The man tipped his hat to a jaunty angle. “That description fits half the pen fighters in this city. You got to be more specific, little lady.”
“Oh dear,” Vine said. “I so want to find him. Can you tell me where I should start? Perhaps they gather somewhere or live in a particular district?”
“Don’t know about that, but the first big Dance of the season is tomorrow,” the man said. “There will be a lot of fighters in the audience. You have a decent chance of spotting him even if he’s not in the pen.”
“Oh, thank you!” Vine winked at Dara. “And where will that take place?”
He gave directions to a Steel Pentagon in the market district (“Bright-red flags. You can’t miss them.”) and even offered to buy her a drink if they ran into each other there. Vine rewarded him with a pat on the shoulder, and he wandered away, chortling about clueless women.
“There now,” Vine said, rejoining Dara and Rid, who was still gaping at everything in sight. “Wasn’t that more useful than wandering blindly? I suppose there’s not much we can do until tomorrow. We might as well continue on to Wyla’s manor.”
“But Lord Vex—”
“He’ll probably be at the very same Pentagon tomorrow,” Vine said. “I’m sure Siv will survive for one more night if he’s made it this far.”
Dara frowned, worry gnawing at her stomach. Vine was probably correct that asking around about an athletic young pen fighter in a city this size was a waste of time. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that Siv needed her today—perhaps this very minute.
“I want to keep looking.”
Rid didn’t quite hold in a sigh. Dara ignored him.
“Please, Vine,” she said.
“We could try going to higher ground,” Vine said. “But I’ll warn you the Air isn’t granting me much assistance here.”
Dara sucked in a dense, muggy breath. She could see how Vine might have difficulty getting answers from the Air through all this. She could barely smell the sea here.
“There are taller buildings over there.” Dara pointed to the southeast. “Maybe we can climb one to get out of the stink of the swamp.”
“It’s worth a try,” Vine said.
Dara led the way, picking through the streets and trying to avoid any route that would require them to pay for a canal boat. They’d really need to do something about their coin problem soon—unless Wyla was planning to pay for her help with the Fire. Dara didn’t want to get further into Wyla’s debt by asking for money.
As they squelched through the streets, she kept her hand wrapped tight around her ivory knife hilt. She wouldn’t put it past the gutter urchins of Pendark to steal it from her. The blade Lord Vex had kindly given her by throwing it into her shoulder was her only weapon. She missed her Savven so much it hurt to think about it. As far as she knew, Grelling still had it in his grubby, wandering hands.
If she only had her Savven, she couldn’t help thinking, she would find Siv. The blade was an inexplicable part of her connection to him. He’d given it to her, and she’d saved his life with it. Then she’d transformed it into a Fire Blade while trying to save him again. That had to count for something.
As she dwelt on the Savven, something moved in Dara’s chest. It was like a nudge or a spark. Dara put her hand to her chest, feeling the cool shape of the necklace Siv had bought for her. That hadn’t been taken from her at least.
But that nudge. Was it possible?
She concentrated on the Savven again, remembering Vine and Wyla’s suggestion that there was a connection between her Fire ability and the other powers lacing the continent. She focused on the Savven, on the Air, on the Watermight that ruled this city, on her desperate need to find Siv before Vex did.
She felt the nudge again, and without thinking turned down another road, leading slightly away from the taller buildings she’d noticed before.
“Dara, where are you—?”
“Shh,” Dara said. She let her feet guide her, trying not to think too much, trying not to be distracted by the buildings and boats and rocky causeways around her. Instead of thinking about Siv, she concentrated on the Savven, on the Fire Blade she had created in the moment of the most painful and heightened sensation of her life. As she focused on the Work, the sensation grew stronger.
She followed the feeling, not fully understanding but allowing her Firespark and the tug of the Savven to guide her. She’d felt a glimpse of heat from the blade when Grelling passed her on the road too. It might not take her directly to Siv, but maybe she could still do something about his pursuers.
