blocked as many of the blows as he could, but several slipped by. He’d pay for those later.

  An Esharii curse came from somewhere nearby—the tribesman with the broken knee. On your back, weaponless and pinned next to a building was not the ideal technique for fighting two enemies at once. He fought harder to get at the tribesman’s eyes, to end the struggle before the other could join the fight. His efforts were rewarded. There was a pop, and fluid splashed down his wrist and arm when he forced his thumb deep into the man’s eye socket.

  The Esharii reared back, screaming. The point of a narrow blade emerged from his chest. The tribesman’s cry dwindled to silence, and he crumpled. Master Iwynd stood behind him.

  “You know,” his old instructor said in the same irritating voice of Gairen’s youth, “it’s a lot easier if you keep your sword in your hand.”

  Gairen shoved the dying tribesman to the side. “I vaguely remember something like that in your lessons.”

  Master Iwynd helped Gairen up. After retrieving his blade from where it was lodged in the skull of his last kill, Gairen moved to dispatch the tribesman with the damaged knee. It t
urned out there was no need—Master Iwynd had already finished him.

  “They have the children and are headed toward the front of the outpost,” Master Iwynd said.

  “Well, now we know why they burned the front wall. The new defenses are designed to keep them out, not in.”

  Master Iwynd nodded. “Four more like these ambushed me as I left my quarters. They meant to delay or kill us while the others escaped, and they knew exactly where we were.”

  “The spirit-taker?” Gairen asked.

  “He’s a strong one. Maybe even a spirit-walker, though I’ve never seen one on this side of the mountains. Before now, I’d have said that what he’s doing to block our sight was impossible—it’s incredibly dangerous.”

  “Maybe together, we can break through.”

  “Not a chance. All that power in the air has to go somewhere. It’d be like stabbing your sword into a thunderstorm. I’d rather not be around when that happens. The okulu’tan is close, though. Even if it is a spirit-walker, he can’t project that much power without being at the heart of it.”

  “I’ll stop the Esharii with the children. You find the spirit-walker.” Even in his haste, Gairen framed it as a suggestion. A warden did not order a master.

  Iwynd made a quick survey around them. “Agreed.”

  Gairen sprinted for the front gate.

  * * *

  —

  Flames from the burning barracks raged against the night sky, casting an orange glow over the half-section of regulars who fought to prevent the fire from spreading. The timbers of the burning barracks cracked and popped, throwing sparks high into the air where they boiled and churned in the smoke. Ash floated around Riam like snowflakes. The troops threw water on the rooftops of the closest buildings to prevent the sparks from catching. Others used blankets to keep the flames from spreading. Their faces shone with a thick film of sweat.

  The smoke burned Riam’s eyes and the heat pressed at his lungs, but he didn’t want to get too far from the soldiers for fear of the Esharii. As the flames grew hotter, he and Loral were forced to move farther away. There were only two regulars near them, and Riam began to think that maybe they should’ve followed one of the other sections instead of remaining behind. With only two soldiers close, Riam didn’t feel very safe.

  Something was in the air. The world felt foggy, and his head felt pressed as if he had the sweats or a clogged nose and ears from being ill, but he wasn’t sick. It was more than the stinging smoke and heat. He squeezed his nose and blew, trying to get his ears to pop. It didn’t help.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you?” Loral asked.

  “Yeah.” He made an effort to swallow and clear his throat. It was difficult. The air was so dry and smoky. “It’s like something is trying to smother us. I can feel it.”

  “Me, too,” Loral said. She kept checking around them, trying to peer into the shadows beyond the fire’s light. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Maybe we should move to where there are more soldiers?”

  The regular closest to them heard Riam. “Don’t go runnin’ off. Plenty of us around within earshot.” The words weren’t very convincing.

  Loral rolled her eyes. The man’s words held as little comfort for her as they did for Riam.

  A large spark landed on the roof of the building nearest them. It brightened instead of dying out, and the two soldiers ran to smother it. It was too high to reach from the ground, so one of the men lifted the other to the roof.

  There was no one else in sight. The pressure increased. “Come on,” he told Loral. He eased back away from the light. They continued moving until the flames and the soldiers were out of sight.

  Away from the fire, he could hear men yelling and fighting. The sound of metal striking metal came from all around them.

  “Now what?” Loral asked.

  “Well, one section was headed to the warehouse and another to the front gate. We could go to one of those two places.” Although he spoke of the troops, he was more concerned with finding Gairen or Master Iwynd.

  “What about going back to where we slept?”

  He shook his head. “I think that would be a bad idea. The Esharii are here for us.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I was attacked by the Esharii on the way here, and they took Nola. She’s the missing one you asked about. They tried to capture both of us, but Gairen saved me.”

