by Davis Ashura
He shifted about then, relieving an incipient cramp but careful to make no motion that could give away his position. He was secreted away in a tree, unsuspected and unnoticed, upon the very grounds of the Shektan House Seat. He held a Blend, rough and ready—he would never master that Talent—but thus far, it had been enough. No one had seen or sensed him enter the grounds, and no one saw or sensed him now.
He was confident that he remained undetected. He'd scouted this position many times in the past few weeks, always with no one the wiser. No one knew he was here, waiting like a tiger on the unwitting deer.
And from here, he'd memorized the patterns and movements of Dar'El Shektan's day. He knew when and where Dar'El tended to have his meals, when and where Dar'El would break for the morning and the afternoon, and when Dar'El would wheel his crippled wife outside for her daily time in the gardens.
That time was now.
Hal'El had allowed himself to be identified by Solair Tumblewash, the Duriah bowyer. And, of course, Rector Bryce had hustled the man over to the House Seat so he could repeat his testimony. By now, Dar'El had heard it and even now, was likely sending a party of warriors to the address Hal'El had supplied to the bowyer. A surprise would await them when they arrived. The address would take them to a small restaurant in Hart's Stand. It was one Hal'El had once controlled as the SuDin of the Sil Lor Kum but not his true safe house.
The deception was all part of Hal'El's plan to get Dar'El alone. Frustratingly, the man rarely was. There were always other warriors about, more than Hal'El could take on by himself. But with the undeniable lure of finally capturing him, all those others should hopefully be gone by now.
Hal'El's breath came quicker.
Over a year he'd been waiting for this moment. Over a month since the battle for Ashoka had begun. A little less than a week since the fall of the Outer Wall. And two days since his offer to the Magisterium to give them all the information he knew of the Fan Lor Kum in exchange for clemency had been summarily rejected.
Worse, Hal'El had carried out the promise he'd made to the Queen: he'd marred Ashoka's Anchoring Stone—harmed it, in fact, much worse than he had intended. It was supposed to have been a slight slice, nothing more, but the Knife had proved impossible to control. The black blade had slid soundlessly across the misshapen lump that had anonymously protected the city.
That single cut had turned into a deep gash, and while the weapon was biting into the Anchoring Stone, Hal'El had felt something inside him tear. The perfect, crystalline pool of his Jivatma had roiled into a whirlpool and grown dark. Terror had filled his mind at the sight, and he felt himself dying. Too late, he had learned the truth. It was the Knife. Murder with the evil weapon had connected it to Hal'El in ways he had never suspected. Priming was what the Queen had labelled it. The blade had stolen his Jivatma, tapping into it, corrupting it in order to destroy the Anchoring Stone.
With a harsh cry of effort, Hal'El had managed to withdraw the Knife, but the damage had been done. The Oasis had been weakened. How much, Hal'El didn't know, but events proved it must have been substantial. The Oasis and the Outer Wall had fallen less than a week after Hal'El had cut the Stone.
As a result, the city was now doomed, and it was all Hal'El's fault. He had done this. He had led Ashoka to ruination.
Hal'El wasn't a man to hold on to many regrets, but what he had done to his home, what he had done to this place he loved above all else, was something for which he would never forgive himself.
And now, at this late date, vengeance was all he had left. Vengeance that he had been forced to set aside for weeks while his Jivatma recovered. Vengeance that would now finally arrive.
He fingered the Withering Knife sheathed at his side, pondering whether to kill Dar'El with it. It would likely be more painful that way, and Hal'El would also gain the Jivatma of his hated enemy, but . . .
With a grimace, Hal'El withdrew his hand from the Withering Knife. The stolen Jivatma wouldn't be worth it. Sophy Terrell was already in his mind. How much worse would it be if Dar'El was there as well? It would be a nightmare.
Movement in Dar'El's study snapped Hal'El's attention back to the here and now. The room was emptying, and he sat up straighter. Soon, Dar'El should be wheeling Satha outside. Any moment now . . .
Hal'El waited with bated breath. He prayed this would be the day he could finally avenge Varesea.
A door opened, and out came Dar'El and his wife. Hal'El frowned. With them were two others. Women. His frown deepened as he sought to identify who was with Dar'El and Satha. His brow unfurrowed when he recognized the two women.
