by Jordan Rivet
If felt as if a ring of swords were cutting into her flesh. Dara bit her tongue and tasted blood. But then the Watermight was inside her, icing her bones, making her strong. The two powers whirled around each other, dueling, dancing. She hoisted herself onto the wall, using the strength-enhancing power of the Watermight for all it was worth.
Latch had wedged himself into the corner of the stone pen. He was bleeding and broken, but his eyes had glazed over with silver, and it looked as though he was pulling back on the Watermight too. They still had a chance.
As soon as Dara found her balance on top of the wall, she combined the last drop of Fire in her veins with the Watermight in her bones. She couldn’t let her friends down, not before they’d even reached her father. Not again. With a shout of pain and desperation, she mashed the powers together and sent a wave of force outward from the stone pen.
Windows shattered, and thatch blew from the roofs of the houses as if the village had been struck by a tsunami. The wave of pure power swelled, knocking over anything in its path weaker than a stone house. Horses screamed as they hit the mud—and so did the men who fell beneath them. The wave spread, pushing back on Khrillin’s power, and the invaders fled before it. Khrillin himself dove into the river, unable to stand against her onslaught. Dara shouted, triumphant, as the wave expanded.
But before it could surge out of control, Dara concentrated on the edge of that terrible wave, willing it to obey her, to keep its form instead of rolling beyond her reach. She had used the last of her Fire, and she couldn’t let it go completely. Before the force could dissipate, Dara pulled back and somehow spun the power. To her surprise, the wave obeyed, swirling in a circle as if it were a giant Fireblossom, the edges curling up instead of spreading into nothing. For a moment, the wave of power turned into a tornado half the size of the village, with Dara at its center.
A laugh burst from her lips. She could control it! She was holding onto that incredible force, bending it to her will. She felt invincible, indestructible. The villagers and invaders alike huddled in fear. Buildings cracked, crumbled. Even Latch stared at her, wide eyed. None of them could touch her. She pulled the spinning power back toward her body, daring Khrillin to come against her now, daring him to challenge her or hurt her friends.
She sucked the power toward her again, hungry for it, needing it. As it filled her up in a burning, freezing, spinning torrent, she thought of the Fireworkers miles away at Fort Brach. She’d deal with them next. No one could stop her with this kind of power at her command. She could end this war right now.
Then something smacked into the back of her head, and the power burst out of her in a rush, taking consciousness with it.
14.
The Fight
SIV had about twenty-seven seconds of warning before the attack. Detsin burst into the scrubby grove, where Siv had been waiting impatiently for Dara, Latch, and Lian with the rest of the company.
“Soldiers!” Detsin shouted, stumbling on the rocky terrain. “Men on horseback are attacking the village!”
“How many?”
“At least a hundred. All on the other side of the river, near as I can tell.”
Siv cursed and vaulted onto his horse, which gave a startled snort. “Dara?”
Detsin shook his head. “The three of them made it across the river in a Soolen boat, but I lost them after that.”
“We have to help.” Siv drew his sword, though it wouldn’t do much good against the Fireworkers. He’d hoped it would take them longer to learn the true location of the Brachs’ secret power source. “Mount up, men!”
“There are no boats left on our side of the river, Sire,” Detsin said.
“Mother of a cullmoran,” Siv swore under his breath. “Let’s hope our horses can swim. Rumy, you’d better fly ahead. See if you can help Dara.”
The cur-dragon shrieked and took flight. Siv paused for a few heartbeats to make sure the entire company made it into their saddles. Two other men were out scouting, but he hadn’t heard a peep from them in the last hour. He had a bad feeling about that. And where were Fiz and Gull?
“They’ll have to catch up,” he said. “Let’s ride!”
No sooner had he spoken than a terrible yell and the rumble of hooves announced the arrival of a much nearer threat. Riders galloped into the grove from all sides, steel flashing. But instead of the Vertigonian outriders he had expected, the men sported the olive complexion and dark hair of Pendark, just like his own band of fighting men. And he recognized many of them from his time in the Steel Pentagon.