  He heard footsteps. “Shhh.”

  They crouched in the darkness against a wall. The crunch of the steps grew louder before fading away.

  Riam felt more helpless than he had with the wasps. At least then he’d had the sword. At the thought of the blade, he used his senses to feel for it. This time he didn’t even need to close his eyes to know it was lying exactly where Gairen had touched it earlier. Either he’d left it behind, or he wasn’t moving. Riam hoped it was the first. Gairen wouldn’t be sitting in one place during an attack unless something very bad had happened.

  He didn’t know if the sword would help or not—it wasn’t like he knew how to use it—but it was better than nothing, and Gairen might still be near the weapon.

  “I know where to go.” Riam turned and ran, heading toward Gairen’s quarters. There was fighting on the wall closest to them, men yelled and swore in the darkness, and twice he and Loral were startled by regulars. One yelled at them to find a room and lock themselves inside until the attack was over.

  They reached the small building where Gairen slept. It sat in an open area, or at least as open as you could get inside a walled outpost. Riam’s heart raced. He grasped the door’s handle but hesitated before opening it. He hoped Gairen was inside, but he dreaded that something might have happened to him, that he would open the door and find the man injured or dead.

  “What are you waiting for?” Loral whispered. She was pressed close behind him. Her breath on the back of his neck sent a chill down his spine.

  I am being silly. Gairen won’t be inside. He’s fighting the Esharii. Riam pushed on the door, and it swung open. There was no one in the room. He sagged in relief. Why am I so worried about Gairen? The man can take care of himself.

  On the floor next to a pallet was the sword. Riam ran to it and scooped it up.

  “What are you doing? Everyone knows you’ll die if you try to hold a Draegoran’s sword.”

  He ignored her and held the blade up in front of him. The handle grew warm. The crystal in the hilt glowed with a soft white hue at his touch. His link to the blade opened wide, and energy coursed into him, filling him with strength. The room flared and brightened. He could see everything clearly, although it wasn’t exactly like seeing in daylight. More like early morning before the sun rose. He stared at the naked blade in the light. It sent tingles through his body. The pressure he felt earlier subsided.

  “Are you crazy?”

  Her words sounded distorted, and the room darkened and faded and then brightened again. His link to the sword swelled and ebbed. He didn’t know how to control it.

  “Put it down before it kills you!” Loral was almost frantic. She tried to knock the weapon from his hand.

  Energy rushed into him. Her hand came at him so slowly it seemed he had all the time in the world to move. He reached out with his left hand to catch her by the wrist. It seemed to take forever until he held her arm in his hand.

  “You moved so fast!” Loral said, still trying to reach for the blade with her other hand.

  “It’s all right. This sword is mine.”

  She looked from his face to the blade and back. “I don’t understand. How can you already have a sword like the Draegorans?”

  “Long story.” The world brightened and dimmed, then sped up and slowed down. Loral said something else, but he couldn’t understand it. He shook his head and concentrated on slowing the flow of energy.

&nbs
p; “Are you sure it’s safe?” Loral asked.

  Riam stared at her and almost dropped the sword in fear. Loral was a faceless shell of energy. He opened and closed his eyes several times and shook his head. A cloud hovered in the air around him, blocking his newfound vision. Reaching out, he pushed at the cloud with his mind, imagining a giant hand waving it out of the way like smoke. It swirled and lifted until suddenly he could see through the walls and buildings around him. He looked toward the front of the outpost. The faint, glowing forms of men fought near the gates and the damaged walls. A small group was trying to fight its way into the outpost against a much larger group.

  “One of the sections is fighting to hold the front,” he told her.

  “How do you—”

  “Wait.” He cut her off. There were smaller forms—the other children. They glowed more brightly, and they were being carried toward the gate. It wasn’t a small group of Esharii fighting to get in, it was a large group of Esharii fighting to get out, and they had the other children.

  He turned the other way. “Aghhh . . .” The glow from the burning barracks blinded him. He moved his hand in front of his face, but it didn’t do any good. He wasn’t looking through his eyes. A flare of light in another direction caught his attention. That had to be Gairen or Master Iwynd, near the stables fighting against men on both sides of him.

  “The Esharii have the other children and—” The darkness returned and slammed into Riam’s mind like a fist. His vision turned black, and he dropped to one knee. The pressure and fog returned. The cloud thickened around him until it held his head in a vise.

  Loral was at his side, holding his shoulder. “What happened? Is it the sword? I told you the sword was dangerous.”

  “It’s not the sword. Something . . . someone hit me.” He pushed back as best as he could and struggled to his feet. He fought to regain his balance.