Bree and Jessira Shektan.
Even better.
Hal'El would cause Dar'El even greater grief than he had dared hope. This afternoon, he'd kill nearly everyone Dar'El loved, and Dar'El would be forced to watch while he did it.
Hal'El took careful aim with his bow.
A low whistling sound ended with Nanna stumbling backwards and crying out in pain.
Without thinking, Bree Shielded. She conducted Jivatma, using it to heighten her senses. Her body tensed, ready for whatever was to come.
“Someone's Blended in that tree!” Jessira shouted. Even as she pointed, a figure shimmered into view as it released its Blend.
Nanna staggered to his feet. His teeth were clenched in pain and an arrow protruded from his left shoulder. His sword was held steady in his right hand. “Protect your amma,” he ordered.
The figure from the tree dropped to the ground. A man. He was shrouded in camouflage clothing with his hood thrown forward to hide his face. He cast aside his bow and quiver of arrows as he sauntered arrogantly toward them.
Bree's mouth went dry. Though she couldn't see his features, she knew who this assassin had to be.
A moment later, her suspicion was confirmed.
The figure pulled back his hood. Hal'El Wrestiva. “Does your shoulder hurt?” the traitor taunted Nanna. “You know what happens next. Or you could simply kill yourself and save me the trouble.”
“If I wanted to kill myself, I would scale the heights of your ego and crash down to the depths of your intelligence,” Nanna answered.
Hal'El snarled. “Your clever quips won't sound so clever with my sword down your throat,” he said. “You'll die at my hands. It is how matters between us were always meant to end.”
Bree conducted more Jivatma from her Well. Where were the guards? With a sickening realization, she remembered they were gone. They had accompanied Rector to the address supplied by the Duriah bowyer.
Hal'El drew his sword and almost before they could react, he was on them.
He crouched beneath Jessira's swing and spun and leapt. Somehow, he almost ended up behind Bree. She twisted about, trying to keep Hal'El in front of her. Jivatma fueled her movements, but the fragging traitor shifted too quickly for her to follow. In comparison, she felt like she was moving through mud. He was fast, faster than anyone Bree had ever faced, maybe even Rukh.
Almost lackadaisically, Hal'El slammed an elbow to Bree's jaw. Her eyes rolled up, and she stumbled away from him. Her balance was gone, and her legs wouldn't bear her weight. She fell heavily on her bottom.
Thankfully, Hal'El disregarded her when he sighted Jessira stepping in front of Amma. He smiled sardonically. Bree tried to right herself but couldn't as Hal'El dashed forward. He blocked Jessira's downward swing and snap kicked her in the gut. She flew through the air, and Hal'El was now unimpeded to attack Amma.
But Nanna was there. Bree tried to force her mind to function again. Nanna, weakened and hindered as he was by the arrow in his shoulder, couldn't last long against Hal'El. Bree regained some semblance of composure and surged to her feet. She moved to support Nanna.
Hal'El now faced them both. He moved smoothly, sinuous as a snake, fluid as water. He blocked blows, sliding aside from others, spinning and maneuvering. During it all, Bree never got the sense that he was challenged in any way. He was consummately skilled.
Ju
st then, Jessira arrived back in the fight. Now it was three on one, and Bree felt a surge of hope. She risked a glance at Amma, who was watching the battle with a rapt look of fear.
If possible, Hal'El was now moving even faster. He slipped aside Bree's thrust, and she blocked his return parry. He moved with her motion, flowing out of her range. He smashed aside Nanna's horizontal stroke and delivered a hilt to the forehead in response. Nanna fell back.
Again Hal'El twisted aside and avoided Jessira's thrust, but his own struck straight into her thigh. It was a deep wound and blood flowed freely. Jessira grimaced in pain, but she stayed on her feet until Hal'El kicked her feet out from beneath her.
Hal'El turned away from Jessira and Nanna, and Bree was suddenly faced with the entirety of his focus. She conducted more Jivatma and her heart pounded adrenaline even as she sought to relax and fall into the movement of muscle memory that Durmer had so often emphasized. It worked for about seven strokes, but then Hal'El cut past her defenses. His sword sliced a line across her ribs. Another across the back of her arm. Blood dripped to the ground. A kick to the head had Bree nearly poleaxed.
