Nature's Master (The Nature Mage Series Book 4)

by Duncan Pile

  Jonn’s men were piling up behind him, keeping as far beneath the portico as possible. At least three men were injured and one was dead, an arrow protruding from his throat.

  A terrible anger filled Jonn. He reached down and grabbed the shoulders of the corpse below and hauled it up against the hatch. “Help me,” he said to the man below him, who rushed to join him. Jonn braced himself, intending to force his way through, but the hatch flew open before he could act and blades pierced the body from above. With a mighty roar, Jonn surged through the hatch and launched an attack on all around him. He felt a blade carom off his chain mail and another snag in his cloak, but neither hit true. He plunged his dagger into a man’s gut, spun around, and jammed his elbow into another man’s throat, leaving him to choke out his last moments on the floor. Jonn withdrew his sword as some of his men spilled through the hatch behind him.

  “Kill them, you fools, or I’ll kill you myself!” Belash yelled, fury sounding in every syllable.

  Enemies rushed in from all sides but, alive with bloodlust, Jonn cut through them like a scythe through wheat. His eyes were fixed on Belash, who stayed out of the fray, bellowing orders to his men. For a brief moment he met Jonn’s gaze and failed to suppress a flinch. Jonn smiled to himself. The crime-lord feared him, and so he should. After dispatching a particularly stubborn knife-wielder, Jonn glanced around and saw that his men were struggling. Belash’s guards were all skilled warriors, and although Jonn had far more men, most of them were yet to make it through the hatchway.

  Pushing past brawling bodies, Jonn tried to reach them, but was intercepted by a huge brute of a man called Conrad, whose thick black beard started just below his eyeballs and disappeared into the neckline of his shirt. Jonn struck out, trying to dispatch Conrad as quickly as possible so he could help his men at the hatchway.

  …

  Trask hissed in pain as the blade bit into the flesh of his bicep. His opponent fought with a rapier and knew how to use it, but the next thrust snagged in the joint of Trask’s chest-plate. Trask’s hands were around the henchman’s throat before he could free the blade, crushing his windpipe without mercy. Trask threw his defeated opponent aside like a rag doll, extricated the slender blade from his armour and snapped it in two.

  “WHO’S NEXT?” he roared, but it seemed that, at long last, they’d overcome the bulk of those opposing them. He looked around at the many corpses littering the corridor and was dismayed to see the number of guardsmen among the dead. Trask squared his shoulders. There’d be time to mourn later. He was covered in blood, and now that he’d stopped, it felt like he’d been fighting for hours. His arms hung heavy as lead, and pain from a dozen wounds started to seep into his consciousness. He felt like one giant bruise, but he resisted the urge to rest. Jonn needed him and there was no time to waste.

  “Let’s finish this,” he growled. The rest of his men muttered in fervent agreement. His blood up, he turned and led them deeper into the maze of corridors.

  …

  Jonn blocked a vicious riposte from Conrad, only to be backhanded across the face by a gauntleted fist. His eyes streaming, he stumbled away, tripping over a flaccid arm and falling heavily to the floor. His enemy leapt in for the kill, levelling a blow that would have separated Jonn’s head from his shoulders, but Jonn saw it coming and rolled to one side, bringing his sword up to block the heavy blade. The clash was jarring but he held onto his sword, ramming his dagger into his opponent’s thigh. Rolling aside once more, he sprang to his feet and parried a wild blow, which he knocked aside with ease and thrust his sword deep into his enemy’s gut. He shoved the dying warrior off his blade and spun around, ready for the next opponent.

  He was on his own, some distance from the main battle at the hatchway. Several of his men lay dead near the stairwell, but four had made it through and were fighting for their lives against seven opponents. Belash must have stationed his entire elite guard on the roof garden! The crime-lord himself was on the far corner of the roof, along with the Wrench and a pair of warriors to protect him.

  Jonn rushed towards the hatchway on silent feet and plunged his sword into the back of an elite guard. Chaos reigned among the enemy, attacked from before and behind, and within moments two more of them were dead.

