“You look a bit pale, my dear. Would you like some more of the Ursula’s Bane?”
I shook my head, and the corners of her lips lifted, her eyes narrowed, as she bared her teeth . . . no, she merely gave me one of her sardonic smiles. But for an instant, I had an image in my mind of a mad queen who devoured her courtiers when no one was watching.
Jazmene glanced away from me then and leaned forward, my strange fancy dissipating. “Radik,” she said sharply. “Not yet. What are you--” she broke off, her mouth open slightly as she looked ahead, unblinking.
There came a metallic ring then, followed by a long hiss, the sound of one blade being drawn over another. If my drugged muscles had allowed it, I would have stiffened at that sound, but all I could do was turn my head and look. Seemingly such a small gesture, but once I turned my head, I would see, and in seeing, acknowledge, and in acknowledging, accept the reality that Merius could die at any moment. No, I couldn’t look, no I couldn’t . . . but he needed me to look. What if that Toscar took an unfair advantage? I was the only one here who would speak for Merius if that happened. I had to look, for his sake. So I drew breath with a rasping sob, my eyes dry, and then I turned my head.
Merius’s aura was the first thing I saw. The silver light burned so hot it appeared white as the heart of a flame, lightning flashes that glanced off his body and his blade. He met Toscar’s sword then with a series of sharp clangs, each clang punctuated by a shower of sparks that sizzled as they hit the sharp ice of Toscar‘s cold blue aura. The sound and sight reminded me of a blacksmith pounding at a stake of hot iron on his anvil on a winter day, sparks falling in the snow. I had seen Merius when he fought with the city watch, but I had never seen him like this. An unearthly rage ignited his eyes. He resembled an ancient fire god on a rampage, of the flame and wielding the flame as he rained blows on Toscar’s sword. Toscar kept his blade steady against the onslaught, stepping around Merius in circle, Merius turning with him so that they remained face to face. Suddenly Merius whipped his sword to the side, his next blow at an angle that would have cut Toscar over his right hip. Would have, that is, if Toscar hadn’t leapt back the instant before. Merius’s sword whooshed through empty air, and he cursed. Toscar moved in to attack then, swinging his blade around in a high arc, the tip destined to slice Merius’s throat.
“Radik, no,” the queen whispered as I clutched my fisted hand to my mouth. Merius ducked Toscar’s blade and brought his sword up, the tip aimed for Toscar’s belly. Their auras brushed with the hissing pops of exploding fire crackers. Toscar barely dodged Merius, Merius’s sword catching the billow of Toscar’s shirt and rending the cloth. In this echoing chamber, the sound tore the air.
I found myself standing then, too weak to pace but too agitated to sit, my brain in a tumult as Toscar and Merius raced after each other all over the chamber, the rhythm of footfalls punctuated with discordant bursts of steel hitting steel. The guards hovered at my elbows, ready to grab me if I swayed or tried to join the fray. Join the fray . . . I blinked, focused on the carving of leaping porpoises over one of the archways, tried to shut out all distractions. I recalled what it had felt like when I formed that ball of heat and threw it at Undene’s mirror. Then the action had been unplanned and almost effortless, a surge of instinct like the moment when I melted Arilea‘s ghost and used the lingering heat to cauterize Mordric‘s wound. So how had I done it? And what could I do this time? Heat--first I had to get heat. I usually drew on the excess swirling around Merius, but I couldn’t do that this time--he needed all his energy to fight Toscar. So I reached inside myself. I could feel the furnace of my spirit deep within, sense its leaping flames in the darkness, but I couldn’t get to it. The path within was much narrower than I remembered, so narrow it seemed smaller than the eye of a needle. I pretended my concentration was the end of a thread. Over and over again, I tried to fit it through the needle eye to my spirit, but I couldn’t get the thread thin enough. This damnable Ursula’s Bane--it ruined my concentration. Likely the only reason I could even block Merius at this point was because he was blocking me. I wagered if he wasn’t blocking me or we were both asleep, we would have no control over the mind bond, at least until the effects of the Ursula‘s Bane wore off.
