The crossbow cord whipped forward.
But no bolt lay in the channel.
The quarrel had fallen out when Grae tumbled. The brig howled into the night sky.
Hammer tore a torch out of the ground and charged the Beast. The torch roared, sparks spattered from the flames, and the Beast recoiled. Hammer shook the torch again, more sparks flew. The Beast glanced at the great stone hall, then whirled and loped away, the green spots dim and fading into the night.
“That showed it,” Hammer said, chuckling.
“I had a shot,” Grae replied.
“We’ll have another.”
Grae watched the green lights fading in the distance. I had a shot.
“Let’s get that harness on me.”
†††
The brig tried to stand, but his thigh had been shredded by the Beast. He groaned and fell to a knee.
“Remember when I said I wanted to wear the harness?” Hammer said.
“You’re not wearing the harness,” Grae replied.
Hammer nodded and slipped his shoulder under Grae’s arm. “Let’s get you in the hall and we can talk about it.”
“I’m going to kill it, Hammer,” Grae said. “I’m going to kill that thing, tonight.”
“Of course you are.” Hammer helped his brig around to the front of the hall. “Except I’ll be the one actually doing it.”
“Hammer—”
“Shhh. We’ll talk about it in the hall.”
Grae slipped through the gap in the fortified wall and fell to a knee again, leaned onto one side. Aramaesia was tending to Lokk’s wound. She finished the last stitch and hustled to Grae’s side.
“That will need to be treated,” she said.
Grae shook his head. “No time. Someone get me into the harness.”
The Beast howled outside. Hammer squinted and listened. The creature howled again, closer. “It’s coming back. I don’t think it’s going to stop tonight. Not until we’re dead, or it is.” He nodded to Lokk. “Can you distract it while I get the harness?”
The Eridian walked past Hammer, hands on theiyras, and squeezed through the gap in the fortified wall. Aramaesia drew her cousin’s ivory-handled dagger and handed it to Ulrean. “In case you need to cut up jurren. Or... something.”
The boy’s eyes glittered in the torchlight as he took the blade. Aramaesia wouldn’t look into his eyes, and he suddenly understood what the knife was for.
“I’ll be back shortly, little lord. I’m just going to help Lokk.”
“No!” Ulrean stood and threw his arms around her waist. “You cannot go! I forbid it!”
The archer hugged him, kissed the top of his head and pulled free. “I must go, my little sparrow. We have one more chance.” She hugged the child, picked up her bow and quiver, and ran after the Eridian.
Hammer watched her go while working at something around his neck. The cord holding the finger pendant he wore had become caught in the hinge of his bevor. He tugged at it, and the leather snapped.
“Shoddy Andraen leather.” He laid the pendant down, gently, against a wall. “I’m getting the harness.”
“Bring it here and help me on with it,” Grae replied.
Hammer grinned and pulled his mail coat off, then walked toward the back of the hall. “I’m getting the harness.”
“Hammer!” Grae shouted. “Bring it back in here and help me put it on! That’s an order!”
The old soldier paused at the foot of the escape pit and flashed Grae a smile. “Beggin’ your pardon, brig, sir, but fuck your orders.” He hopped into the pit, chuckling at Grae’s shouts. Scrambled up the sloping back edge of the pit and felt the cold fire of a Standard’s sword rip into his stomach. The tip drove through his body and erupted from his back.
He tried to shout, but the only thing that left his mouth was a gout of blood.
“You and I are gonna have a reckoning, Hammer.” Beldrun Shanks twisted the blade. Hammer groaned and fell to his knees. “Very soon, you’re going to reap a harvest that your wagon can’t handle. Is that how it goes?”
Hammer shuddered.
“What’s the matter, Hammer?” Shanks asked. “No tough talk? No flashy response?”
Hammer’s dagger flashed. The old soldier drove the blade six inches deep into Shanks’s thigh, sending a spatter of blood into the air. The big infantry man groaned and stumbled back. Covered his own mouth with his hand to keep from screaming.
Hammer grinned—his famous smile painted red. Shanks yanked his sword free and jabbed it downward, two handed, through the old soldier’s throat.