Dara followed the fragile sensation like a bloodhound after a scent. It may be as fleeting as Air, but Dara held onto it as if it were Fire in her veins. Vine and Rid trailed after her. If they spoke, she didn’t hear them. They left Wyla’s district. White flags fluttered from the buildings now. The smell of fish and smoke laced the air. She barely noticed it as she walked farther into the strange city. The connection was tenuous, and she didn’t dare hamper it with doubt.
Then she heard a rumble. A thunder of hooves traveling far faster than any riders had business to in a crowded, swampy city.
Dara broke into a run, ignoring Vine and Rid’s exclamations behind her. She didn’t want to be distracted, though now she was following her ears more than that fleeting sensation in her chest. Even before she rounded the corner, she knew what she’d see.
Lord Vex’s company was riding along a rocky causeway to an island with a handful of houses on stilts. Grelling rode in their midst, the Savven blade at his waist calling Dara like a beacon.
She ran after them, not yet knowing how she’d get the blade back. But she needed to know where they were going. Perhaps they’d found lodging in one of the stilted houses on the little island. Dara glanced at it across the wide canal, and her heart stopped in her chest.
Siv stood on the shore of the island, almost within shouting distance. Siv, the man she loved. The man she’d crossed the continent to find. He stood on that island, and Lord Vex and his dozen swordsmen rode straight toward him, weapons raised.
Dara couldn’t even yell a warning. Siv was facing the riders anyway. Facing down his doom. Why hadn’t he drawn his sword? He doesn’t have one. Another man stood by his side, but he didn’t have a weapon either. They didn’t stand a chance.
No, no, no, no, no.
The first rider reached the end of the causeway and galloped onto the island, mud flying from his horse’s hooves. He drew a night-black sword. Lightning thrummed in Dara’s heart. It was Grelling, preparing to cut Siv down with her Savven blade.
Ignoring the pain in her chest, Dara hurled herself down the shallow bank beside the road and straight into the slow-moving waters of the canal. This shortcut wouldn’t get her there in time, but she sloshed through the mud anyway. The water got deeper and deeper. It was nothing compared to the wild, icy river back in the Fissure, but she still couldn’t move fast enough.
Grelling pulled ahead of the other riders. He was almost to Siv and his companion. She was too far away.
No. Not when I’m this close.
The Savven blade whipped through the air. Siv ducked Grelling’s first swipe, a slash that would have taken his head from his shoulders. Steel glinted in his hand. He had a weapon after all—a small dagger. A slash of red appeared on Grelling’s leg when he wheeled his horse around for another charge. At least Siv had gotten in one good slice.
His companion didn’t even have a knife, but he wielded a rock in either hand. He threw one to distract Grelling and brandished the other like a club.
Lord Vex and the other riders bore down on them.
The canal water was up to Dara’s neck now, putrid and murky. She still couldn’t swim. She wasn’t going to make it.
Please. At least let me get there in time to go down fighting.
She launched herself forward, and her boots sank deeper into the soft bottom of the canal. Too deep. A hint of silver glittered in the water. Please. I’ll do anything
.
As the water closed over her head, she felt a thump, as if something had smacked her in the back. More silver flashed before her eyes. Then her feet were sucked out of the mud. A surge of water swept in and lifted her up. A furious wave carried her upward, forward. The wave hurled her onto the island, dumping her and a mad rush of mud and seaweed and silver and water onto the company of mercenaries.
A roar of sound. Curses. She smashed into someone and tumbled sideways. Her knees hit the ground. Pain spiked through them, and her vision wavered then cleared.
Chaos filled the island. The strange wave had scattered the riders, breaking their charge. Horses slipped in mud, and men shouted about sorcerers and water demons. Steel and water cast silvery reflections throughout the tumult.
Dara found her feet not ten paces from Grelling’s horse, which tossed its head, eyes rolling in fear, as he yanked on the reins. Dara leapt forward and drove her knife into Grelling’s thigh all the way down to the ivory hilt.
He cursed and reached for her, but she dragged the knife upward, slicing his leg closer and closer to his groin. The pain must have been intense, because he dropped her Savven and clutched at his leg, trying to hold it together as his artery spilled red over Dara’s hands.
