Jessica fell silent. Gavin’s heart stopped. He didn’t need to see the El’aras dagger to know the blade had punctured her belly.
He cried out. It wasn’t pain. It was rage. He embraced that anger.
Tristan had always warned him against fighting angry. He would get sloppy if he did. In this case, he no longer cared. It was his fault Jessica had been stabbed. The El’aras were here because of him. He should’ve known better than to come back to the tavern.
One of the other El’aras got in his way. Gavin jumped, twisting up over him, kicking off the ceiling, and driving the dagger down into the attacker’s mouth. He plunged it all the way to the hilt, withdrawing it as he landed. The El’aras crumpled to the ground.
He darted forward, reaching the other El’aras who turned toward him. With the lantern light illuminating everything, he made out the El’aras’s features. He was thin, like all of his kind, and his face was shadowed. He seemed deeply tanned, though that might’ve been the lantern light reflecting off of him that made it seem that way.
Gavin jammed his blade forward. The El’aras blocked, but Gavin countered, twisting his other blade and sweeping around. He wasn’t fast enough. The El’aras was quick and turned toward him, swinging the blade in a furious pattern. It was a fighting style Gavin didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this El’aras had harmed Jessica.
He needed to act quickly. It was possible something might still be able to be done for her, but he needed to get her to Cyran before she bled out. Even that may not be fast enough since Cyran was on the far edge of town. There were other healers closer to the Dragon.
But how many of them can I trust with her life?
None. That was how many.
The El’aras continued toward him, driving him backward. Almost too late, Gavin realized what his attacker was trying to do. There was another El’aras behind him.
Gavin turned, kicking outward. His foot connected and he jumped, avoiding something sweeping at him. He couldn’t see it, but he could feel the energy as it whistled beneath his feet.
An El’aras sword. It started to glow softly.
El’aras daggers were rare. An El’aras sword was rarer still. They were mostly ceremonial. As far as he knew, there were no known El’aras swords outside of their lands.
Power burst within blade. Gavin kicked once again, trying to get beyond the reach of the sword, but he couldn’t. The swordsmen caught him on the leg, causing him to stumble. If the blade was poisoned, he wouldn’t be able to fight for much longer. Now he needed more help than just for Jessica.
He hobbled on one foot. The other attacker came toward him, moving with confidence now. Gavin did all he could to keep his blade up. “You bastard,” he said.
“You made a mistake, halfling.”
Gavin sneered at him. “I made no mistake. I didn’t do anything to you or your kind.”
“You made a mistake,” the El’aras said again. He lunged, and the movement reminded Gavin of the guard he’d faced the night before when he’d gone to the manor house grounds. He hadn’t been an El’aras. Gavin would’ve known if that were the case.
Wouldn’t I? What was going on here?
Given the slowly burning pain in his leg he struggled to ignore, he didn’t think he was even going to have the opportunity to figure that out.
The El’aras came closer, holding his dagger in hand. Suddenly, he fell.
Gavin blinked. Gaspar was behind the El’aras, a club in hand. Unable to stand any longer, Gavin dropped to his knees. He jammed both daggers into his attacker’s shoulders, pinning him to the ground. He rolled over to the side, stretching toward the other El’aras. He was just out of reach, but his sword…
Gavin lunged, but he missed the El’aras. The blade flickered, and again he dove for it. This time, it was farther from him, far enough away he couldn’t reach it. He scrambled toward the blade, but with the injured leg, he couldn’t get there fast enough.
Could the El’aras be leaving?
That wasn’t like them. They remained until the fight was over. In this case, perhaps the fight was over.
He tried to get up, but pain surged in his leg. He forced it down, all of his training going into ignoring that agony. He struggled to move forward to get closer to the El’aras before they had a chance to escape. Given what they’d done to Jessica, his only thought was of revenge.
The El’aras continued away. Gavin went forward but Gaspar grabbed him and turned him around.
“You can’t do anything now, boy.”
Gavin jerked his arm free and reached the door, leaning out. Rage boiled within him. But the El’aras was gone.
Someone had lit the lanterns behind him. The inside of the tavern danced with the bright light, and the bodies of the El’aras that he’d carved littered the floor. It was difficult for him to find any sympathy within him.
He scrambled toward Jessica, limping on his injured leg. He lifted her head and propped his arm up underneath her, cradling her head. Blood pooled around her, and she moaned softly.
“Why did you have to come back down?” he whispered. He stroked her wavy chestnut hair, brushing it back from her face.
He had to summon his reserves. Reach Cyran. Get help for her. That was how he would help. Turning to Gaspar, he said, “Stay with her. I’m going to get help.”
Gaspar joined him and rested a hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. “You and I both know nothing can be done for her. Stay with her.”
Gavin glared at him. “I’m not leaving her to die like this. There has to be something that can be done for her. I know someone who can help.”
“Unless they know sorcery, there won’t be anything they can do.”
He said nothing as he got to his feet, staggering toward the door. With each step, the pain started to fade. He held onto his focus, tying his power together and using everything within him to draw that energy together so he could move through the tavern. He grabbed one of the El’aras daggers and walked back out onto the street.
