Aiyan looked up. “Wait for it.”
The sky rumbled and flashed, then the clouds turned black and the rain burst down in sheets, like volleys of gunfire, so thick that Kyric couldn’t see the far side of the clearing.
“Now is the moment,” Aiyan said above the din. “Let’s go.”
He led them through the punishing rain at an easy pace, past the cliff faces and straight across the clearing. No one approached them. Kyric didn’t think that anyone had even noticed them. Those who had taken cover were only blurry shadows in the downpour. When they came near the central group, still turning but slower now, Kyric felt a strange vibration on the spirit plane. It had to be Soth Garo, only fifty steps away.
What if the white warrior could feel him or Aiyan as they passed? Kyric reached for emptiness and kept his head down.
They made it to the cut in the lower escarpment. It was rocky and not too steep, and they had no trouble climbing down into it.
The cloudburst passed, leaving a steady shower in its wake. Aiyan stopped and peeked around the edge of the cut. Kyric leaned out for a look and quickly pulled back. The captives and the guards stood only a stone’s throw away.
The Silasese had been packed into a round pen of sharpened stakes and coils of thorny vines. The Hariji guards huddled beneath a single Ko tree near a gap in the bristling enclosure, where a spiked log blocked the way.
“There are rather a lot of guards,” Kyric said.
Mahai held up his hand. “I have an idea for reducing them.”
He explained his plan.
“It’s worth a try,” Aiyan said. “We can’t stay here very long.” He turned to Kyric and Lerica. “Leave the pistols in your packs. Even if they stayed dry, one gunshot would bring the whole place down on us.”
Mahai laid his war club casually across his shoulder and stepped out of the cut like he had a purpose. He marched right up to the to the group of Hariji, pointing.
“You, you, you,” he said, picking out nine or ten of them, “come with me.”
One of the others, an older hunter, rose with a spear in his hand. “Who are you?”
“You should know me, fool. I am Prince Mahai,” he said imperiously, but not too loud. “I have been selected to sit at . . . “
Oh, gods, thought Kyric, he’s going to say ‘Soth Garo.’
“ . . . at his right hand. You will obey me. Come at once.”
Without waiting for a reaction, Mahai spun on his heel and began walking back to the cut. And the men he had chosen followed him.
Kyric ducked back and ran to hide behind the rocks at the top of the cut, where Lerica and Aiyan waited. All the Hariji had to be inside before they struck.
Mahai led them in. He stopped, saying, “Go ahead. I will join you at the top.” The rain slacked off quickly as they trudged up the cut. When the last man in line passed him, Mahai clubbed him on the head.
It gave off a loud thump, like the tapping of a wine cask. The Hariji all turned, but Aiyan and Lerica were already in their midst. Kyric raised his longbow and shot the lead man in the back. He went down without a sound. Kyric nocked another arrow quickly, vaguely aware that the waxed string felt strange. The second Hariji raised his spear and charged at him, covering his body with his boar-hide shield. He didn’t know about longbows. Kyric loosed his arrow as the hunter bore down on him. It went through the shield like it was paper, lodging deep in the man’s chest. Kyric drew another arrow, then looked around for his next target. They were all dead on the ground. Lerica stood over a hunter who was drowning in his own blood, her sabre dripping. She looked at him oddly, like he was a curious thing.
“Do you think it will work one more time?” Aiyan said.
Mahai shrugged as he wiped the blood from his war club. “Only one way to find out,” he said, once again laying it across his shoulder.
He was halfway back to the remaining guards when a Baskillian came from behind one of the houses. If he had been one of those with a skull headpiece, he wasn’t wearing it now.
Awkwardly, Mahai stopped, then turned to go back to the cut.
“Hey!” he called to Mahai, “Yes, you. Stop. Come here.”
Mahai walked toward him slowly.
“What clan are you?” the Baskillian demanded. “Where is your headdress?”
The older hunter came toward them. “He told us that he was Lord Frostheart’s chosen.”