She watched dimly as Nanna attacked then, but Hal'El easily countered him. The traitor moved confidently. He walked Nanna down, stepping through a series of increasingly desperate strokes. Hal'El slipped a reckless swing, punched Nanna in the ribs, and followed up with a thrust to the shoulder that hadn't taken an arrow.
Nanna cried out in pain, and his sword fell from his hand. Hal'El stepped inside, and swept Nanna off his feet. He leveled his sword.
“No!” Amma cried out.
Hal'El towered over Nanna. He seemed to say something, but Bree couldn't hear whatever it was. Her heart hammered a staccato rhythm. She was certain Nanna was about to be murdered before her eyes.
Bree finally managed to right herself. She disregarded the fire burning from where her ribs and arm had earlier been sliced open. She dismissed any pain or fear. There was only need, the desire to protect those she loved. It was hard to hold the sword steady, but she forced herself to do so anyway.
Jessira clawed her way back to her feet at the same time, and together, they faced Hal'El.
He turned to them and laughed in their faces. “I'll kill the ghrina first,” he said, sounding clinical as he spoke to Nanna. “Then your wife and finally your daughter. Your death, though, will be the last. I want you to be able to truly appreciate the final, tortured moments of your life as I kill everyone you love.” He grimaced in hatred. “You should have never sought me out or murdered Varesea.”
Bree tightened the grip on her sword.
Normally the streets of Ashoka would be bustling with business right now. Mid-afternoon should have seen many people out on errands and tasks, talking, gossiping, and laughing. The city had always been alive with optimism and life, but ever since the invasion, especially the fall of the Outer Wall, a pall had settled over Ashoka. Dread had replaced hope, quiet fear had taken the place of hearty boisterousness, and a foreboding sorrow had cloaked even the sunniest of skies. There was a sense that a gloaming hung unmoving over Ashoka, that even in the midst of summer, winter's twilight grasp was reaching for the heart of the city.
Rukh recognized these changes as he and Aia trudged through the traffic on Jain Stoop. The road wasn't especially crowded, but people still stepped aside for him and the Kesarin—mostly for the Kesarin. No matter how often Aia and her brothers were seen wandering through Ashoka, the great cats remained an intimidating sight. People still eyed them askance and moved just a little faster as they passed by or even darted into side streets to evade the presence of the Kesarins.
Rukh mentally shrugged. At least having the traffic move out of the way for him meant that he would get home all that much sooner. His rotation on the Inner Wall had just ended and he had a day off before having to report back for duty. Just a few more turns to make, and he'd be home, able to see his family and spend a few hours with Jessira before she had to report back to her own posting.
*Why can't I work on the Wall with you?* Aia asked.
*Because I'm not working on the Wall right now,* Rukh explained.
Aia batted him on the shoulder, causing him to stumble. *I know that,* she said, apparently unamused by his joke. *I mean in general.*
Rukh glanced her way with wry amusement, and Aia grumbled in annoyance. Rukh laughed and reached up to rub her behind the ear. Aia pushed into his hand and purred. Rukh smiled. Nothing soothed or distracted Aia quite as easily as a good rub. *By the way, where are Shon and Thrum?* he asked.
Aia moved away and gave her whole body a shake. It was her way of resettling her fur about her. *During Jessira and Jaresh's day off, they decided to go to Dryad Park and go swimming,* she said. *They're likely lazing away the day.*
Rukh grinned. *Are you jealous?*
Aia's shoulders slumped. *Yes,* she said, sounding dejected.
*You'll get to play during my time off,* Rukh reminded her.
*It won't be the same,* Aia said. *There won't be anyone to play with.*
*I'll play with you.*
Aia's ears perked up. *You will?* she asked, sounding hopeful. *Can we play 'drown the gazelle'?*
Rukh laughed. *You're making that up,* he said. *There's no such game.*
*Yes there is!* Aia said. *It's so much fun. You'll love it.* She eyed Rukh, looking hungry. *But you have to be the gazelle.*
*No chance,* Rukh said.