She released the knife, leaving it in Grelling’s leg, and dove for the sword, narrowly avoiding being trampled by the frantic horse.
Dara’s fingers closed around hot steel. She had no idea what had happened. She hadn’t caused that rush of water. All that mattered was she had her sword back. And she wasn’t going to lose Siv now.
40.
Dance of Steel
SIV stabbed furiously, forgetting all the fancy knife techniques Kres had taught him. Blades slashed at him, unwieldy in the confusion, and it was all he could do to keep them from finding his flesh. His clothes dripped from that mad wave, making his fingers slip on his knife hilt. But he was still alive for now.
A horse slid in front him, eyes rolling, as its rider tried to get it under control. The snorting, agitated beast bought Siv a moment’s respite. He looked around for Latch. The bastards weren’t going to kidnap his teammate if he had anything to say about it!
The frantic aftermath of the wave made it difficult to see what was going on, but there had to be at least a dozen enemy fighters on the muddy island now. And they were quickly getting their animals under control.
He spotted Latch at last. He’d found his feet a few paces away, still unarmed. He leapt back desperately as a man in a red coat lunged straight for his gut. Unlike last time, these men didn’t look interested in taking Latch alive.
Siv darted forward, picking up a rock as he went, and hurled it at Latch’s attacker before he could stab again. It struck him across the face with a glancing blow. The man’s hand flew to his cheek, which was already spattered with a canal’s worth of mud, and Latch used the momentary distraction to scramble over to Siv. He gave him a quick nod and picked up another rock. Red Coat started toward them, but a horse flailed into his path before he could take two steps.
Siv put his back to Latch’s, and they prepared for the next assault. He fended off a surprise stab from a pockmarked fellow. Siv swung his fist, and the punch missed the man’s nose by an inch, but when his feet skidded in the mud, he sliced a deep cut in the man’s forearm. The fellow cursed and retreated a few paces. Three more fighters took his place, finding their feet and advancing deliberately on the lone pair. With efficient hand signals, they split up to form a ring around them. Siv knew then that he was going to die. At least he had a friend at his back.
A fourth attacker joined the group closing in on him and Latch. Around them, horses still screamed and pitched across the ground, heedless of their riders. Curses filled the air in a confused jumble. Fiz and Gull would hear the commotion and join the fray—hopefully with extra swords—but too many attackers were still on their feet. And these men knew what they were doing. A fifth joined the ring, drawing inexorably nearer. Siv and Latch weren’t going to live long enough for the other pen fighters’ help to matter.
Then a roan horse reared up, kicking at the sky. The large man on its back keeled over, clutching at a wound that neither Siv nor Latch had given him. The horse’s hooves hit the mud, and it bolted—revealing none other than Dara Ruminor standing behind it.
Dara’s eyes found his for an instant, and they blazed with intensity and fire and hope. The whole damn universe narrowed to a single point. Dara.
A dazzling smile crossed her lips. Siv was struck dumb by the sight, by the feeling that everything was right in the world for this moment.
Then Dara dropped into her dueling stance, raised a black-hilted sword, and attacked. She took the nearest of the five men in the back, momentarily distracting the others from closing with Siv and Latch. Her blade flashed, swift and brilliant. Siv had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He could stand still and watch her fight for eternity. He swore he could die a happy man right now.
But if he didn’t get moving, he would actually die. He tightened his grip on his knife and hurled himself into the fray. Latch uttered a savage shout and followed, rocks and fists swinging. They were outnumbered, and these men were no amateurs. Most had regained their footing after that mysterious rush of water. Even with Dara’s help, they were in deep trouble. They tried to stay together, but with each of them facing at least two opponents, it was almost impossible.
Then with a terrific battle cry, Fiz and Gull joined the melee. Fiz whirled his broadsword with brutal intensity, incongruous with his gentle-giant demeanor. Gull wielded two blades, her thrusts precise and deadly. After cutting down two fighters in quick succession, Gull hollered Latch’s name and tossed him one of her swords, already dripping blood. The pen fighters danced, proving in a matter of seconds that they deserved their reputations.