Chapter 52
Two creatures of death faced one another. And at night’s end, only one would survive.
— From “The Headsman of Laraytia,” by Jurn Hallion
Lokk ran westward, away from the stone hall, toward the outer walls of CWNCR. His theiyras rang as he pulled them free of the scabbards. Aramaesia ran after him, head down, legs carrying her swiftly through the dead grasses, her last arrows rattling in the leather quiver.
When the Eridian was thirty paces from the fortified hall, he turned to face the Beast. The creature was not far from the center of the village, once again approaching slowly. Lokk raised his theiyras high into the air. Brought the two blades together, again and again. The sonorant ring of the swords once again called the Beast. The monster’s spines shook and rose. The creature gave a short huff then bounded towards Lokk Lurius.
Aramaesia pulled her bowstring back, held the cord for three heartbeats, eyes closed, chanting softly. Her eyes fluttered open when the Beast was less than fifty paces away, and she fired. The arrow lit the night skies as it flew, streaking blue. The monster sprang to one side to avoid, but the streaking arrow curled at the last moment, its unmistakable path drawn in bright blue, and struck the creature in the shoulder. The monster roared and clawed at the wound with its forelimbs then dropped to four legs, roared, and thundered toward the pair.
It closed the distance with astonishing speed, howling. At five paces away, the Beast launched itself at the pair. Lokk shouldered Aramaesia to the ground and crouched. The archer’s wide-eyed stare was reflected in the ebony fangs of the Beast. A blast of putrid hot breath washed over the Eridian as he fell backward and stabbed upward with both theiyras. He had killed a hundred common beasts in the tornati rings of Eridia like this, falling backward and stabbing upward. But this was no common beast. This was no creature to be hunted. No trophy to be won. This was the Beast of Maug Maurai, and Lokk Lurius was the trophy.
The creature rolled in the air and Lokk’s swords tasted nothing.
The Eridian leaped to his feet and shouted to Aramaesia: “Get back to the hall!” He rang his theiyras once, to draw the creature’s attention, but he already had it. Aramaesia whirled to her feet and fired. The Beast ducked the arrow and advanced.
“Rekina!” Lokk faced the creature, reverted to his old tongue. “Lat Rekina!”
Aramaesia fired. The creature spun away, hissing. Lokk feinted to one side, then threw himself at the Beast, swords flashing in the faint light of the distant torches and the glow of Blythwynn’s drowsy eye. Aramaesia fired twice then checked her quiver. She had seven arrows.
So few, she thought. So little left.
†††
Grae dug at the earthen wall that sealed off the entrance. He clawed with his fingers, listening to Meedryk’s ragged breaths and Lord Aeren’s fidgeting, until a long sturdy branch came free. He snapped off a forking stem and used the branch to help him stand.
Hammer hadn’t come back. The old fool was probably putting the harness on right now. It was suicide. The Beast had an almost human wariness. No, it was more than that. It had a supernatural sense of danger. The harness wouldn’t work. Grae was certain of it. Certain he would fail.
The creature would live. And the other officers would smile sadly and nod their heads as if not surprised by the outcome. “He was only a commoner,” they would say. “A trained monkey can only do so
much.”
The Cobblethrie boy sniffled in the corner, and Grae turned to look at him. Ulrean’s tiny head peeked out over the heater shield, the black dragon coiling protectively in front of the child.
This... this is your fault, Grae thought.
The child’s eyes grew wide, glittering orange in the torchlight. Could the boy see into Grae’s heart?
Everything soured when we found you. It’s the Cobblethrie curse. Your family has brought nothing but misery upon Laraytia since the Folly.
Grae hobbled toward the back of the hall. The child drew back farther into the corner, hunched low behind the shield.
Even if we all die, you will go one living, won’t you? The gem will pulse and the Cobblethrie line will continue. Someone will find you, eventually, won’t they? Nuldryn will take over Lae Duerna. And then someone will find you. And the resulting clash will destroy our kingdom. We’ll drown beneath a flood of Gracidmarians and Durrenians. We’ll burn in the raging fires of our enemies. Because of the Cobblethrie family and their curse. And it is my failure that will cause it.