  The odds were in their favour now. Jonn taunted a wiry swordsman called Orlain, who he’d spoken to from time to time in his guise as Tarek. Orlain was dangerous with his rapier; his reach was long and his aim, deadly. Orlain lunged without warning, but Jonn anticipated the move and sidestepped the thrust, slicing the swordsman’s arm open as he passed. Orlain spun on his heel and struck out, all in one motion. His sword arced towards Jonn’s exposed neck, but Jonn knocked the blade aside and tried to bury his dagger in Orlain’s midriff. Orlain was quick, turning away from the blow and whipping his rapier across Jonn’s shoulders, sending metal links bouncing across the floor. A sharp, stinging sensation on the back of his neck told Jonn he’d been wounded.

  Eyes narrowed, Jonn barreled forwards, trying to get within the swordsman’s range. Orlain lashed out with his blade but Jonn was already too close and only took a glancing blow to his arm. He thrust both sword and dagger deep into Orlain’s guts. The henchman’s eyes widened and he shook his head in terror as Jonn shifted his grip on the swords and, with a hard wrench of his shoulders, disembowelled him. Orlain’s entrails slapped wetly on the floor as the light faded from his eyes, and Jonn shoved the corpse aside.

  There was a clamour at the hatchway. He could hear a voice bellowing orders from below. Trask! The remaining two henchmen fell back, trying to join Belash and the last of the elite guards but they were dead within moments, brought down by a forest of stabbing blades. The rest of Jonn’s men boiled up through the hatchway and fanned out. Trask followed, briefly clasping Jonn’s arm. His eyes fell on Belash.

  “You got him.”

  “Both of them,” Jonn growled, his gaze flitting between Belash and the Wrench. He didn’t know which he hated more but both deserved to die. “Come,” he said, striding over to stand before the last and worst of his enemies.

  The two elite guards exchanged a look with each other and stepped forward, casting their weapons to the ground. “We don’t want to die,” the taller of them said. “If you let us, we’ll walk away and never look back.” The shorter man nodded vigorously.

  “Jonn?” Trask said.

  Jonn was about to tell him no when a blade burst through the taller man’s chest, spraying blood and froth across the ground. The shorter man spun around, only to receive a dagger in the eye. The Wrench rammed it home and the man fell, spasming, to the ground.

  The Wrench stood there, blood dripping from his long, slender blade. “I trusted you Tarek,” he said, and to Jonn’s amazement he could detect a note of bitterness in his tone. He’d never understand how a monster like the Wrench could become attached to another human being, but Jonn’s betrayal appeared to have genuinely wounded him.

  Jonn hesitated. He’d waited so long for this moment, but now that it was upon him he didn’t know what to do. Neither of them deserved a quick death, but he’d seen torture first hand and knew he couldn’t do it. He wouldn’t do it. Still, a sword through the heart seemed far too easy.

  “Jonn?” Trask rumbled, eyeing him with a raised eyebrow.

  Suddenly, it came to him. “Tie them up,” he said. He knew exactly what to do with them. Jonn’s men rushed in and bound them hand and foot. Jonn gagged the Wrench to silence his angry complaints.

  “Trask, guard them well. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get someone who has earned the right to sit in judgment. Lia and the rest of the women will decide the manner of their death.”

  Belash tried to act unconcerned, but the Wrench’s wide, fearful eyes said it all.

  “You won’t let me die today,” Belash sneered. “I am the cornerstone of a vast empire. Remove me and you sow chaos and death in many places, including here i
n Helioport. Let me live, and I will leave this city and start anew elsewhere. Namert would be more than happy to have me.”

  Jonn was incredulous. “You think to talk your way out of this, after all you have done? Watch him, Trask, I’ll be right back.”

  Jonn strode to the hatchway and climbed down the staircase. The courtyard was deserted. Many women had fled during the battle, but he didn’t think Lia would be among them. He had promised to come back and rescue her, and hoped she had faith enough in him to stick around.