What in all the Firelord’s realm?
The attack was led by Kres March. Siv’s former pen-fighting captain wielded a battle-axe in both hands. He had a broadsword on his back, a saber at his hip, and knives poking out from his red baldric. Siv locked eyes with him, unable to figure out how he had ended up in the badlands of Soole with a band of pen fighters at his command. Kres winked, his eyes shining with bloodlust. Then he wheeled to attack the nearest soldier.
Siv lunged into action, wielding his own blade with the ferocity of a cornered marrkrat. He tried to get closer to Kres, but there were too many men in the way. The precision of his attacks and his sheer fighting fury made him one of the most dangerous men Siv had ever met. He had never wanted to end up on different teams.
Kres paused to sling his battle-axe across his saddle and draw his broadsword, grinning at Siv across the battlefield as if they were old drinking buddies. Which they had been until Kres sided with Khrillin.
Khrillin. Suddenly, Siv realized the significance of the hundred riders attacking the village where the Brach Watermight vent was hidden. And where both Dara and Latch were at that moment. It wasn’t the Fireworkers at all. That sneaking son of a bloodless panviper! He had the same idea we did!
Siv had no time to process the full implications of the Pendarkans’ surprise appearance in Soole. A furious battle of steel and blood raged around him. The clash of weapons and the screams of his men rang in his ears. Siv swung his sword with every ounce of strength he possessed. He’d show them exactly what he’d learned in the Steel Pentagon!
The pen fighters fell back from his whirling blade. His blood roared in his veins as he held off every attacker who tried to engage with him. This, at least, was something he could do well. He felt strong. He felt alive—and he meant to stay that way.
His soldiers weren’t faring as well as him. Captain Lian’s men were well trained, especially on horseback, but the pen fighters in Kres’s company were professionals. They fought every day of their lives for coin and glory and blood. And they were damn good.
“You can beat these scoundrels!” Siv shouted. “We’re on a mission to save the world. Don’t let them stop you!”
“They’re our countrymen,” Detsin growled. He’d taken up a position beside Siv, and he was fighting a gangly pen fighter called the Pendarkan Panviper.
“You won’t have a country if we don’t win!” Siv shouted. “Khrillin will bring the Soolens down on Pendark as retribution. They’ll tear apart every city and stone south of the Linden Mountains when they find out he brought an army here.”
Detsin gave a wordless cry, swinging his sword faster than ever. The Panviper retreated before him.
Siv whooped, and Lian’s men rallied to him, as they had during the flight from Pendark. Now that they had recovered from their surprise, they began to push back the attackers. But they had to do more than defend themselves. They had to get across the river. Dara needed them.
After the initial rush of battle, Siv began to realize that the pen fighters were being oddly restrained when they fought him. In fact, once his blood cooled a little, the fight didn’t seem quite as furious as he had thought. Some of his men lay still in the dirt, but the pen fighters weren’t trying very hard to kill Siv himself. They made it difficult to break through their ranks, but they gave ground to Siv rather than going in for the kill.
“This is too easy,” Siv said to Gull as she moved closer
to him. He didn’t remember seeing her join the battle.
“Don’t get cocky,” she hissed.
“I mean they aren’t trying hard enough,” he said. “And Kres is being awfully conservative, don’t you think?”
Their former pen-fighting captain had gotten no closer to Siv, despite his skill. He darted in for well-timed jabs, picking off Siv’s men one by one, but he made no effort to engage his former protégé in a decisive match.
Gull grimaced and with a wordless snarl moved away from Siv as if he were entirely too foolish for her to tolerate. But instead of engaging the pen fighters, she stabbed one of Lian’s men through the ribs. The soldier went rigid and toppled out of the saddle.
Gull and Fiz’s presence in Siv’s company suddenly made a whole lot more sense. They had played him! And they were trying to do it again, keeping him occupied while the real battle happened down in the village.
“They’re a distraction!” Siv shouted. “We have to get across the river.”
