steel and fire 03 - dance of steel

by rivet, jordan

  Siv advanced for a series of quick jabs. Perhaps surprised by the kick, his opponent didn’t react as quickly as he had before. Siv swiped at his elbow and was rewarded by the sight of a thin strip of blood on the edge of his knife.

  He leapt back to avoid the short sword again. Not giving his opponent a chance to breathe, he kicked his knee with a hard crunch. Before the man could do more than curse, Siv tackled him, grabbing his wrist to deflect the sword from his stomach.

  They hit the ground, Siv grasping the man’s sword arm in his left hand. He forced the weapon away from his body and drove his knife between the man’s ribs. He gave a surprised grunt. Siv kept his blade in until the body relaxed under his hands. Silence reigned at last.

  Siv cleaned his blade on the corpse’s tunic and climbed to his feet, still feeling slightly off balance. He looked around for his friends and any remaining enemies.

  “Now that’s training for the Dance if I’ve ever seen it!” Kres had a wild glow in his eyes, and his hands were drenched in blood. He stood triumphant over the bodies of the mercenaries, Gull at his side. Blood soaked her sleeve as well as her blade. Fiz had taken refuge behind the bar, and it looked as if he’d wielded a pair of stone pitchers in lieu of weapons. Two unconscious men lay before him. At least one looked as though he’d never wake.

  Latch had dealt with the last of his would-be kidnappers. He held Siv’s blade out to him by the hilt. He met his eyes and gave him a respectful nod so brief Siv would have missed it if he blinked.

  “Better keep it until you’re safe,” Siv said. “Wouldn’t want them to carry you off.”

  Latch stared at him for a moment without expression then withdrew his hand. He didn’t argue with the assertion: they had been attacked by a group of mercenaries intent on kidnapping Latch. The fellow got more interesting by the day.

  The tavern patrons began to reemerge from underneath tables now that the fighting was over. The fiddler clutched his instrument as though he expected he’d have to beat someone over the head with it. The tavern keeper looked on the verge of exploding over the mess—as soon as she figured out whose fault the fight had been.

  “We’d best move on before the Town Watch arrives, lads,” Kres said. “Seems a man can’t even enjoy a night of carousing in peace anymore.”

  Fiz sighed. “We’re never going to get a decent night’s sleep in an actual bed, are we?”

  “Shouldn’t we see if the Town Watch knows anything about these goons?” Gull asked. She cut a strip of cloth from the edge of her shirt and began expertly binding up the wound on her arm. She didn’t even wince as she pulled the cloth tight with her teeth.

  “I daresay we know enough,” Kres said.

  “There’ll be more of them,” Latch said with a sigh. “They won’t give up.”

  “Have no fear, my friends,” Kres said. “Pendark awaits!” He turned as if he meant to sweep dramatically toward the door.

  “Hold on a minute,” Siv said. “Don’t we deserve to know what the Firelord all that was about?”

  Kres smiled benignly. “All what, son?”

  “The attack! If I’m going to risk my neck with you people, isn’t it fair I know why?”

  With a few lightning-quick steps Kres put himself between Siv and Latch. The latter still held Siv’s sword, so he wasn’t in much danger, but Kres’s intentions were clear.

  “You’re a smart boy, Sivren Amen,” he said softly. “You saw who they were after. Don’t you think if I was going to tell you more, I would have already?”

  “It’s all right, Kres,” Latch said. He still sounded brusque, but his voice had taken on a commanding tone. “It’s only fair that he knows. He saved my life just now. If he were really a spy, he wouldn’t have done that.” He sighed heavily. “I think we can trust him.”

  Kres shrugged. “It’s your secret. But know this: I protect the members of my team. You’re new here, Siv lad, but you’ll get the same protection as long as you don’t cross any other members of my team. Is that clear?”

  “Clear as a krellfish eye,” Siv said. He was starting to understand. The pen fighters had tried to bring vengeance on Shreya’s killers. They had prevented him from leaving when they fled Tollan because they didn’t want him to reveal Latch’s whereabouts. All for the team. Their loyalty—once won—might not be a bad thing to have. “So what’s the big secret?”