Without warning, Mahai swung his war club one handed, like a hammer, right at the Baskillian’s head, but the man reacted quickly, dodging to the side and taking the blow on his shoulder. He cringed in pain, drawing his sword, but Mahai had already swung again, this time low, shattering the death guard’s knee with an audible crunch. He went down screaming. The rain stopped, and his cry echoed off the cliffs in the sudden silence.
The older hunter snarled, and thrust hard, his spear in both hands. He caught Mahai flatfooted. Then Mahai showed how truly strong he was. He simply grabbed the haft of the spear with one hand and held it while he backhanded the hunter with his club, the blow driving him back a few steps before he fell unconscious. The Baskillian kept screaming. Mahai stomped on his neck and he was still.
The other Hariji were on their feet. They scrambled for their spears and shields, then about half of them ran at Mahai in a sudden fury.
He took a step toward the cut, realizing at once that the charging hunters would intercept him before he got near it. He turned and ran for the town, and they chased him, howling for his blood. Mahai sprinted down a curving lane, disappearing behind a cluster of houses, the hunters on his heels, then they were gone, the sound of their war cries fading away.
“There’s only nine guards left,” Aiyan said. “We’ll have to rush them.” He glanced at them both. “Hold to your spirit, trust one another, and we’ll make it through this.”
Kyric’s stomach fluttered. Three to one odds, against men who were ready and waiting. His swordsmanship had improved lately, but . . .
“Aiyan,” he said, “we could start picking them off with our bows, maybe run them off — “
“No time for that,” Aiyan snapped. “It is the moment of the hot iron. Go now!”
And he charged, Lerica right with him, sabre in hand. Kyric cursed and followed, trying to get ahead of her, but another stabbing cramp struck him in the gut and he fell a little behind. Aiyan drew his sword across the open locket and held the flaming blade high.
In a corner of his mind, a voice told Kyric: If you try to protect her you will get yourself killed. He had to do as Aiyan said — he had to trust her to take care of herself. But it was hard.
The Hariji didn’t even try to form a line, much less anything like a shield wall. They placed their spears on their shoulders and waited. With a burst of speed in his last few steps, Aiyan kicked out and slid on the wet grass, passing beneath their spearpoints, hamstringing men left and right, rolling to his feet as he came to a stop. Lerica leaped high, over the spear leveled at her, swinging one-handed on a limb of the Ko tree and placing her boot square into a Hariji nose.
And then Kyric no longer saw them. He was alone with his spirit.
Parrying the thrust that came at him, sliding past the point and spinning across the man’s shielded side, getting behind him, cutting deep into his back with the force of the spin. The feel of a hunter behind him, thrusting. Barely enough time to pivot, the spearhead cutting a furrow into his armor as it glanced off. A slash at the man’s forearm before he could recover. His hand still gripping the spear as it was severed from his wrist, his scream cut short by someone stabbing him in the back.
Somewhere in the corner of his mind, the logical observer in Kyric noted curiously how easily his sword sliced through living flesh. He hardly felt any resistance. It was soft, so very soft.
Kyric danced away from another thrust — this was so much better than fighting on a pitching deck. The hunter thrust again hard, straight for his heart, but Kyric moved first, sliding past it even as the man tried to backpedal
, and cut him across the ribs on his unshielded side.
He felt so completely in control. He could sink like a stone, or float like a feather. This wasn’t like practicing with Aiyan — it was easier. And he had been so afraid.
Then there was only one left. Kyric backed him against the enclosure with a series of feints. Someone inside took hold of his spear. Another hand grasped his ankle. He shouted in his pig-tongue as they pulled him through the thorny fence, his cries suddenly stopping.
Kyric looked up. Aiyan had leapt into the gap to help the Silasese move the barrier log. Lerica was checking the bodies to make sure no one was faking it.
“Yes,” Kyric said, slashing the air with his sword to cleanse it. They had done it.
The Silasese came pouring through the gap, some of them taking the spears of the fallen Hariji. One of their leaders, a tall woman with greying hair and a tiny starfish strapped to her forehead, introduced herself as Jascenda. She asked Aiyan what was happening.
