Despite Sir Remmik’s powerful attack, the Akkad-Ur had drawn first blood. His blade flashed past Remmik’s and the Knight staggered hack with blood running down from a slash across his thigh. He regained his balance just in time to avoid a lunge by the Akkad-Ur, who came after him grinning like a wolf. Sir Remmik waded back into the fight, followed by the cheers and insults of the watching Tarmaks.
Soon Linsha noticed both combatants were sweating in the heat of the morning, and both looked like they were tiring. Their swings were slower and less controlled. Their tactics became more brutal. When their swords locked, they used fists and elbows to punch and hit. Sir Remmik lashed out his foot and kicked the big Tarmak in the back of the knee, bringing the warrior down. When he tried to follow through with a powerful swing meant to cut his foe in half, the Akkad-Ur locked both feet around the Knight’s and tripped him into the dust. They rolled away from each other, spitting dust and blood.
The Akkad-Ur sprang back to his feet, all arrogance forgotten, and brutally assaulted Sir Remmik with his sword, forcing the smaller man backward with sheer brute size and strength. Sir Remmik barely avoided slamming into the one of the guards and managed to duck under the Akkad-Ur’s arm long enough to cut him on the ribs. Now both foes were bleeding, and the excitement of the watching Tarmaks had reached a fever pitch.
The fight went on in a dust-stirring, swirling chaos of attacks and counterattacks until the Tarmak’s advantage began to show. Sir Remmik was on the defensive now and bleeding from several wounds. The fury and agility he had shown earlier was gone, and in its place was a second strength born of desperation. Pressing, he lunged again, but his aim was off and the Akkad-Ur slammed his blade aside. The Akkad-Ur moved in close and punched the hilt of his sword into Sir Remmik’s face. Blood spurted from the Knight’s nose and lip, his head snapped back, and he staggered. Stunned as he was, still he kept a grip on his sword. He jammed the point into the ground and used it to prop his weight while he twisted sideways and kicked the Akkad-Ur just below the breastbone. The Tarmak, already off balance and weary, did not have quite enough strength to force his body away from the blow. It landed solidly on his torso and drove the air from his lungs. He fell to the ground, gasping for air.
Sir Remmik summoned his last vestiges of his will, raised his sword, and rammed the point into the Tarmak’s chest, seating it between the ribs with his final strength.
A look of pained surprise contorted the Akkad-Ur’s face. He shuddered once and jerked in the throes approaching death. His breathing stilled; his muscles collapsed. His arms and legs sank down to the sand as his body relaxed into lifelessness.
Exhausted and trembling in every limb, the Knight Commander sank to his knees and leaned his weight on the upright sword. The Tarmaks stopped in mid-shout. A long and terrible silence enclosed the square.
The Akkad-Ur was dead.
24
The Betrayer
Only a moment passed after Sir Remmik’s sword stabbed the Akkad-Ur before Linsha reacted. Darting from Lanther’s side, she shoved between two surprised guards and snatched up the Akkad-Ur’s large sword to defend her fellow Knight. The sword was so long for her that she had to use both hands to hold it, but she did not hesitate to stand over Sir Remmik and raise the sword between her and the Tarmaks. Sir Remmik and the warriors stared at her.
Horns blared a frantic call nearby, shattering the stunned silence. Tarmak voices exploded in fury and alarm, for the watching Tarmak warriors had hardly expected this man to defeat their general. Weapons in hand, they shouted in loud, brutal voices and charged Linsha and Sir Remmik.
A strange voice shot like the crack of a whip over the uproar and stopped the warriors in their tracks. They glared and stamped and grumbled their frustration, but they held their places and did not advance closer to the two humans.
Linsha gripped the sword harder. She could not see over the taller Brutes, so she did not know who had spoken the command, yet she had the oddest feeling she had heard that voice before-in the dark and the rain, echoing thunder and lanced with pain. Her skin prickled and the hairs raised on the back of her neck. Keeping her eyes on the bloodlusting warriors, she gave Sir Remmik a hand up and stood at his back while he pulled his sword free. Together they waited for the next move.
