"Aw, you say the sweetest things,” Malick cooed.
He fucking cooed. Joori thought his head might actually explode.
"The spirit-bound wields your power,” Tatsu said, but he raised his eyebrows like it was a question, waited for Malick to nod, and then nodded back. “I don't want to know your intentions, and none can testify to what they don't know.” He paused, smirked a little, but it was friendly, like he and Malick shared a secret. “Yakuli was claimed by Fate, Kamen, and so is protected by the gods. He is as untouchable to you as your Catalyst is to me.” He leaned in and set a hand firmly to Malick's shoulder. “Let those you would lead do what you've trained them to do. You know what happens if you fuck it up. So, don't fuck it up."
"Damn, Tatsu,” Malick said, wiping at the corner of his eye with his knuckle, “you make me teary when you go all poetic and squishy like that."
It was bloody surreal. Joori only just kept himself from making the rounds and punching each and every one of them in their pretty faces. “If you all don't mind,” he said through clenched teeth, “some of us lowly mortals have families in danger. D'you think we could possibly—"
"Right,” Malick cut in. He gave Joori's shoulder one more squeeze and an affectionate pat that Joori managed to take without growling. “One more thing.” Malick turned a serious gaze on Tatsu and Sora. “Where does Dragon stand in this?"
Sora rolled her eyes. “Dragon stands as ever, where it is most beneficial to stand. Her Temshiel abets the Untouchable, and her maijin abets the would-be usurper, and neither of them do so by her command.” She shook her head. “Dragon will have someone on whom to place all blame when you're through, Kamen, regardless of whether or not you're still standing amidst the rubble."
It sounded awfully damned cold to Joori, but Malick merely nodded, like he was satisfied with the answer. “Good enough,” he said, confirming Joori's thoughts, then he turned his full attention on Joori, nodding at the gates. “Tatsu's been keeping the guards away while we've talked, but once we're through the gates, we're on our own."
"Yeah, I figured that out,” Joori muttered with a disdainful glance at Sora and Tatsu, and then all the others for good measure. “Standing back and watching the lowly mortals fight it out, yeah? I've never seen so many machinations and manipulations in all my life. Why can't you people just do once in a while?"
Tatsu merely opened a hand. “Then what would be the use for lowly mortals?"
Joori sneered, but Malick took hold of his arm and shoved him toward the gates. “Play nice, children,” he chided with a smirk Joori wanted to clock right off his face, but at least they were moving again, finally, so he let Malick prod him along. “Oh, and Tatsu,” Malick called over his shoulder, “I think you still owe me a drink from that time in Thesia. You remember—you said she had twelve tattoos; she had fourteen."
Tatsu merely grinned and waved, then called back, “I'll buy you a whole bottle,” but Joori pushed out an irritated sigh and shook his head, shrugging Malick's hand off his shoulder as he cleared the gates.
Fucking Temshiel.
* * * *
Samin knew exactly where Fen would be heading—both he and Malick had predicted it so firmly there wasn't even any leeway to make a bet inside their shared conviction—so he hastened his pace, because he didn't want either of the brothers to charge into a place like that without someone there to steady them. And he couldn't let himself be distracted from his own gruesome goal for the evening by allowing himself to be drawn into Fen's. He just wished Morin had been able to go with Shig—the boy shouldn't have to see what was coming—but Shig was occupied with directing those from the Girou, and would need all her concentration before everything was said and done. Timing was going to be everything tonight.
Yakuli's men were already on alert, the commotion at the gates having stirred them, and more of them wandered the paths and perimeter of this hideaway fortress than made Samin comfortable. Most of the attention, however, seemed to be centered on the walls and towers and secondary gates. Samin hadn't yet overheard anyone mention a search for intruders, so he hoped they were still on plan. Though Shig would have let him know, if they weren't. And with most of the personnel here paying more attention to looking outward from the estate than inward, Samin had so far been able to get about his business.
Through the parting clouds, he caught a flash of blooming moonlight refracted by Morin's gold head, farther ahead than he'd thought, so he double-timed it. He stopped as briefly as was possible to unhook the various hasps on the corrals and pens then quietly shoo the horses out of them. One or two would usually do the trick. When the others saw their fellows wandering by with horsey-smirks on their faces, they typically ambled out too. Anyway, it wouldn't matter. As soon as Samin sent the signal to Shig that all the gates were open, she'd take care of getting the horses to scatter.