  Latch lowered his sword. “My surname is Brach,” he said. “I’m Commander Brach’s son.”

  “The commander of the Soolen army?” The news wasn’t quite as juicy as Siv had hoped. Latch hadn’t even been a king before? How disappointing.

  “Among other things,” Latch said evasively.

  Siv tried to remember the long conversations he’d had with Sora about the noble houses of Soole. Sora had mostly talked at him while he counted the minutes until his next dueling practice. The thought of Sora created a tight knot of pain in his stomach. He ought to be able to remember something she had told him. Brach. That was the commander his original captors had served, but there was something else important about the name. They had a fort in the badlands, and . . .

  “Wait, isn’t Brach the richest and most-powerful house in Soole?”

  “You forgot stuffiest,” Latch said.

  “That’s why you wanted to get out of Tollan so quickly? Because your father is leading the invasion?”

  “Brach isn’t exactly a popular name in Trure right now,” Latch said.

  “And you’re the rebellious scion?” Siv said. “You figured you’d join the pen fighters rather than follow in your father’s military footsteps, and now he’s sent mercenaries to get you back?”

  “Something like that.”

  “It was sure nice of Kres to take you under his wing.” Siv had a feeling they were leaving something out. So what if Latch was a rich kid from a well-known house? It was not as if he’d ever had his kingdom stolen from him by a powerful sorcerer. But what was in it for Kres? The man was risking death by keeping young Latch out of his father’s clutches. “You must be great friends.”

  A slow smile spread across Kres’s face. “The best.”

  If anything, the response left Siv more confused than ever.

  “This is all very heartwarming, gentlemen,” Gull said. “But aren’t we supposed to be getting out of town?”

  “Right you are, Gull darling,” Kres said. “We can continue sharing life stories on the road. Let us retrieve our horses and leave the blessed Fork in our dust. We only have a week before our first Dance. We’d best move on before word of our exploits spreads.”

  32.

  Chase

  DARA’S wrists ached from her bonds, and her back felt sore from sitting bolt upright on Grelling’s horse to avoid touching him as much as possible. She wanted to slam her fists into his ugly chin. Despite all her efforts over the past weeks, they were still leading Siv’s enemies straight to him. She spent her nights plotting ways to escape, but Kurn Pass left her with limited options. There was nowhere to go but onward. Even if she managed to break free of her ropes, her captors would catch up long before she reached Fork Town. She didn’t want to contemplate what they’d do then. Grelling treated her with a casual brutality that warned her not to underestimate him. These were no bumbling henchmen—and Lord Vex was as vigilant as his men.

  Dara was realizing the most-dangerous Rollendar of them all was still alive. Vex and his two companions trained with sword and fist every morning and evening. Vex himself proved the most skilled, and Dara wondered whether he might have had a solid career as a duelist in other circumstances. He’d certainly landed on his feet after the disgrace of his house. He had assumed control of the Rollendar informants and found a new lord to serve—one who wasn’t her father—and still had time to capture them. Unfortunately, he gave nothing away about the identity of his new liege as they traversed the pass.

  Starting on their second day, Lord Vex insisted that Vine ride with him on his horse while Mertin galloped ahead to scout
their path. Dara thought her efforts to charm him might be working, but he quickly proved he was very much in control. He questioned her closely about the Air, no doubt trying to catch her in a lie. Vine tried to deflect his attention with smiles and strategic eyelash-flutters, but Lord Vex was proving resistant to her wiles.

  “Have you ever visited the Far Plains, my lord?” she said as they approached a gap between two cliffs on the third morning of their trip. They’d leave Kurn Pass behind in a matter of hours.

  “Once.”

  “Did you see the remarkable cliff paintings on the Rock?”

  “Yes. I’d question the sanity of a man who went all that way without looking.”

  “I quite agree with you.” Vine smiled up at him. Her smile was remarkably charming given that she was tied to a saddle. Vex shouldn’t have stood a chance against her. “I first visited in my youth, and I cried all afternoon at how beautiful they were. Did you know they were created with Air? It took seven years to coax the Air to give such a magnificent gift.”