I dared another look at Merius and Toscar, just in time to see the tip of Toscar’s blade tear Merius’s lower sleeve. Merius leapt back, and I covered my mouth with my hands, sobbing for breath. Crimson blossomed on Merius’s shirt, a hideous flower. Oh God, he’s bleeding. He’s bleeding. He’s bleeding. I wanted to scream, I wanted to race in the middle of the fight and stop them. He would die. He could die. My blood turned to ice water, and I found myself shivering violently.
“It’s difficult for you to watch, isn’t it?” The queen spoke beside me, her voice warm with solicitous concern.
“How can you watch this, Your Majesty?”
“My dear, really, you have to look--Merius is doing so well. He just recovered from a blow that would have slain lesser men. You don’t want to miss this. You’ll be proud of him--look!”
She gripped my arm so tightly she left red marks on my skin. Like some barbarian queen, she thrilled to the possibility of bloodshed, the heat of slaughter. I shrank from her hand, a beautiful vulture’s talons.
Merius and Toscar circled each other in the middle of the floor, blades silent for a moment. Merius broke the circle, his sword meeting Toscar’s in several terse clashes. Suddenly Toscar stepped back, disengaging for no reason that I could discern. Merius jumped forward to re-engage Toscar, but he misjudged the distance and stumbled to his hands and knees. In a smooth leap, Toscar was by Merius’s right side. He kicked him in the gut. Merius groaned and fell prone to the floor, somehow keeping his sword and left arm under him. Unable to reach Merius’s sword arm or his blade, Toscar settled with bringing his boot heel down on Merius’s right forearm. Bones snapped, and I swayed, seeing flashes of light as I ground my teeth. Merius groaned again but managed to roll away, using the momentum to jump to his feet.
Merius held his right arm to his chest, the hand and wrist dangling. His aura flickered, silver lightning flashes fading to a dull pewter cloud. I bit back a scream as Toscar lunged at Merius. Merius blocked the blow, but his face was pale and looked clammy with sweat. His arm must be throbbing--I had seen men with broken limbs faint before. Even as I thought about it, my own right arm began to hurt, at first only a little and then with an intense sharpness that made me sick to my stomach. I could feel the bones grating together, each movement jarring the pain into agony. Tears seeped from my eyes, and I clutched my arm, neither Merius nor I able to block each other. The pain was too distracting, and I was still struggling with the effects of the Ursula’s Bane. Through a haze of tears, I saw Toscar block Merius with ease and then launch into a series of blows that left Merius reeling for an archway.
I swiveled my head toward the queen. “Make them stop--Lord Toscar took an unfair advantage--please make them stop--”
She met my gaze, her eyes glittering. Her icy aura brushed mine, and I cringed. The sound of it rang in my ears, a brittle diamond shell around her soul, untouched by the clanging of the swords. “Will you swear to do what I ask of you if I make them stop?”
“If you make them stop, if you spare Merius’s life and let him go free, I swear to do what you ask. Just make them stop, for God’s sake.”
“If I let Merius go free--that’s adding a major condition, Safire, and you’re in no position to negotiate.”
“That’s a lie.” I lifted my chin, tried to ignore the pain, the clanging of the swords so I could treat with her. “You want me to use my talents in your service. You want me to--to submit to whatever you have planned for me. If you don’t let Merius go free before Toscar cripples or kills him, I’ll find a way to slay myself, I swear it.”
“All right then--that’s as close to deference as I’ll likely hear from you--at least for now,“ and her eyes glinted darkly as she said now, “so I’ll stop them.”
/> She stepped forward, her heavy brocade skirt swishing from side to side. Her gown was a midnight blue today, softened with black netting and tiny diamonds that gleamed like the stars against the night sky. She raised her scepter, sunlight glancing off the Sarneth royal jewels, the deep blue sapphire and the diamond. A queen of the night, her caprices guided by the fickle, lunatic moon rather than the steady sun.
“I declare this match over,” she said, her voice ringing against the high ceiling. “Put down your weapons.”
It was as if neither Toscar nor Merius heard her. They were near the entrance to the anteroom now, steel flashing and clanging as they lunged at each other and then retreated and then lunged again. “Put down your weapons,” Jazmene repeated, even louder this time. Nary a pause marked their deadly engagement.
Jazmene pointed at two of the guards at the foot of the dais. “You two--stop them.”