One bit of ammunition moved from Yakuli's pocket and into the blue. The countryside would be richer in horseflesh than it had ever been before.
Samin would have to double back later, make his way to the southern end of the place where the barracks for Yakuli's men were, because he knew there were more stables and pens down at that end. He took the western side first. Because that was where the prisoner barracks were, and he knew Fen knew it too.
Malick had wanted to wait until full night to begin the assault, but Fen had rather screwed that strategy all to hell, so the camp wasn't near fully asleep with only a skeleton watch. Too many were venturing out, now the rain had stopped, and with Wolf deciding at the most inopportune time to have himself a wide-eyed look, Samin was far too exposed for his liking. Wolf splashed silver over the earth, while the scimitar-splinters of Raven and Dragon lent bloody shadows. Samin had never thought the effect particularly eerie, but now it curled something uneasy in his gut.
There were plenty of outbuildings and storage huts and the like to duck behind as he made his way along the paths, but the corrals and pens themselves were right out in the open. He had to be sly and stealthy, and though he could lay tentative claim to sly, he had never even pretended at stealthy. He just wasn't built for it.
Quiet and as low to the ground as he could get and still stay on his feet, he made his way to another pen, unlatched it, then dug his knife into the wood and popped the hasp off. His eyes all the while scanned up ahead, trying to spot another glimpse of Morin's bright head bobbing along in the moonlight, but it appeared that Fen was being even more careful than Samin. Samin hadn't caught so much as a hint of them since that first one as he'd followed after them and confirmed they were heading where he'd figured they would head. He grimaced a little as he queered the hinges on the pen's gate so it couldn't close again. He wasn't really surprised—Fen, after all, moved like the Ghost they named him, and he had every interest in making sure Morin did too. Still, Samin wished someone else could take care of the horses. He really didn't want those two walking in on what he knew was in those barracks, not by themselves.
Subie gave a rumbling little burp in the distance, and Samin's mouth tightened as he worked at the iron latch. Wouldn't now just be a spectacular time for an eruption or an inopportune quake? Fucking Ancestors. If it hadn't been for them....
Finished, he resisted a growl as he pocketed the hardware. He'd throw the hinges and bolts later when there was no chance he'd be seen doing it. He didn't want any of Yakuli's men finding them and fixing the gates too quickly. Cautiously, Samin turned and scanned again, using the thick post of the pen against which he crouched as flimsy camoufl—
Samin sucked in a thin breath and held it as the slender chill of a blade pressed against his jugular from behind. From behind, for fuck's sake! There was nothing behind, there was a post behind, and a pen behind that. How the hell had someone—?
"What the fuck are you doing here?"
Samin let the breath go, rolled his eyes. He'd know that snarl anywhere, even low and raspy as it was. “Bloody hell, you scared the shit out of me."
Fen withdrew the kni
fe so that Samin could turn around to look at him where he crouched on the other side of the fence. He blended into the shadows much better than Samin ever would, though the bloody streaks on his face stood like stark, black slashes on his skin. He was glaring, but that was normal, so Samin ignored it.
"What the fuck are you doing here?” Samin snapped. “By yourself, for pity's sake. No, not by yourself, you've got your little brother—” Samin stopped, shot a quick look around, then frowned at Fen. “Where's Morin?"
A darker pool of shadows just to Fen's right swirled in a way that was unmistakable to Samin, but then he'd seen it rather often just lately. As they settled and dissipated, Morin crouched, grinning, beside his brother, a chunky flash of a ring Samin was dismayed to recognize set loosely on his index finger. Samin narrowed his eyes at Fen. “Aren't you supposed to be wearing that?"
Fen only shrugged. “It was given to me. As far as I know, there were no restrictions on its use."
Now was really not the time to argue semantics with Fen. And especially now that Samin knew it might not get through all the noise.
"Isn't it brilliant?” Morin enthused.