The voice snapped another order in the Tarmak language, and the guards reluctantly made way for a man to walk through. Not a Tarmak. A man. A very familiar man.
Linsha’s sword point fell, to the ground. She froze, pinned by disbelief. Like an animal caught in a trap, she watched Lanther walk into the cleared space. The limp was gone. The slouch vanished. With the agility of an actor changing costumes, he threw off the countenance of the quiet, crippled Legionnaire and became something very different, something very dangerous. She lifted her eyes to his and saw a strange cold glint in their blue depths, a light she had never seen before. It made her think of glaciers, of ice so cold and dense it hid most of its frozen bulk beneath the surface of the water. Linsha began to shake.
“You,” she groaned.
Sir Remmik drew himself up to his full height. “Now I see the truth,” he said in the tones of a man who knows he is about to die.
Lanther did not reply at first. He knelt by the head of the dead Akkad-Ur and cut off one the general’s braided lengths of hair. The warriors watched him avidly, ready to spring on the humans at the man’s least command. But he only bowed his head sadly for a moment in respect for the dead Akkad-Ur, then rose to his feet, his hand still clutching the braid of hair.
“It has taken you long enough, Remmik,” he said. “And still you only know half the truth.”
“Who are you?” Linsha asked in a daze.
First Mariana was murdered and now Lanther, her trusted friend, revealed himself to be an enemy. Her mind could hardly deal with such blows.
His lips lifted in a cold smile. “I am Lanther Darthassian, son of Bendic Darthassian, who served as Lord Ariakan’s ambassador and liaison to the emperor of the Tarmak empire.”
“You’re not a Legionnaire then,” she said, her thoughts whirling in confusion.
He laughed. Standing straight with his shoulders thrown back and his head held high, he stood taller than many men, but not quite as tall as most of the Tarmaks. When he pulled his lank hair back out of his face and tied it behind his head with a strip of leather, his entire expression turned more harsh and arrogant.
“Of course I am a Legionnaire. I was once a Knight of Neraka, as well. Long enough to learn the arts of the dark mystics, long enough to realize the Knights of my father’s day no longer existed. They are weak and ruled by a greedy, self-centered clerk. So I joined the Legion. They are not so rigid, so suspicious.”
Linsha felt a flicker of anger ignite in her head that burned away some of the confusion. Her eyes narrowed as she thought about what he had said, and had not said, and the truth became bitterly apparent.
“You are the spy who helped the Tarmaks.”
Lanther lifted one eyebrow.
“You are the spy we have been looking for all along.”
Sir Remmik stared at her, but she ignored him, focusing on the friend who had suddenly become a cold-blooded stranger, a stranger who betrayed Iyesta and her city and who leaked information that led to the massacre of hundreds of people. Again, Lanther agreed.
Linsha felt the betrayal like a knife in her gut. How could she not have seen it? He had been lying to her for a year and half and she never caught on. Never even suspected! What a fool she had been. She had given him her friendship, her trust, and her help. The only thing she had not given was her love. At least she had not fallen for him like Ian. Gods, would she ever learn? Images of their time spent together ran through her head, memories of things they had done, talked about, and witnessed as friends. She saw again in her mind the way she had seen him many times, the way he walked, his gestures, and the tones and timbres of his voice. Suddenly another memory settled into place like a puzzle piece into a long-empty hole. W
hen he had spoken in the language of the Tarmaks, his voice had changed, becoming harsher and more guttural. Her hurt fueled her anger to a flame.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she said in a rush of fury. “I thought the voice sounded familiar, but I just excused it as my imagination. You were the one who led the ambush on us in the storm. You took the dagger from me and stabbed Sir Morrec.”
Lanther glanced at Sir Remmik with a sardonic twist to his lips. “Yes. Sir Morrec was a more dangerous leader. I needed to dispose of him. I was also hoping to keep the Solamnic Knights occupied and get you out of the Citadel before Thunder destroyed it. Sir Remmik played nicely into my plans.”
The Knight Commander went deathly pale, aware at last of the depth of the lies he had accepted.