One of the hapless men, burly with brown hair so thick it resembled a pelt, immediately strode forward at the queen‘s command. He tried to grab Merius from behind. Merius leapt to the side, then spun around and cut off the man‘s ear with a flick of his blade. I gasped, then screamed as Toscar slit the other guard’s throat. The man collapsed with a horrible gurgling as his blood ran on the pale marble. Toscar neatly stepped over him and sprang towards Merius. Their blades met with a familiar clang as if nothing had happened, their auras sparking against each other with a sound like pine knots exploding in a fire.
The guard who had lost his ear beat a hasty retreat to the anteroom, blood seeping between his fingers as he clutched the side of his head. The queen and I looked at each other. Her aura appeared cracked into uneven facets, brittle anger glancing off her like light glancing off ice. She whirled away from me, her hands clasped behind her as she paced around the far end of the dais. Her pet viper Toscar had disobeyed her, and she looked like she longed to snap his leash.
I closed my eyes--the backs of my eyelids flashed with the light glinting off the blades, the flashes scarlet as fresh blood. My heart pounded in my ears, and I could hear nothing else. My arm hurt so much I could retch. How long could Merius last, with an injury like that? I couldn’t usually ease my own pain, but this wasn’t my pain. This was Merius’s pain that I somehow felt through the mind bond. Did that mean I could ease it? I touched my arm, imagined the pain was a red-hot iron shackle. I imagined the key to unlock that shackle in my hand, imagined slipping the key into the lock and turning it. The loosened bracelet fell from my arm, the pain vanishing with it. I rubbed my arm, then realized I had just summoned my talents. The pathway inside had widened a little bit, just enough that I could slip the thread of my concentration through it and use my talents in small ways. However, the Ursula’s Bane had not worn off enough yet for me to draw on the full force of my spirit. I almost gnashed my teeth in frustrated effort, then remembered that the queen might be watching and wouldn’t hesitate to give me more Ursula’s Bane. I would just have to be patient if I expected to be any help to Merius.
My heartbeat subsided, and I could hear the harsh ringing of the swords again. There was little pause between the clangs, the blades meeting in frantic, staccato blows. I hardly dared open my eyes, terrified to see Toscar beating Merius back in a corner or down to the floor.
The queen said, breathless, “I can’t believe it--look at him. What a match.”
Clutching my arms across my chest, I opened my eyes. Merius was upright and still swinging his sword. I allowed myself one breath. And Toscar appeared to be parrying more blows than he struck. I took another breath, let my ribs expand a little. Merius still bled from the wounds on his wrist and arm, but Toscar bled from a nasty cut to his shoulder. In fact, Toscar looked pale under his tan. Merius’s right hand still dangled in that horribly lifeless way, but he had more color than before, his concentration seemingly no longer affected by his injury. Perhaps when I had eased the pain in my arm, I had taken away his pain too.
Toscar leapt forward, his sword point aimed at Merius’s midriff. A faint cry escaped my lips. Merius dodged to the side not an instant too soon, swinging his sword around in a wide arc. The edge caught Toscar full in the back. Merius drew the blade up and forward--it sliced through Toscar’s shirt and skin with a silvery hiss. The queen strode to the end of the dais. There she stopped as if she hit an invisible barrier.
The cut ran the width of Toscar’s back. The blood gushed from the wound, a crimson flood that left me ill with its abundance. He tried to turn, tried to attack Merius again. But halfway through his turn, he fell to his knees, coughing. He dropped his sword, clasping both hands to his upper chest as if that would help him catch his breath more quickly.
Merius stepped forward, his sword extended. His skin was tight across his cheek bones in a stolid mask, the harsh rhythm of labored breathing the only sound he made. Toscar raised his head, still coughing, his posture that of a penitent, though I imagined the effect was unintended on his part. He was too proud to surrender so easily. His ice blue aura flared indigo, sparks crackling as he regained his strength. He started to reach for his sword, but then he froze, his hand a mere foot from the hilt. The tip of Merius’s sword was at his neck.
“I suggest you surrender,” Merius said.
“Wasn’t a fair fight--you hit me in the back,” Toscar said, his voice hoarse.
“You stepped on my arm.”