“Ready when you are,” called Detsin, who was at his side once more.
“Follow me!” he called to his company. “Don’t let these bastards keep us from the real fight.”
Time to test his theory that the pen fighters had been ordered not to kill him. His men gathered closer to him, and he charged forward, preparing to punch through the line of fighters closest to the river.
Fiz Timon stood in the way, wielding his broadsword like a god of thunder and steel. Siv’s men shied back from his terrible strength.
“Ride!” Siv shouted, wheeling around to shout to his men. “Don’t let that traitor scare you! Ride!”
The soldiers followed as Siv led them far out of Fiz’s range, charging down a pair of lesser pen fighters to open a gap. Amidst the clamor of hoof beats, Siv thought he heard Kres March laughing.
They escaped the grove and charged straight for the river. As Detsin had reported, there were no boats and no Waterworkers to speed them across. There were definitely magic-wielders on the opposite shore, though. As they reached the riverbank and splashed into the shallows, a huge wave rose up from the river and cascaded over the village of gray stone houses on the opposite side.
The riders Detsin had reported were scattered, confused. It looked as if their ranks had thinned drastically already. They were too occupied by the Watermight crashing through Mirror Wells to pay attention to the small company of soldiers charging into the foaming river. The Granite was shallower than it should be with so much of its water being used in the battle for the village. Still, they couldn’t wade it fast enough for Siv.
Watermight flew on both sides of the battle, evidence that the Waterworker defenders of Mirror Wells had gotten involved. Flashes of Fire appeared here and there as well. Dara was still alive—and still fighting. She better not let Khrillin beat her.
They reached the opposite shore and churned through the mud, their horses gasping from the effort of the swim. They wouldn’t hold out much longer.
“Cover me!” Siv called.
He sawed on the reins, making his dun stallion huff irritably as it turned to gallop along the riverbank. Siv spotted Khrillin standing on a dock east of where they had come ashore, a vortex of Watermight spinning away from him.
Siv pulled a knife from his coat as he charged. Khrillin had sent the pen fighters to detain him instead of killing him, but that wouldn’t stop Siv from letting his knife fly to save Dara and Latch’s people. He leaned forward over his stallion’s neck, setting up the throw.
But Siv was still a hundred feet from Khrillin when a blast of pure concussive force erupted from the village. The wave of raw power made the hair stand up on his scalp as it streaked toward him. His horse reared as the torrent of glittering death neared. The next thing Siv knew, he was on the ground.
His horse kicked and thrashed. Siv rolled across the ground to avoid being crushed by the frantic animal. The force of that powerful wave pressed down on him, as if it were a physical thing preventing him from standing. He could barely see with the mud in his face, but he sensed that every soldier—friend and foe—had been thrown to the ground.
Siv remembered all too well what it had been like the first time Dara created a huge blast that had destroyed the top of the tower in which they stood, and torn through Pendark until the power was depleted. This wave didn’t spread and disintegrate. Almost as soon as it appeared, some of the pressure eased, as if it were being twisted through the air above where he was flattened into the mud.
The instant the force lifted a bit, he scrambled onto his hands and knees. His men were scattered around him, and a few looked to have broken bones. He spotted Khrillin hiding beneath the dock, his clothes black with mud, silvery water dripping from his beard. He was gazing intently into the village.
Siv crept toward him, staying low as the wave of force spun just above him, howling like a sandstorm. Silver glittered at Khrillin’s fingernails, and the water around his boots was building up again as he prepared to launch a counterattack against Dara. Siv eased closer.
Abruptly, the wave of power intensified, as relentless and unwieldy as a tornado, and forced Siv down in the mud again. Men cried out all across the village. A cracking sound announced that some of the buildings were crumbling under the pressure. But the force kept pushing, spinning, destroying. Had Dara lost control? Siv still couldn’t see her.
The crush of power spread as Siv slithered toward Khrillin on his belly. The Waterlord was still building up a store of Watermight in the shelter of the dock. It groaned ominously. Siv had to get a little bit closer. Almost there.