Linsha lifted the sword again and shoved the point at Lanther’s neck. “Why?” she screamed. “Why did you do this? Why pretend to be a Legionnaire, a defender of the city, a friend to all of us? What kind of a bastard are you?”
“I am an adopted son of the Tarmak nation, and I owe them my allegiance. My honor. And I am a loyal servant of her dark majesty, the Queen of Dragons, the Lady of the Night, the goddess Takhisis.” His fingers gripped the sword point and forced it aside. “Beyond that, I will have to tell you later. We have much to do today.”
He snapped something to the guards beside him and Linsha found half a dozen swords suddenly poking the skin at her throat. Stinging frustration and anger battled with her common sense. She could see the pulse of his blood throb in the vein of his neck. It would be possible to ram her sword home into his traitorous throat… if she was ready to die with him.
Cursing under her breath, she lowered the Akkad-Ur’s sword and dropped it on the ground. Sir Remmik let go of his as well.
Lanther nodded to the warriors standing around the small group and spoke to them in their own tongue.
The Brutes growled like a pack of wolves and turned on the three Solamnic Knights with all the anger and vengeance they had kept in check. The two wounded Knights hardly knew what hit them, but the uninjured Knight stared in horrified terror at the warriors descending on him and tried to throw his body over his friend. All three men died together, pierced and hacked by a dozen swords.
Linsha turned away, her eyes clouded with tears. “Paladine preserve us,” she whispered.
Lanther took her arm and steered her in the direction of a group of watching Tarmaks on horseback.
From their size and the deeper color of their body paint, she guessed these were some of the officers. “Let us go,” he ordered. “We need to inform the army and a bronze dragon of a change in command.”
“You?” Linsha spat.
“Of course. It was my plan to conquer the Plains of Dust. I fully intend to carry it out. The Akkad-Ur was my friend and my general, but I was his second-in-command.”
Although he was shoving her ahead of him toward the officers, she twisted her head around and saw Sir Remmik being escorted behind her. In the churned sand of what once was a dueling square, she saw four warriors pick up the body of the Akkad-Ur and carry him reverently to a wagon. Good riddance, she thought with grim hatred. She was still stunned by Lanther’s revelation, but at least the truth was out. She knew who the spy was who had betrayed Iyesta and Missing City, she knew who killed Sir Morrec, and somewhere in a very small corner of her brain a tiny selfish thought noted with satisfaction that Sir Remmik now knew all of this, too.
She stood silently, conscious of many eyes upon her, while Lanther spoke to the Tarmak officers. His use of the Tarmak language was fluent, she observed, and the manner of the officers in his presence was respectful and attentive. What had he done, she wondered, to earn such consideration from such a martial race? To say he was intelligent was putting it mildly. He had hoodwinked an entire city, the dragon’s militia, Thunder, the circle of the Knights of Solamnia, the Legion of Steel, and even one small intelligent owl who had allowed herself to trust him. He was also cunning, ambitious, and probably a highly skilled warrior. He had survived the Dark Knights, after all, and while his limp was fake, the scar on his face was not. Instead of being a trusted ally, he had become a dangerous enemy. Linsha knew she had to gather her wits and find some way to escape from his grasp.
Crucible was waiting with barely concealed impatience by the edge of the Tarmak camp when a capricious wind whisked by and brought him a scent he had not caught in many days. His horned head snapped alert, and his nostrils flared to search the breeze for another hint of that smell. There it was again, coming from somewhere near the east end of the camp where the Akkad-Ur had disappeared some time ago. It was growing stronger. He leaped to his feet, his torn wings partially unfurled, and watched intently down the long lines of waiting Tarmaks and half-loaded wagons.
From his height, he saw her coming long before the Tarmaks around him realized the party was approaching. A low, rumbling growl started in his chest and vibrated up his long neck. Something was wrong. He could not smell or see the Akkad-Ur, but he could smell blood, and he saw Linsha following someone he had never liked. All at once he clamped his ears to his head, furled his wings tightly against his sides, and laid his belly on the ground, his front legs crossed. He did not know what had happened, but he had survived enough odd circumstances to sense when he needed to tread with care.