“An accident . . .”
“Like hell.” Merius pushed the edge of his blade against Toscar’s throat.
“I didn’t realize you were down.”
“Liar--you kicked me and then stomped your boot heel on my arm.”
A drop of blood appeared on Toscar’s neck, and he swallowed. “All right. I wanted you to surrender. I thought if I broke your arm, you‘d quit, and I could call the guard.”
“Gutless snake,” Merius hissed. He circled Toscar, trailing his sword around the skin of Toscar’s neck.
“Count your blessings. I could have killed you.”
“You would have killed me, you mean, if I‘d dropped my sword or hadn‘t gotten up quick enough.”
“Your father taught you well. To withstand pain like that and still manage to concentrate--that can save your life in a battle. How did you do it?” Toscar sank back on his heels, his narrow eyes never leaving Merius. His hand moved closer to the floor, toward the hilt of his sword, and a warning rose in my throat.
“Touch that sword, and you’ll regret it,” Merius said before I had the chance to speak.
Toscar‘s hand stopped in midair. “What’s the matter? You afraid to let me have it?”
Merius sucked air through his teeth, his jaw clenched. It seemed an effort for him to hold his blade steady. “Your serpent’s tongue will cost you your head.”
Queen Jazmene stepped forward, one foot now off the dais. “You’re threatening an unarmed man, Merius. Surely Mordric taught you more honor than that,” she said, her voice silky.
How dare she try to provoke him and perhaps distract him? I took a step forward, hot words on the tip of my tongue. Then I stopped, my eyes skipping past the queen, past Merius and Toscar. Mordric stood in the deep recess of the doorway, his hand on his sword hilt. How he had gotten there or how long he had been there was impossible to say, but the solid fact of his presence made my muscles slacken in relief.
“What my father taught me, Your Majesty, is to never trust a slipper licker.” A heady silvery smoke filled the air from Merius‘s aura, the smell of burning spirits.
Mordric stepped forward finally, his blade drawn. He walked across the chamber toward us, so quiet that neither Toscar nor Merius noticed him until he was almost upon them. The faint scrape of steel across the floor was the only sound he made as he picked up Toscar’s sword. As soon as he had it by the hilt in his left hand, he straightened and backed away several paces, his steady gaze on Toscar. The rest of us were too stunned to breathe, much less speak, as he slid his own sword back into its scabbard and switched Toscar’s sword to his right hand.
“Father . . .” Merius said after a long moment, the first to recover his voice.
“Sheathe your blade, Merius.”
Merius obeyed, awkward with his injured right arm. Toscar started to rise but dropped to his knees again when Mordric strode forward and pointed Toscar’s own sword at his neck.
“The dagger hidden in your boot first, Radik.”
“This is an outrage.”
“I agree,” Mordric said calmly. “Your dagger. Just toss it there.”
Toscar gripped the dagger hilt for a long moment, only throwing it down when Mordric pressed the sword tip against his throat.
In one fluid motion, Mordric bent down and retrieved the dagger, keeping the sword blade steady over Toscar’s shoulder. He tucked the dagger in his belt, his movements so deliberate and efficient that they made a ruthless dance. He had a contained animal grace, far different but no less agile than Merius’s quick, expansive gestures. In the lethal stakes of battle, the raw force of Mordric’s aura quietly pervaded the entire chamber, the bracing wind of a cloudy November day, the promise of a storm on the horizon. No wonder he rarely lost a fight. His harsh vitality was relentless, even invading the wintry space around the queen. She didn’t seem to mind the invasion--she stepped off the dais, closer to Mordric and Toscar, her eyes fixed on Mordric.
“How did you get past the guards?” Toscar demanded. “Why didn’t they announce you?”
Mordric ignored the question as he withdrew the sword from Toscar’s neck. Toscar stayed down for a moment, then gingerly got to his feet, grimacing. The cut on his back still bled. The queen strode forward to examine his wounds. I headed for Merius, almost stumbling down the steps of the dais in my haste. He stood behind Mordric near the center of the chamber, his gaze on the queen and Toscar as he absently cradled his injured arm. He didn’t seem to notice me as I approached.
Tapestry Lion (The Landers Saga Book 2) Page 62