Samin's mouth pinched down. “Mm, brilliant,” was his dubious reply. “Malick teach you how to use it like that?” he asked Fen.
"I already knew the spell. I used to have a—” Fen stopped, mouth tightening. “Don't look at me like that, Samin. Malick won't be damned for protecting Morin, and he needs it more than I do. Now, what the hell are you doing here? And what's with the horses?"
They'd already been sitting here too long. Samin decided a quick explanation would have to do. “I'm here because you moved up the plan for tonight, and left the rest of us little choice."
Fen glared. “I wasn't about to wait for another—"
"Save it,” Samin snapped. “We haven't time to debate it. We're here now, so we might as well get on.” He waved at the gate of the pen. “I'm letting the horses loose, so that when the alarm goes up, and it will, it'll at least cut down one advantage, and hopefully distract while we're at it. After I'm done, I'm to signal Shig so she can get them to bolt, and then I'm to head to the prisoner barracks and....” He trailed off, kept his gaze even on Fen, unflinching. Fen knew what Samin meant to do there—Fen intended to do the same thing himself, after all.
Fen stared at him. “Malick's here?"
"You know he is, or at least you should.” Samin was a little tired of watching the two of them wend through their trust issues. Now was not the time. “He bloody told you he had—"
"He bloody told me a lot of things,” Fen said through his teeth. “Where's Joori?"
Samin opened his mouth, cut a glance down to the great big knife gripped in the gloved hand resting on Fen's knee.... He shut his mouth.
"Son of a bitch!” Fen breathed. He shot a tight-lipped glare at Morin, who had the good sense to shrink a little and keep quiet. With a long, heavy breath, Fen shut his eyes, pinched at the bridge of his nose. Morin shot an asking glance at Samin, but Samin could only shrug and tilt him what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Fine,” Fen finally muttered as he rubbed at his brow and peered at Samin. He waved his knife at the buggered latch on the post. “Show me how to do that. We'll move a lot faster if Morin and I help you.” He paused, and then reached out, laid his hand to Morin's shoulder and pointed a level stare at Samin. “And then you can help us."
They did move a lot faster. By the time they'd gotten through all of the pens and stables and corrals, the guards had discovered the problem with two of them, and a low buzz was humming, suspicion flaring almost visibly in the straightened backs and the way their eyes flickered everywhere at once. Samin was surprised he and Fen and Morin had managed to get all of the pens and corrals taken care of before he was forced to call on Shig. He'd optimistically hoped for maybe half, because really, even preoccupied with other tasks, looking in other places, a whole camp full of soldiers could hardly miss five hundred horses wandering around the estate. Fen and Morin had worked quickly, and could move a lot more freely than Samin could. They'd managed at least two-thirds of the lot.
Now Samin pulled them both toward the nearest building—a small tack shed, apparently—made sure they were all on the shadowed side with their bodies pressed flat, and gave Shig the signal. Morin had to cover his mouth and stifle a laugh when all the horses in their sight suddenly grunted or squealed or blew then took off at a dead run in the direction of the main gates. Shouts went up and whistles blew. In the confusion that ensued, Fen said the spell that would cover Morin once again in shadows, and they all took off for the first set of barracks.
Fen couldn't run. It was only now that Samin thought to wonder how he'd been walking. Adrenaline, likely, but whatever it was, it was wearing off, and Fen's limp was so pronounced it was almost a hobble. “Hobble,” hell—it was a full-fledged loping shamble. Samin discreetly adjusted his own gait to Fen's slower pace, and hoped like hell that bit of shadow to Fen's left was Morin.
A heavy pop! sounded from the south end of the complex. Samin turned with a bit of a grin, and took hold of Fen's elbow to turn him too. The northwestern side of the estate, where they stood, was set in the dip of a midsized rise then angled back up to where Yakuli's manor overlooked the whole of the tree- and wall-rung camp. Samin's grin broadened when he imagined the man himself peering down to watch the distant flames curl up over the rise as red-orange bloomed against the sky. Shouts went up, and were immediately drowned out by another pop! that Samin thought probably sounded much more dramatic when one was right up close to it.