Mud and blood flew as the battle raged. Horses and men screamed, and the clash of steel sent shivers like lightning through the air. All Siv wanted was to watch Dara, but the attackers pressed in around him, blocking her from view. Siv spotted a dull hint of silver beside a fallen body. He switched his knife to his left hand and lunged for the discarded sword. He scrambled to his feet, the stranger’s blade in hand, and found Latch again. They stood back to back, jabbing and slicing as their opponents tried to break through their defenses. Siv felt energized, alive. He wasn’t going to let them slaughter his friend in cold blood!
Abruptly, he realized the man in the red coat he’d noticed earlier had sandy-blond hair and a thin nose. He knew that face. He flashed back to his fight with Bolden Rollendar in the Great Hall. But this man was older—and a far better swordsman. What the heck was Vex Rollendar doing trying to kidnap Latch Brach?
Oh, right. He was probably here for Siv. He’d been found at last.
Vex was fighting Gull—and he wasn’t losing. Gull was a talented, experienced swordswoman, but it was all she could do to parry his attacks. Vex advanced, forcing her to give ground. Fiz was too busy swinging his broadsword with the strength of three men to help her. Siv tried to get closer, but more foes surged between them, and he was hard pressed to defend himself, much less anyone else. Gull cursed as Vex’s blade sliced across her shoulder.
But then Vex retreated of his own accord, gliding back out of Gull’s range before she could counterattack. His eyes went to the rocky causeway, where two more figures were racing toward them. Vex didn’t move for a moment, and a strange expression—almost a smile—crossed his face as he watched them approach. He roused himself and shouted a warning to his men as Gull closed with him again, her gaze lethal.
The newcomers were a tall young man wielding a wooden staff and—Siv blinked in surprise—Lady Vine Silltine. They joined the fray, seeming to know exactly which fighters were the enemies in the jumble. Siv redoubled his own efforts. Suddenly instead of a dozen cavalry running down two, it was now a brawl in the mud, seven to eight.
Siv nearly had his head taken off by a swipe from an assailant. He ducked and stabbed a
t his attacker’s leather jerkin as he scrambled out of range. The man cursed and renewed his assault. Siv was pretty sure he’d fought this guy before—and now he was mad. Then an elegant figure danced in to help. Vine finished off the pockmarked man with a neat stab through the chest.
“Pardon me, but I did hate that man, Your Majesty,” Vine Silltine said as he slumped to the ground. Then she whirled away, searching for her next opponent.
Another foe lunged at her from behind, but Siv dove between them and parried the thrust. Before the man could riposte, Siv slammed his sword through the fellow’s eye. He withdrew the blade, already seeking his next opponent.
“Dirty Soolen,” someone growled, and Siv turned as a tall Pendarkan with sickly brown teeth engaged with Latch. He was the most-skilled fighter Siv had seen yet, and Latch struggled to block his attacks.
Before Siv could move to his friend’s aid, Gull and Fiz closed in together and finished off the Pendarkan. He dropped in the mud at their feet.
“Captain Wick’s dead!” one of the fighters hollered, a young guy who could have been from Vertigon. He looked scared. As well he should. The battle was turning against the aggressors.
“Fall back!” called another. “This fight’s too dear already.”
“Not until we finish this,” Vex Rollendar said. His cold eyes pinned Siv from across the battlefield. You could have iced a fish and shipped it back to Vertigon in that gaze.
“My lord, we can’t win,” said a large, ugly fellow. He had a massive slice up his thigh, and Siv was surprised he hadn’t bled out already. “Mertin’s dead, and these men won’t stay without Wick.”
Vex cursed. He was too far away from Siv to engage him. He’d taken a wound to the side—probably payback from Gull—and he was bleeding heavily.
“Fine,” Vex spat. “Retreat.” He met Siv’s eyes across the blood-spattered field once more. “We’ll finish this later.” His gaze cut to Vine before he led the withdrawal from the island. She wiggled her fingers in a coy wave as he departed.
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