*Why? You'd be so good at it,* Aia protested. She blinked. *My chin itches, by the way.*
*No,* Rukh said in exasperation. *I—*
Whatever else he might have said fled from his mind. Something was wrong; something was horribly wrong. A smell came to him. Blood and peril. His nostrils flared. Jessira.
“She needs you,” a baritone voice whispered in his mind.
Rukh didn't think to wonder who had spoken to him. Something more important occupied his thoughts. Jessira was at the House Seat. And she was in danger.
Aia must have picked up on his agitation or his thoughts. *I can run faster than you,* she said.
*Then go,* Rukh commanded. *Protect her.*
*Come with me.*
*I can't keep up with you,* Rukh snapped. He wanted Aia to get moving. Every moment she waited on him, the greater the danger Jessira faced.
*I'll carry you,* Aia explained.
Shock broke through Rukh's worry. Never in all the time he had known Aia had he ever expected such an offer. Nevertheless, he quickly did as Aia instructed. He clambered onto the Kesarin's back. His heart thudded. Jessira's peril was growing. He settled himself behind Aia's shoulders, clenching her sides with his knees.
*Hold on,* Aia warned. She broke out into a dead sprint.
The world blurred. It became a confusion of sights and sounds. Shouts of alarm from others on the road came to Rukh, but he paid them no heed. He was too busy struggling to hold on to Aia. While her gait was surprisingly smooth, the speed with which she ran threatened to unseat Rukh with every stride. He settled on lying low across Aia's back and gripping her fine fur as tight as he could. He ended up closing his eyes as well.
Hal'El smiled. His long-sought vengeance was about to be completed. Dar'El would finally pay for everything he'd done, everything he'd stolen from Hal'El. All the months of hardships would finally have their answering retribution.
“The world would have been a finer place had you never been born,” Sophy cursed. “Your mother would have prayed for a miscarriage had she known the degenerate evil she was fated to spawn.”
“Filth! You think we obstruct your will now,” Felt Barnel shouted. “You will never know a moment of silence! Your dreams will be nightmares. We'll strip the very memory of your disgusting lover, Varesea Apter, from your mind.”
“You will pay with pain for what you did to me, pig,” the piggish Pera Obbe began.
And as was her nature, the irredeemably stupid Pera shouted the most unimaginative threats and imprecations possible while Sophy's were e
nough to curdle the soul.
Hal'El had grown used to them, though, and he stopped listening.
There was work to be done. The Shektan women still faced him with swords raised, and privately, Hal'El applauded their bravery. Courage shown in their eyes, but it wouldn't take much effort to disarm them.
“Lay aside your swords,” Hal'El urged. “I will make your deaths swift and merciful. Injured or not, you must know by now that you pose no real challenge to me.”
An earth-shattering roar distracted him. A giant cat, a furious Kesarin, leapt over the retaining wall that surrounded the Shektan grounds. It was a calico. Rukh's cat. It raced forward.
Hal'El cursed, furious at his fate. He had been seconds away from delivering justice for Varesea. He measured the distance the cat had to cover, trying to reckon if he had enough time to kill the Shektan women before the Kesarin was on him. He wouldn't. He wouldn't even have time to try to escape before the cat was on him.
Wait. There was something, no someone on the Kesarin's back. It was Rukh Shektan. It had to be. This was his famous Aia, after all.
Hal'El set the edge of his blade against Dar'El's throat even as bitterness filled his heart. He'd been so close.
The Kesarin roared and bounded forward, almost too quickly to follow. She flanked Hal'El, but he knew the cat wouldn't attack him. Not now. Not with Hal'El's sword pressed against Dar'El's throat.
“You can save your nanna,” Hal'El called, “but only if you face me as a man. One warrior against another. No interference. Do I have your word as a Kumma? As a child of Ashoka?”
The figure on the Kesarin's back slid smoothly to the ground. It was Rukh Shektan. “You have my word,” the younger man said. “But whether you defeat me or not, your evil ends here. Aia will see to it.”
The Kesarin growled low and threatening.
Hal'El paid no heed to the great cat. She would kill him if he killed Rukh, but at least this way Hal'El would have a worthy death. He would either kill the finest warrior in Ashoka other than himself or in turn be killed by that warrior. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do.