He had Kyric translate. “We are friends of King Tonah,” he said. “We slipped past Soth Garo’s army, but there is only us. You must all flee before the alarm is sounded. Run down the road all the way to Mantua if you can.”
Kyric paused as something came to him. A figure in his mind’s eye.
“Aiyan. It’s the moment of the seahorse.”
Jascenda looked at him, suddenly hopeful. “Do you mean that they have not taken our boats away? Then we can escape by way of the sea.”
“Hey,” Lerica said, “Should we go look for Mahai?”
As if to answer her, a shout came from the town. Mahai came around the corner of a house, still running, the Hariji hunters still chasing him. When they saw that the Silasese had been freed and armed, and their fellows killed, they came to a sudden halt. Mahai turned and shook his war club at them, and they scattered back into the village.
“Are the Silasese’s boats still there?” Kyric asked him.
“The double outriggers,” he said between breaths, “are at the north beach. Some twin hulls are there too.”
“How many people can they hold?” Aiyan said.
“Maybe half of those here.”
Jascenda raised her hands and spoke to her people in Silasese. They broke into groups and made for the north side of the town.
“Many are our sailing canoes are hidden,” she explained. “We have sheds along the docks and in the forest, and there is a secret cove north of the beach. There is enough for us all to get away. But they took the whale singers to another place, and we cannot leave them behind. They are most precious to our hearts.”
“The wedding house,” Mahai said. “I know the back way in.”
“Get your boats in the water and get your people to sea,” Aiyan said. “We will fetch your whale singers. Have your fastest vessel waiting on the beach.”
“It will be there,” Jascenda said, turning to speak to her people.
Mahai led them along the cliff until they came to a very steep cut with a ladder laid over it. “Up there,” he said, “a little way down the path and you come to a small clearing with the wedding house.”
“You know,” Kyric said, “I still haven’t heard any kind of — “
At that moment a metallic banging rang out from the town. A horn sounded in reply from the camp down the road.
“ — alarm.”
“Quickly, now,” Aiyan said, scrambling up the ladder.
They all followed. He was waiting for them inside the woods. “Get your pistols out and see if they’re still dry.”
Kyric pulled Lerica’s flintlock out of her pack and handed it to her. “Looks alright,” she said, slipping it into her sash. She dug into Kyric’s pack for his double barrel. “Some dampness along the back of the grip, but the barrels and the dogs are dry.”
“I’ll take that,” Aiyan said.
They went quickly but quietly down the narrow path, flanked by trees and thick shrubs on either side. When they saw the trail opening into a clearing, Aiyan led them into the underbrush. Signaling them to stay, he crawled away, was gone for a only a moment, then crawled back.
‘No words,’ he signed in Cor’el and they all nodded. ‘They are still there.’ He pointed to Kyric and Mahai. ‘We three will come out of the woods at the same time. I will try to shoot the sorcerer. You two keep the death guards busy — do not allow them to enter the house where they can harm the singers.’
Lerica wrinkled her nose. ‘Am I just supposed to watch?’
‘You must guard our escape route. Fire your weapon if they come in force or you see him. No time to argue. Here we go.’
They spread out on either side of the path and crept to the edge of the clearing. The woods lay eerily quiet, punctuated by the sound of water dripping from the trees. Ziddgan stood between the two death guards in what looked like a toga covered in black mold. His headdress had nothing of the boar to it. It was rimmed by desiccated snakes and topped with the head of a bat, its fanged mouth wide open. In one hand, writhing freely, its tail wrapped around his wrist, lay a blue and yellow viper.
Immediately, he stiffened and looked right at them. Aiyan stepped out from behind a tree and sighted down the barrels of the wheel-lock. Ziddgan raised the hand holding the snake, but Aiyan had already squeezed the first trigger.
The wheel spun against the dog, but there was no spark.
The sorcerer held the viper against his free hand, and it instantly struck. Aiyan suddenly dropped the pistol, crying out pain, his hand twisted into a claw. Ziddgan brought the snake up to his neck and it bit him again. The death guards had drawn their sabres and were moving, not for the door of the house, but to protect the sorcerer.