  “Lia!” he called. There wasn’t anyone in sight. “Lia!”

  “You came back,” a soft voice said, as a slight, olive-skinned beauty emerged from one of the chambers. Her eyes were hard and determined.

  “I promised I would,” Jonn said.

  “Is Belash dead?” she asked. He could hear the hunger in her voice.

  “Not yet,” Jonn said. “He and the Wrench are being held by my men, up on the roof garden. I figured you might want a say in what happens to them.”

  Lia’s jaw tightened purposefully. “Wait, there are others. Cat, Simone, all of you…” she called. “Belash has been captured.”

  A number of women began to emerge from other chambers, peering at Jonn uncertainly. “These few were with me in the cages,” Lia said. “They stayed because I asked them to.”

  “I promise, you are safe,” Jonn said. “Belash is yours to do with as you see fit.”

  The women murmured intently among themselves. “Take us to him,” one of them said.

  Jonn turned and led them up the staircase, emerging onto the roof garden with half a dozen women in tow; the most ill-treated of all Belash’s captives. Belash refused to look at them, as if they were beneath him.

  Furious, Jonn strode over and backhanded the crime-lord across the face. Belash glared at him, his eyes promising death, but he no longer had the power to harm him. “Look at them!” Jonn growled. Belash kept his gaze averted, so Jonn hit him again, harder this time. “I said, look at them!”

  The crime-lord spat out a bloody tooth and turned his reluctant gaze to the women lined up before him. Jonn wondered if Belash saw the irony; for years, women had been forced to line up before him for his pleasure, and now those same women were lining up to seal his fate.

  “Ungrateful bitches!” Belash spat. “I gave you silks, a life of privilege, and this is how you repay me!”

  Lia stepped forward. “Your knife,” she said, holding out a hand. Jonn didn’t hesitate, handing her his blade.

  “What are you doing?” Belash demanded.

  “Prise his mouth open,” Lia said to a pair of nearby guards, who looked at Jonn uncertainly.

  “Do what she says,” Jonn said, and they sprang into motion, levering the crime-lord’s jaws open, despite his gargled protestations.

  Lia reached into his mouth, took hold of his tongue and sawed through it with the blade. Belash screamed; a ragged sound, issuing from a mouth that would never form a coherent word again. She sauntered over to the Wrench, who looked like he was trying to disappear into thin air and thrust the tongue before his face. A wet patch blossomed in his breaches, spreading quickly across his crotch. “You want to keep yours?” she said. The Wrench nodded fervently; a pitiful sight.

  “Take them to the cages,” she said, casting the tongue aside.

  Jonn stopped her as she headed to the hatchway. “You understand, these men cannot be allowed to live?”

  Lia smiled. “They will die, but only when they’ve learned to beg.”

  Jonn saw the hard gleam in her eye and knew he could trust her.

  “Lead on,” he said, stepping aside. She passed through the hatchway and descended the stairs, followed by the other women. Jonn’s men came next, pushing Belash and the Wrench before them. Belash left a trail of blood behind him, trickling from his open mouth, and the Wrench a trail of urine, dripping from his breaches. Jonn felt nothing but satisfaction at their downfall, but most of all that he’d kept his promise to free the rest of the women. He had no appetite for further violence, and was glad in the end to turn them over to Lia. She would see that justice was done.

  …

  Gaspi pulled his boots on, preparing to leave his room when a knock sounded at the door.

  “Coming Emmy,” he called. He was meant to go to her room, but she must have grown tired of waiting.

  He walked to the door and swung it open, only to find that it wasn’t Emmy after all. “Jonn!” Gaspi cried, throwing himself into his guardian’s arms. Jonn held him tightly and Gaspi found himself sobbing – deep, gut-wrenching sobs he had little control over.

  “Come on lad, let’s go inside,” Jonn said.

  Gaspi held on, feeling like he never wanted to let go. He’d consciously suppressed his worries about Jonn until that moment – the peril his guardian had placed himself in was too grave to contemplate – but now he knew he was safe, the floodgates were open.