The dagger was clutched in one hand, even though he knew he probably shouldn’t move so openly with it in hand. It would draw only the wrong kind of attention. Of course, it was late enough it might not even matter. There wasn’t anyone else on the street. He didn’t expect to encounter additional trouble, but then, he hadn’t expected to find any trouble in the first place.
As he headed through the streets, he made a straight line toward Cyran’s. With each step, his pain continued to fade. His anger did not. When he neared the home on the far edge of town, Gavin knew he’d already taken too long. He beat on the door, not mindful of anyone else who might be around or the noise that he was making. He cared only about waking his friend.
“Answer the damn door,” he shouted.
A light started to glow inside the window, and finally Cyran opened the door. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, though he hid a knife underneath his robes.
“What are you doing, Gavin?”
“A friend of mine needs you. El’aras attack. Dagger to the belly. Grab whatever you need.”
Cyran rubbed his beard. “If there was a knife to the belly, there won’t be much that I can do.”
“Dammit, Cyran! See if there’s anything you can try.”
Cyran regarded him for a moment before rushing inside, gathering a few things, and then closing the door behind him. Back out on the street, he passed a small vial over to Gavin. “Drink.”
“I don’t need to drink.”
“Drink, if you want me to go with you. I can see you’re struggling. I don’t know what exactly happened, but you need to regain your strength. This will help, and it’ll help with anything else you might’ve been exposed to.”
Gavin took the vial from Cyran, tipped it back, and swallowed. The taste of it was awful; like drinking ash. He hurried through the street, guiding Cyran, and with every step, his energy returned much faster than he would’ve expected.
“Do you care to tell me wh
at happened?”
“After.”
“If the El’aras attacked—”
“I told you, after.”
Cyran fell silent. They rushed through the streets and reached the Roasted Dragon, lights glowing inside. He found Gaspar at the door, guarding it with a slender sword he’d never seen the man carrying before. He nodded to Cyran when he came inside, and Gavin guided him toward the center of the floor where Jessica lay motionless.
Cyran crouched next to her, running his hands along her before pulling back the folds of fabric around her stomach, revealing the wound. Not only was it still bleeding, but the flesh around it had blackened. The blade had been poisoned. Gavin was surprised that he hadn’t suffered from the same poisoning, but maybe Tristan’s training had helped him more than he’d realized.
“Gavin, there isn’t anything I can do,” Cyran whispered.
“There has to be something you can try.”
Cyran shook his head. “Even if I could, I don’t know if I should.”
“What do you mean you don’t know if you should? Look at her!”
Cyran stared at the wound. “I am looking at her. I’m afraid you aren’t. She’s gone, Gavin.”
Gavin sat down next to Jessica. So much of his time and life was spent dealing with death that he knew it would come for him eventually. It was when death found those he cared about that he struggled most.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. Jessica wasn’t supposed to be targeted. The tavern wasn’t supposed to be targeted. He’d only taken jobs that involved marks that wouldn’t retaliate. He’d only taken jobs for those that needed to be removed.
Now it had cost him.
He lifted Jessica’s head onto his lap and smoothed back her hair. He stared at her face, touching her cheek, feeling how cold she already had become.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Chapter Eight
Cyran mixed several different powders from his pouch, all different colors and some with strange aromas to them. He motioned for Gavin to help, who crouched down next to his old friend and looked down at Jessica. So far, she hadn’t moved, though he believed that she could still come around. All it would take was time. Healing. Whatever Cyran might be able to offer.
“I need a drink to mix this with. I don’t know whether or not this is even going to work. I can’t guarantee it’ll be effective.”
Gavin looked up at him, holding his gaze. “Whatever you can do.”
Cyran studied him. “You care about her.”
“She didn’t deserve this.” He scrambled to his feet and grabbed a mug of ale from the kitchen, then handed it over to Cyran. “You’re going to have to use this.”
He grunted. “I’ve used worse.” He dumped the powder in and began to swirl it around. When it was done, he nodded to Gavin, who slipped his arm underneath Jessica’s neck and propped it up.
Cyran brought the ale to her lips, shaking his head. “I don’t know if this is even going to work,” he muttered.
“If you’re responsible, it’s going to work,” Gavin said.
“You’re giving me too much credit,” Cyran said softly.
He poured some of the ale into her mouth, stroking her neck to force her to swallow. Jessica coughed and then began to drink. He poured more of the ale in, making her drink most of it. When he was done, Gavin leaned her back down.
“Let her rest,” Cyran said. “If it’s going to work, it’s going to take time. She’s going to be weak.” He looked around the tavern. “If the El’aras were involved, it’s possible they had poisoned blades. Recovering from something like that will take quite a bit of time. I stitched it as well as I can, but it might not hold.”
“I know.”
“Most people aren’t like you, Gavin. Most people don’t bounce back as quickly as you do.”
“I know.”