"That'll be Malick,” he told Fen. “Taking out the soldiers’ barracks.” He breathed in deep, not yet able to catch a whiff of the smoke that he knew would be black and thick once the flames took hold of the wet wood. It didn't matter—he knew it was there. “Ah, mayhem,” he sighed then snorted as Fen rolled his eyes a little and took off again. Samin watched the brilliance of the fires coat the sky then followed.
Fen was panting by the time they hitched up at the first of four long, squat buildings that Samin was all too sure housed what was left of the Disappeared. Windowless and wood-framed, the buildings were all walled and roofed with woven reeds, wet and sharp-smelling with the rain. There were no guards here, which was what had piqued Samin's suspicions the other night when they'd come to spy, though now that his suspicions were all but foregone knowledge, he understood why. There would be no need to spend men and resources guarding those he knew would be inside. He'd seen it in another life, when he'd worn the livery of an arrogant lord who lusted after a pretty young Jin girl, not for her looks or what was between her legs, but for what ran through her veins.
Samin turned to face Fen squarely, though he knew before he even opened his mouth he'd be wasting his breath. Still, decency demanded, so Samin obeyed:
"Fen....” He paused, set his teeth. “You don't have to do this.” He nodded down at Morin as the shadows once again swirled and revealed him, leaning against his brother—Samin wasn't sure if it was comfort for Morin himself or support for Fen. “He shouldn't see this,” Samin told Fen. “This isn't—"
"I'm not a child,” Morin cut in, and indeed, his voice was low and calm. Not the reedy denial of a thwarted not-yet-grownup, but a reasonable statement of fact. “You said this was my right."
"You're not a child, and it is your right.” Samin looked at Fen again. “I've seen this before. So have you. You know what's in there. One at a time is hard enough to look at, but this is....” He trailed off. He'd said what he'd felt compelled to say. It was up to Fen.
Fen didn't answer, only turned to his brother and took one of his knives from a sheath strapped to his thigh. It was long with a wicked curve, and glinted with what seemed like its own malicious wink in the moonlight. He curled Morin's hand around the hilt. “From here—” Fen laid his finger to the left side of Morin's throat, just below his ear. “—to here.” Swept across to the other side, an invisible smile-shaped outline. “Firm and steady. Keep yourself to the si
de. If blood doesn't spray, you're not doing it right."
Stone-cold and emotionless. It made Samin shudder, and Morin paled a little. Samin watched the boy's throat bob as he swallowed heavily, and his hand came up to lay over where his brother's gloved finger had just traced, as though trying to erase the touch, or protecting himself from the reality of it.
"They won't feel it,” Samin offered as he shot an annoyed glance at Fen, but Fen merely stared back at him, that blank-eyed look with which Samin had become too acquainted and wished he'd never have to see again after tonight. “They've all gone beyond feeling their bodies,” Samin told the boy. “What we're doing tonight is a mercy."
"Yeah,” was all Morin said, voice thin as he cut a look Samin couldn't read up at Fen.
Fen, apparently done with it all, merely gave them each a flat, flinty stare then pushed past Samin and opened the flimsy door to the long hut. Morin took a long, deep breath, loosed a full-body shudder, then firmed his jaw and followed his brother. With a grimace, Samin shot one more glance down toward the flames at the other end of the camp, sent, We're going in, to Shig, and took up the rear.
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Chapter Ten
"Bloody hell,” Joori breathed as he watched the nut-sized ball of fire leave Malick's hand then whiz toward the barracks and explode into a great splatter of flame. The blast was nearly deafening, the flare nearly blinding, whooshing out and up. The heat and intensity sucked all the breath from Joori's lungs, baking his skin. The roar of the flames drowned out the thunder of hoofs—apparently Malick's signal to start burning the place down around them, though he hadn't bothered to tell Joori as much, only shoved him out of the way of the stampede and toward the barracks and then started lobbing fire. Joori watched the blaze for a long moment, watched Malick grin as shouts and screams went up from the conflagration. Joori only stared, wanting to frown or scowl, but his jaw was hanging. He'd thought Malick scary before—he'd had no idea. “There are men in there,” Joori said, his voice thin and thready as Malick yanked him along and headed for another building.
Wolf's-own: Weregild Page 37