Mahai charged right at them, with Kyric a half step behind. Then another death guard came around from the back of the house, obviously surprised at what was happening. If Kyric charged with Mahai, this man could easily flank them, so he swerved toward him, hoping to get to him before he could draw his sword.
But the fellow moved unnaturally fast, reaching for his sabre and nearly cutting Kyric on the draw. Blades clashed as Kyric slid past him and they turned to face each other.
Aiyan took an agonizingly slow step forward, as if in irons. He drew his sword slowly with his left hand, raising it like a knife. The pair of death guards in front of Ziddgan attacked Mahai together, driving him across the clearing. He blocked a slash from one and sprang away to keep the other from getting behind him. He couldn’t even get a swing at one of them — it was all he could do to hold them off.
The man in front of Kyric exploded with a fleche attack, usually a bad idea with a sabre, but it surprised Kyric completely, and he had to backpedal for his life, his parry thwarted as the Baskillian dipped his point and brought it up on a new line. It left a gash in Kyric’s armor as he spun aside, his own blade slashing only the air as his opponent leapt away from the counter blow.
Aiyan and Mahai were in trouble. Kyric needed to down this man quickly and go to their aid, but his spirit had been thrown off balance. This man was no pig hunter. He was a skilled swordsman, armored in a silk and leather corselet beneath his tunic of bones, and he was familiar with the circular style of fighting. Every time Kyric seemed to have him, he knew what was coming and dodged away, daring Kyric to make a more committed attack.
He had to end this fight and this man. He reached for the unseen tether, making himself a mirror for his enemy. They moved in the slowest of dances. Kyric summoned emptiness. He raised his sword, pulling the tether, the death guard mirroring him as they stepped toward each other, swords held high. Then it was the eternal moment, and Kyric swung first. He cut through the man’s headpiece and into his skull. The Baskillian collapsed like a broken squeeze-box, but even so, his sabre glanced off Kyric’s helmet and sliced into the shoulder piece of his armor. It had been too close.
Aiyan had dropped to one knee, his eyes wide with pain. He seemed unable to move. One of the death guards broke away from the fight with Mahai and circled to come up on Aiy
an’s blind side.
Kyric sprinted to intercept him, but he was too late. Aiyan was able to turn his head. The Baskillian raised his sabre. Unable to move his sword arm, Aiyan watched his death coming — and he smiled.
A sharp crack shattered the quiet. Lerica stood on the roof of the house in a plume of smoke, her pistol in her hand. The sorcerer lay face down on the ground below, his headdress in bloody disarray and part of his skull missing. The snake slid away, into the tall grass.
Aiyan spun to his feet, and the attacking Baskillian changed his mind, pulling up short. Aiyan went at him and he fell back. Under a furious press of feints and cuts, he retreated until he backed against a tree, then Aiyan plunged Ivestris into his chest, the light Baskillian armor useless against it.
Kyric looked for Mahai and found that he had vanquished the last guard, the man running down the path to the large clearing, holding an arm that hung at an odd angle.
Lerica jumped down and flung open the door to the house. The first room was empty. Behind a second door sat three teenagers and an Hariji woman who began screaming like an animal. When Lerica tried to shush her, she screamed even louder, so she punched the woman in the nose and in the eye. That quieted her.
There were two girls, a short one with curls and a button nose, about fourteen years old, and a willowy seventeen year old with sharp cheekbones and long straight hair. A boy with wide, curious eyes, maybe thirteen, sat between them. They all scooted away from Lerica, but they brightened when they saw Mahai in the doorway.
Speaking in Avic, Lerica said to Kyric, “Ask them if they drank his blood. We need to know.”
“Even if they did,” Kyric said, “we’re still taking them.” But he was afraid to ask. If he had lost his gift he didn’t want to know right then.
“You must come with us,” Mahai told them in Baskillian, “those who are free are taking to the boats.”
Black Spice (Book 3) Page 6