  “It’s okay son,” Jonn said. “It’s all over.”

  Gaspi finally let go, wiping his face on his sleeve. “Adela. Is she free?”

  Jonn smiled, his eyes twinkling. “She is free.”

  Gaspi hugged him again, but only briefly this time. “Jonn, I’m so glad. Tell me all about it.”

  “Can we go inside now?” Jonn said with a wry smile. “This might take some time and I’d like to take the weight off, if you don’t mind.”

  Gaspi laughed. “Sure, but let me go and get Emmy first. She’s expecting me.”

  “Alright,” Jonn said, entering the room.

  Gaspi paused before leaving, drinking in the sight of his guardian, alive and well. “Jonn, I can’t begin to tell you how happy I am…”

  Jonn met his gaze. “You don’t need to. I feel the same way.”

  Gaspi felt the tears begin to well up again and turned to leave before making another spectacle of himself. “I’ll be right back.”

  Thirteen

  Jonn strolled atop Helioport’s outer wall with Adela at his side. The evening air was cool and crisp, and the view of the distant mountains was crystalline. Jonn caught the scent of Adela’s hair in his nostrils and smiled, happy for the first time in what felt like an age. The brief time he’d shared with her before he led the attack on Belash had been beyond anything he’d known – a breathless haze that lived on in his memory as a tangle of limbs and hot, gasping breath. More than that, he remembered what it felt like to abandon himself to another person. He was still staggered by how much of himself he had given. He hadn’t thought he was capable of it, not since Rhetta died. The shield he hid behind, which had kept people at bay for the last twenty years, had been cast aside, abandoned for Adela and the need she had for him. She had craved him in that moment, and he knew beyond a doubt that she had given him everything too. It was the feeling of absolute surrender he remembered most – the freedom to love and be loved.

  He slipped an arm around her shoulders and tried to draw her in close, but she stepped away, resting her hands atop the wall and looking out across the plain. “Stunning view, isn’t it?”

  Jonn joined her and placed his hand on top of hers, but she withdrew it to scratch her arm. “Damn flies,” she said. “I think I’ve been bitten again.”

  “Adela, what’s wrong?”

  “Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You won’t let me touch you.”

  Adela looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Nothing’s wrong, I’m just in a bad mood.”

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “Honestly, I’ll be fine,” she said, reaching out and taking his hand, but her touch was reluctant. “Let’s just keep walking.”

  Concern awakened in Jonn’s breast as he fell into step at her side. Something had changed in her, but he was powerless to help unless she was willing to talk about it.

  …

  “Just going to the privy. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Adela said, closing the door to the room she shared with Jonn in the Traveller’s Rest. She paused, resting th
e back of her head against the dark wood panelling. She breathed deeply, trying to gather herself.

  What’s wrong with me? After Jonn had rescued her, they’d spent two wonderful days together, sequestered in this very room. She’d given herself to him freely, able to love him as she’d wanted for such a long time. He had been gentle with her in return, careful and kind, and she had felt safe in his arms, but now his presence was making her panic. She was afraid when he was near, ready to flee, and she couldn’t explain why. He had proven his devotion to her a hundred times, but some visceral response she had no power over drove her to the edge of hysteria whenever he tried to touch her. Her skin became clammy, her heart started pounding and she felt like the walls were closing in on her. Losing control like that was terrifying, but it was also infuriating. She didn’t want to let fear come between her and Jonn, and she was damn well going to do something about it!

  Pushing herself off the wall, she rushed down the stairs to the common room. The bar was crowded, but the tap-man knew her by sight and came straight over. “What’ll it be ma’am?” he asked, glancing surreptitiously at her chest.

  Adela looked down, realising that in her haste she had left the room in her nightgown. It did little to preserve her modesty, pulling tightly across her hips and breasts. “Stop looking at me!” she snapped, folding her arms to shield herself from his gaze. Inwardly, she cursed herself – what had she been thinking?

  “Sorry ma’am,” the young man said with what looked like a genuinely chagrined expression.