He drew his sword.
He’d been two steps behind on this assignment since they found the child. Never prepared. Lost in emotion. It was the fragmentation that came from questioning orders. From breaking discipline.
Discipline is the only varnish against moral decay.
Grae wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and shuffled forward. His thigh burned with the Beast’s wound. The wound from a Beast he would never slay. Because he had been undisciplined.
He took another step forward. The child raised the shield and whimpered.
It was time for discipline.
Grae hobbled past Lord Aeren, who sat against a wall. The scholar turned his head to listen and stood as the brig passed. Ulrean stared at the drawn sword in Grae’s hand and raised the ivory-handled dagger that Aramaesia had given him.
“I will face my death this time,” Ulrean said. “I will stab that Beast in the eye when it comes for me. I do not want your mercy.”
Yes, mercy, Grae thought. The poor child will be torn apart by the Beast. This is mercy.
“Be brave, little one.” Grae stood inches from the child’s shield. “I will make it quick.”
Lord Aeren rose to his feet and stumbled forward. He bumped into Grae and the two of them staggered. Grae fell to one knee. The nobleman tottered, then fell into the escape hole, landing awkwardly on the ramp. He wriggled, trying to right himself, his emotionless face stared upward, mouth open slackly.
“Are you hurt, Lord Aeren?” Grae called.
The nobleman scrambled up the dirt ramp and out of the hall.
Ulrean stood and held the dagger high, as Lokk had taught him. The shield was too heavy, but he held it tightly anyway. “I do not want your mercy,” he shouted. “I am a prince of Laraytia, and I will face my death.”
The dagger blade trembled in his hand, but the child’s eyes were locked on Grae’s. There were few men who could match gazes with The Headsman, but Ulrean Cobblethrie did it now.
I understand the words duty and responsibility very well. Aramaesia had said. I understand that there is a difference between the two.
Grae dropped his crutch and lashed out quickly, taking hold of the boy’s wrist and twisting until the dagger clanged to the floor. “I am sorry, my lord, but your kingdom demands this of you. If you live, Laraytia will fall.”
What would you say if I told you civil war was brewing. Right now. This very moment in the Duchy of Lae Duerna? The Chamberlain’s words echoed in Grae’s thoughts.
We all have things we cling to, Hammer said.
“Show me your throat, boy.”
The child’s eyes darted to the escape pit. Grae shook his head.
“You’ll never make it. I’m sorry, little lord. This is how it must be. Show me your throat. It’ll be faster that way.”
If you found a conspiracy to kill the king, the Chamberlain had said, would you not be obligated to stop it any way you could?
Overlapping those words, like the next ocean waves crashing onto the previous ones, were Hammer’s. An order don’t make something right, Grae.
The boy raised his trembling chin. Eyes still locked on Grae’s.
“Do it then, traitor,” the child hissed.
Just a boy, thought Grae. Eight years old. And yet that boy had more courage than thousands of Laraytian Standards Grae had commanded. This was a child that could have grown to be smarter than Sage. More composed than Lokk Lurius. Kinder than Aramaesia. More loyal than Hammer. Here, in this boy of eight, was the true meaning of nobility. And Grae was here to destroy it.
Beggin’ your pardon, brig, sir, but fuck your orders.
Grae thought of Hammer. The fool had stayed outside the hall. Had faced the Beast with Grae, despite being ordered not to. Because friendship was more important to him.
An order don’t make something right, Grae.
Grae stared at the sword in his hands. At the boy waiting for death on the other end. It was Grae’s hand holding the sword. Grae Barragns. Son of Bryndis Barragns. About to kill a child because someone had told him to.
Sometimes they’re worth clinging to. Sometimes they’re not.
There was no Headsman. The Headsman didn’t exist.
There was only Grae.
And he was about to murder a child because a man who drank expensive wine told him to.
Duty and responsibility. Was there truly a difference? Why hadn’t he seen it? Because his enemies had twisted his thoughts. Because his enemies had convinced him they were friends.