  “I know the story.”

  “You must know the Air chooses to help whomever it wishes.” Vine sighed, and her voice took on a calculated dreaminess. “Beyond the bounds of the plains, one can only hope there will be enough of an Air presence to Sense the truth.”

  “If you are laying the groundwork to tell me you’ve lost him once we reach the Fork, you are wasting your time,” Vex said, a touch of amusement in his voice. “I have confidence in your abilities, my lady.”

  “Why, thank you, my lord.” Vine laughed tremulously. “I’ve no idea what you mean by groundwork, though. Oh, look! Don’t the shadows make a lovely pattern on the cliff face?”

  Vex allowed her to chatter on. Dara tried to get a good look at his face to judge his reaction, but by his expression, he might as well have been listening to a report on the harvest from an orchard worker.

  “Going somewhere?” Grelling grunted, his thick fingers tightening on her arm.

  Dara realized she’d been leaning forward in the saddle and sat back. She was used to Grelling’s smell by now, but she’d never be comfortable with the press of his body against hers. She hoped they’d acquire extra horses in Fork Town so she wouldn’t have to ride with him anymore. She actually missed Storm.

  She still wasn’t sure whether or not Vine was lying about Sensing Siv beyond the boundaries of Trure. She had given regular updates on his supposed progress as they rode through Kurn Pass. According to her, they had gained ground, but Siv would still reach Fork Town before them. Despite the presence of their enemies, Dara half hoped Vine was telling the truth. Siv would be lost for good if they couldn’t figure out which fork he’d taken.

  She hated to contemplate the idea that she might never see him again. Her life had entirely revolved around dueling until she met Siv. Protecting him, making up for her parents’ actions, and learning to Work had consumed her since the previous autumn. But she’d left her parents, the Fire, and her dueling career behind in Vertigon. Siv was all she had left. Could she find a place in the Lands Below without him? The prospect of being utterly without a purpose scared her almost as much as the thought of never seeing him again.

  She shifted in Grelling’s saddle, pushing away the fear as she pushed away the looming presence behind her. She wouldn’t let that happen. She was going to win somehow.

  On their final morning in the pass, Mertin left them to gallop ahead. He consulted briefly with Lord Vex while they watered the horses before disappearing. At high noon, they exited the pass and rode into Fork Town to meet him. When they discovered the nature of his errand, Dara’s heart sank so far into her boots that she couldn’t even take in the sights of the infamous fork.

  An entire company of fighting men was waiting for them. Mertin stood proudly at their head. Rollendar gold no doubt already lined their pockets. The ten men were mercenaries, a mix of Pendarkans and Trurens, and one looked Vertigonian, though he was dressed in a Pendarkan style more suited to the warmer climate. They carried themselves with easy confidence in their movements and swagger in their steps. Numerous weapons decorated hips, backs, and boots. They had the air of men who knew how to kill and didn’t much care who their targets were—providing they got paid. They waited in the shade of an inn off the roundabout carrying riders and wagons through the Fork, ready to join their swords to Vex’s.

  Dara swallowed hard. They were in trouble.

  Mertin approached to introduce their leader, a tall Pendarkan man with the hilts of two mismatched broadswords rising above his shoulders. Vex broke off his conversation with Vine about Fork Town wine and gave Dara a victorious look. He clearly believed he had already won. He was probably right. Dara had hoped she, Siv, and Vine could take Vex and his cronies despite the fighting prowess they had demonstrated in their daily training sessions. She had watched them closely, learning their fighting styles and planning out what strategies she would use against them. She and her friends were more than competent—especially if they could get their hands on some swords. But these new arrivals changed the game entirely. Siv wouldn’t stand a chance if they caught up with him.

  After consulting with Lord Vex for a few minutes, the mercenary leader—who was called Wick—led the way into the yard of the finest inn on the main fork called the Laughing Pullturtle. They dismounted, planning to use the tall darkwood inn as a headquarters while the mercenaries gathered information on their quarry. Apparently Mertin had promised them Lord Vex would pay for the company’s lodgings in only the best inns for the duration of their service. Dara couldn’t imagine where his resources came from. Did he still have access to the Rollendar wealth? If not, his employer must really want the former King of Vertigon dead to go to all this expense.