He watched through slitted eyes as the Tarmak officers, with Lanther, Linsha, and Sir Remmik in their midst, came into the place where the Akkad-Ur’s tent still stood. He tried not to show any surprise when the Tarmak guards by the tent saluted Lanther. What was going on? Crucible studied Linsha avidly to see if she was well and unharmed, or if she could give him any clues, but all she did was return his gaze with infinite sorrow. Her hands were tied, and her tunic was spattered with fresh blood.
Crucible heard someone speak and jerked his attention away from the woman. To his astonishment and dismay, Lanther strode over to Linsha and dragged her in front of him.
“The Akkad-Ur is dead, killed in a duel with the Solamnic Knight, Sir Remmik,” Lanther said in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “I am now commander of the army. I am the Akkad-Dar, and I hold the secret of the power over this dragon.”
Crucible’s eyes narrowed even further. This man was not a Tarmak, yet not one of the Brute officers or warriors offered an argument, and no one in his right mind would approach a dragon with a statement like that if he did not have some way to back it up. Unless, of course, he had a death wish.
The bronze dragon tapped a taloned foot on the ground thoughtfully. “Do I have this correct?” he asked in a frigid voice. “You are a traitor and you are now in charge of this army? And they are willing to go along with it?”
Lanther gave Linsha’s arm a shake. “Tell him so he understands.”
In hard, grim terms she told the dragon what had just transpired, including the deaths of Mariana, the Akkad-Ur, and the remaining Solamnic Knights.
Crucible felt his temper rise as surely as the magma in Mount Thunderhorn. He struggled to fight it back. This was not the time. Not when Linsha stood there in the traitor’s grasp. Not when that foul barb still penetrated his back. He needed patience and time.
“I suppose you, too, know the spell that controls the barb,” he said to Lanther, sneering down his long nose.
For an answer, the man lifted his fist and spoke a word. Pain stabbed down Crucible’s back and almost broke his self-control. He howled and swung his head around to snap at his back, and as quickly as it came, the pain vanished. His golden eyes smoldered in fury, but he restrained himself from retaliating. He knew it would not help.
“You see?” Lanther said with an arrogant smile. “I created that spell, and I control it far better than my predecessor. Be warned, Crucible. I could kill you with a word, and that word would still be viable even if I die.”
The dragon snaked his head down and glared at the man nose to nose. “How is it that you, and your… predecessor-” he spat the word-“wield magic when no one else in
this land is able to do so?”
Lanther chuckled. “Just know that I can.”
He suddenly swung around and pointed his hand, palm out, toward Sir Remmik. As he muttered a string of unfamiliar words, he curled his fingers into a fist.
The Knight screamed and grabbed his head both hands. With a convulsive jerk, he fell to the ground, his eyes rolling wildly, and writhed in the dirt as if his very bones were on fire.
Crucible was impressed. He guessed this was the same curse the Akkad-Ur had used on Linsha, but he had had to touch her. Lanther could inflict that kind of agony from a distance.
Linsha leaped forward and grabbed Lanther’s arm, deflecting his spell from the tortured Knight. The connection broke. Sir Remmik shuddered once and lay on his back panting, his face twisted in lingering pain.
Crucible tensed, wondering if he would have to protect Linsha and risk Lanther’s wrath, but Lanther looked down into her green eyes and grinned. He locked his strong fingers on her chin, pulled her close, and kissed her full on the mouth. An unexpected, wild feeling of rage welled up in the dragon that had little to do with self-preservation. He hissed, a sharp, searing blast of air that sounded like a gnome’s steam engine about to explode, and reared up on his hind legs. His wings unfurled and his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.
He was stopped by Linsha. She wrenched away from Lanther and threw herself in front of Crucible’s towering form. Grabbing a flapping wing, she yanked it with all her weight. “No!” she yelled at him. “No! Not now! Be patient.”
“Yes.” The new Tarmak general sneered. “Be patient. Your time to fight will come soon enough.”
Crucible bowed his neck and leaned down to nudge Linsha away from his wing. “I will listen,” he hissed softly to her. “I will listen to you. But if he touches you again…”
Flight of the Fallen l-2 Page 22