Grae’s sword thudded to the ground.
The enemy had destroyed everything that had once been Grae Barragns, but they would not claim victory. Never again.
Ulrean’s gaze turned upward, toward the heavens. The brig’s breath came fast and harsh, as if he’d reined up inches from the edge of a chasm. Grae thought of Aramaesia, outside. Was she alive? She was out there with the Beast. Why wasn’t Grae out there too? And then he realized that the boy’s eyes hadn’t lifted toward the heavens. They had lifted to look behind Grae.
He whirled, swaying. Beldrun Shanks stood behind him. The big man held an arming sword at Grae’s throat. “Weak bastard. You didn’t have the stomach, did you?” Shanks said. “Officers got no discipline these days.”
†††
The Beast circled Lokk and Aramaesia. There was a wariness in the creature’s steps. It glanced toward the hall again and again. Seemed always ready to flee.
Did it see the explosion? Lokk wondered. Is it scared of the flames.
But the Eridian had a second thought. Sage had suggested that there were four of these creatures, but only one had been freed. That would mean the hall was its prison.
Maybe it thinks we’re here to jail it again.
He glanced toward the hall and spotted Lord Aeren stumbling toward them, hands outstretched. Aramaesia followed Lokk’s gaze.
“Lord Aeren!” she called. “Go from here!” She tracked the Beast with her bow. The monster was padding toward Lokk. Lord Aeren pointed back toward the hall, made a circle with his fingers and placed it on his forehead.
It took Aramaesia only an instant to understand. “Lokk, something’s happened to Ulrean!” She ran toward the hall without another glance. The Beast flinched toward her, a hunter’s instinct to chase prey, but Lokk rang the theiyras again and it turned back to him with a huff.
The Eridian backed away from the Beast. Lord Aeren stood uncertainly.
“Get gone, Threncannon!”
The young scholar hurried away, following the sound of Aramaesia’s footsteps, stumbling and reaching with hands. The creature followed the nobleman’s progress.
“Rekina!” Lokk shouted at the monster. “Rekina!” And he beat his swords together again, the whining echoes of steel on steel knifing through the air. The creature turned to him and growled; a long, winding sound. Lokk clenched his jaw, set his body into the tornati stance—one
arm held gracefully overhead, the other behind his back, his spine straight, one leg set behind the other. He heard the crowds of the corona cheering him on. Felt the blood thirst of his theiyras.
“Atrena!” he shouted.
And the battle began in earnest.
Chapter 53
No sword blade stronger than kindness has yet been forged.
—Blythwynn’s Melody, The Illumination, Book II, Paragraph 42
“Step away from the boy, if you would, brig, sir.” said Shanks. The bandages around his eye were ragged and soiled nearly black. Blood washed down a gash in his thigh. “Maybe stand in that corner there.” He gestured with his free hand, kept the sword pointed at the Brig.
Grae shifted so he was squarely between Shanks and Ulrean, dropped one hand to the pommel of his dagger. “Beldrun Shanks. You should have run. You should have left the forest.”
Shanks smiled. “You remember telling me you can’t be two things at once?”
Grae didn’t respond.
“You said the moment I decide to stop being a criminal is the moment I’ll become a good soldier.”
Grae wrapped his fingers around the dagger’s grip.
“Well, you were right,” said Shanks. “Only, you got it back to front. It was the soldier part holding me back.”
The brig opened his mouth to respond but the cold, terrible bite of steel dropped him to his knees. He moaned and reached back. A dagger. Sunk into his flank. The thin blade had pried through a chain link and sunk a full five inches deep. Far enough to kill a man.
The boy. Ulrean Cobblethrie. Duke Ulrean.
Grae shuddered with the shock of it. He forced himself not to scream, spun. The child stared, one hand over his mouth, tears tumbling from his eyes. Grae felt an ichorous heat spreading inside him. Perhaps a ruptured organ. The thought crossed his mind casually. Like a ship’s clerk running numbers while the vessel sank. Ulrean had lifted Grae’s torn mail and put the dagger blade where it would do the most damage. Lokk’s lessons had served the child well.
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