  A jumble of dust and voices rose in the inn yard as the mercenaries prepared to scour the town on behalf of their new employer. Apparently Vex wasn’t willing to rely solely on Vine’s word. After hauling Dara off his horse, Grelling turned his attention to the sole Vertigonian mercenary to grill him on where the best brothels and dancing houses could be found. The young man had a mish-mash of an accent that suggested he hadn’t grown up on the mountain. He wasn’t likely to be of any help to the two women.

  Lord Vex was still talking to Wick, the leader of the mercenary company. Dara eased closer to them. No one stopped her in the midst of all the activity in the inn yard. With the presence of Vex’s hired reinforcements, there was nowhere for her to run anyway.

  “He should have arrived sometime yesterday,” Lord Vex was saying.

  “Saw a fellow matching his description in here last night,” Wick said. His lantern jaw churned steadily as he chewed on something between his words. “Can’t imagine he’s the only tall, dark-haired young man in town, though.”

  “Who was he with?”

  “A group of pen fighters, if I read ’em right.”

  “Pen fighters?”

  “You heard of the Steel Pentagon?” The mercenary spit a jet of dark-brown juice in the dust. “That’s what we call the combatants down in Pendark. There were five of them going on a tear.”

  Lord Vex touched the hilt of his sword. “So he could still be in town?”

  “Most folks stay two nights all told to get in a proper bout of carousing,” Wick said. “It’s Fork Town tradition.” He eyed Lord Vex up and down. “He know you’re after him?”

  “Find these pen fighters if they’re still in town,” Vex said, ignoring the question. “And have your men bring any information directly to me.”

  “Consider it done, my lord.” Wick spit out more brown juice and snapped his finger at his second-in-command. “You didn’t hire a bunch of amateurs.”

  “Good. There’s a handsome bonus for the man who brings him to me.”

  “Now you’re speaking our language.”

  The mercenary offered a casual salute and strode away. Vex’s gaze shot to Dara before she could pretend she hadn’t been listening. He waved her over.

  “What do you think, Miss
Ruminor?”

  “Sorry?”

  “Would Amintelle take up with a squad of pen fighters?”

  “I don’t know,” Dara said. “They’re for some sort of competition?”

  “The Dance of Steel,” Vex said. He rubbed a hand along his chin. He had shaved every morning on the journey through the pass, and it was still smooth. “It’s a gladiator competition. Men fight with sharp weapons in the Steel Pentagon. Sometimes to the death. Do you think our young friend would get mixed up with that?”

  Dara hesitated. Joining a competition where you fought to the death seemed like a foolish thing to do. On the other hand, Siv had always wished he could compete in the duels. Now that he wasn’t king, would he be tempted by the prospect of a fight for death and glory? She wondered whether she could win such a contest. The very thought sent an unexpected buzz of excitement through her. Her competitive side wasn’t always the wisest part of her, though—or of Siv.

  She picked at the ropes digging into her wrists, avoiding Vex’s gaze. “I couldn’t say.”

  She could certainly see Siv considering it. But if he’d truly joined a group of pen fighters, did that mean he hadn’t been kidnapped after all? That couldn’t be true. He would have come back to Rallion City to find her if he were able, wouldn’t he? Wick must have seen some other young man with the pen fighters last night. She glanced at Vine, hoping she might be able to Sense some trace of Siv if he had truly been at this inn, but she was busy charming a pair of mercenaries who had been assigned to guard her while Vex was busy.

  Lord Vex soon took charge of Vine once more, escorting her into the darkwood inn himself. Grelling, meanwhile, dragged Dara after them with far less consideration. As he hauled her across the common room, she brushed against the sheath of her Savven blade hanging from his belt. A jolt of warmth electrified her senses. Grelling shifted the blade away from her before she could do more than feel the latent Fire in the steel. She nearly dove for it, but the busy Laughing Pullturtle common room was far too crowded for her to move freely. She’d have to wait for the right moment.