Gavin scooped Jessica up and hurried up the stairs to the room that he’d taken to sharing with her. He set her on the bed, and she moaned softly. He debated whether he should change her clothes but figured that, for now, it was best that she have a chance to rest.
Looking around the room, his gaze settled on the small table near the window where she kept the rose he’d brought her. It was a flower that he’d taken after his last job, stealing it from a garden that he should never have been in were it not for Hamish hiring him.
He closed the door behind him, making his way back to the tavern. He nodded to Gaspar and took a seat at a table, pulling a mug of ale to him and resting his head in his hands.
The mug of ale sat untouched in front of him. Tables had been put back in place, an attempt to give the Roasted Dragon a semblance of order once again, though there wasn’t anything orderly about what had happened here tonight. The smell of death lingered within the tavern, mixed with sweat and fear.
Anger remained within Gavin.
“Who was she?” Cyran asked as he sat next to him. He looked exhausted, having worked on the others in the tavern who’d been injured. Other than Gavin, Gaspar and Imogen had participated in the fight. He didn’t know Imogen that well, but she was a skilled fighter according to Gaspar. Both had sustained bruises, and Imogen had come away with a small scrape. Cyran had rubbed an ointment on it to ensure it wasn’t poisoned. Wrenlow sat near Imogen, watching her.
“She’s a friend,” Gavin whispered. He took a long drink of the ale, setting it back in front of him and staring at the mug.
“She must be a good friend.”
Gavin looked up and nodded. “She wanted something I wasn’t able to give her. That doesn’t change the fact that she didn’t deserve this.”
“What about the people you target, Gavin?”
“That’s not what I do.” He tipped the mug back again, drinking it down in one massive gulp. When he slammed it back down, he started to get up, but the effect of the ale started to work through him. He hesitated a moment, letting it settle.
“That’s not what I hear.”
“And what do you hear?” Gavin snapped.
Cyran flicked his gaze to the back of the tavern. “Just that your jobs are the kind of thing that Tristan would’ve wanted you doing.”
“That’s not how it is.”
Silence fell between them for a moment. “After you left earlier, I uncovered something,” Cyran said. “It has to do with the El’aras. I looked into the treaty they forged with the free cities. I figured if they were here, there’d have to be some reason they were willing to violate the treaty. What I found was that the treaty was with the Shoren El’aras, not the Yassir El’aras.”
Gavin shook his head. “I don’t even know what the difference is.”
“They aren’t one people. The Shoren El’aras are closer to Yoran’s border. Typically, they’re the ones we encounter.”
“No one encounters the El’aras.”
“You have.”
“I’m different,” Gavin said, once again attempting to stand.
When he did, he looked around the tavern. Gaspar and Imogen were talking quietly. Neither of them looked nearly as tired as Cyran, but both of them needed to get back to sleep. He doubted anyone would be sleeping much tonight. Wrenlow should’ve been oblivious to what was taking place, but with the enchantment, he would’ve heard everything.
“The Yassir El’aras don’t have the same treaty,” Cyran said.
“What does that mean?”
Cyran stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head. “I don’t really know. I just thought you should know it’s not as straightforward as you might think.” He nodded toward the corner where the El’aras bodies were.
Gavin had made certain to ensure they weren’t getting up. One of them had a dagger through his skull, so there was no questioning he was going to stay dead, but the others had been knifed in less vital organs. Or they had been until Gavin stabbed them each in the heart. Now they weren’t going anywhere.
“If the Yassir El’aras have decided to come into Yoran, this isn’t the
kind of fight that you want any part of,” Cyran said.
“They brought the fight.”
“Are you sure about that? Didn’t you tell me you don’t even know who you’re working for?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It just means how do you know you aren’t working for one of the El’aras?”
The question made Gavin’s heart skip. It was no mean feat considering everything they’d been through already today. He hadn’t given any thought to that possibility. Hamish certainly wasn’t one of the El’aras, but that didn’t mean the person who employed Hamish wasn’t. More than ever, he needed to know his employer.
Gavin got up and started pacing. It was the only thing he could think of doing. Finally, he looked over to Cyran. “I’m going to need your help.”
“I knew you would.”
“I don’t need you to return to the life you abandoned.”
“You say that as if leaving our training is something I should be ashamed of.”
Gavin frowned, shaking his head. “I would never say you should be ashamed of it. I’m just saying I want you to recognize that…”
He wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted his oldest friend to recognize. There wasn’t anything Cyran really owed him. In fact, if anything, Gavin owed Cyran, who’d been the one to leave. He’d been the first one to prove that they could get away from Tristan and the life he’d tried to teach them. Because of Cyran, he had known there was something else he could do. A different life for him.
“I just want you to keep looking into what you can,” he finished.
“If it deals with the El’aras, there’s a limit to how much I’m willing to dig.”
“It’s not just the El’aras.”
“I know it’s not just them. It’s the factions of the El’aras, and however they might be tied together. And I know you don’t necessarily believe me when I tell you these factions are all interrelated, but they are.”
Gavin shook his head. “I believe you. When have you been wrong before?”
The Chain Breaker: Books 1-3 Page 8