Suddenly, the weight of the magical substances disappeared entirely. There was a massive rushing sound, as if the power were being sucked toward the center of Mirror Wells. Everything was still for one breathless moment. An instant before it was too late, Siv dropped his knife and flung his arms over his head.
Then the power exploded outward one last time.
Men screamed in agony. Soldiers from both armies fell before the power. Stones and wood knocked others down as the carnage rippled outward. Debris flew from the village, as fast as arrows and even deadlier.
This time, the power dissipated just as it had back in Pendark. In a matter of seconds, it was gone, leaving an echoing silence in its wake. For the second time, Dara had produced a blast of power unparalleled by any other force on the continent. At least Siv hoped it had been Dara.
He recovered his wits just in time to see Khrillin spinning to face him. Only a few paces separated them now, and his knife was gone. Mother of a cullmoran.
Khrillin’s lip curled, and he stepped forward, water sloshing around his boots, and raised a hand. But the Watermight he had been collecting was gone, obliterated by the final blast of power. For a moment, Khrillin stared at his own raised hand, as if he couldn’t quite believe that his power had failed him.
Siv hurled himself at Khrillin’s legs to knock him down, biting and scratching while attempting to retrieve a second knife from his boot. He rolled in the mud with the older man, trying to keep him occupied. The longer they fought, the longer it would be before Khrillin got his hands on more of the Watermight churning around the battlefield. Dara had better get here soon, or it would all be over.
Siv reached the knife in his boot an instant before Khrillin’s teeth closed on his wrist. The new Waterworker King of Pendark held on tight, his eyes lit with an animal intensity. Siv cursed at him and switched the knife to his opposite hand. He wrenched his wrist loose from Khrillin’s mouth, but the man had succeeded in gathering a bit of Watermight while Siv was busy with his teeth. He swiped a dagger of ice at Siv’s face.
Siv dodged just before the ice found flesh, and seized Khrillin’s arm. The men faced each other, straining for the advantage. Blood ran down Siv’s wrist, but there was fear in Khrillin’s face. He wouldn’t last against a younger, well-trained fighter for long.
Then Khrillin’s eyes turned a brilliant silvery white, the only warning Siv had before he flew bac
kward through the air. He landed hard and slid through the mud, coming to an abrupt stop against something solid. Stars danced before his eyes.
The stars didn’t go away. Siv rubbed his face, feeling rattled, disoriented. He felt something cold and constricting. A silvery web was closing in around his head. Khrillin was trying to crush his skull with Watermight! Siv scraped at the icy threads, but they only tightened.
A furious cry sounded, followed by the thud of dozens of feet on the earth. The web around Siv’s face loosened. Men trampled through the mud around him, silver blades flashing. Siv hauled himself to his feet to find Captain Lian’s surviving soldiers rallying to him, led by Captain Lian himself.
“Take that, you gutterborn kingslayer!” he hollered.
Khrillin stumbled back as Lian’s men formed a ring around Siv. Rumy swooped low over their heads, screeching and chattering. He loosed a blast of Fire at Khrillin. The Waterlord didn’t seem to have much Watermight left, and Siv’s soldiers were unifying, shouting battle cries to rival the call of the cur-dragon. No longer Wielding his silvery web, Khrillin retreated toward a group of Pendarkan fighters running to assist him.
Lian was drenched with water and blood, but he held his sword high and shouted insults as Khrillin fled.
“I won’t let you kill another king, you putrid, slime-eating canal-dwellers!”
Khrillin was too busy running away to respond.
“Where’s Dara?” Siv demanded in the momentary respite.
“She and Lord Latch ran into the village,” Lian said, his chest heaving. “Haven’t seen them.”
Siv surveyed the tiny force that had rallied to him. They were horribly outnumbered, even though Khrillin’s men appeared to be pulling back. “We need to find them quickly and—”
“We’re here!”
Latch emerged from the village, limping badly. Dara was slung over his shoulder, her golden braid falling down to the ground. Siv felt a fist of ice close around his heart.