“That’s not the job,” the man hissed.
He jerked on Jessa’s arms. A knife suddenly appeared and pressed against her neck. A line of blood streaked where the blade touched. Rsiran hoped it wasn’t poisoned like Neelish blades.
“What’s the job?” he asked.
The man’s smile tightened. “You.”
Rsiran pushed the two knives in his pockets toward the man. As flashed toward him, the man somehow managed to smack them out of the air with his knife, sending them flying across the room, before slipping it back against Jessa’s throat.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “Come with me, and the girl can live.”
Rsiran doubted he’d let her live. His knives were gone. Brusus was down—likely poisoned—and Jessa couldn’t move. Blood trickled from her neck.
Without thinking too much—and if he had, he would’ve hesitated and risked Jessa—he Slid.
He emerged behind the man and grabbed the arm holding the knife against Jessa’s throat and twisted. Years working in the smithy—especially the last few months—had built his strength. The man’s arm bent and snapped, the knife dropping to the ground. He screamed softly.
Jessa jerked away, and Rsiran felt a moment of satisfaction that she was safe. Then the man twisted, spinning to face Rsiran. His knee came up and connected with Rsiran’s stomach. He bent over, the wind knocked from his lungs. Another knee struck his face, sending him backward, sprawling to the ground.
The man knelt on Rsiran’s chest. His good hand slipped around Rsiran’s throat and squeezed. Rsiran’s vision faded, blackness swimming around him.
The man grunted and fell over, the pressure coming off Rsiran’s chest.
He looked up. Jessa held the man’s knife and had plunged it into his back. Blood slicked the blade. She kicked him for good measure. He grunted again and fell silent.
“Are you…” he started. It hurt to talk and his voice felt rough.
She put her hand to her neck and pulled it away. Blood stained her palm but at least crusted around the wound. “Fine. Just burns a little.”
“Brusus?” Rsiran asked, pushing himself to his feet. Everything hurt. His neck, his stomach and face, but most of all his back.
“Still breathing when I checked,” Jessa said.
“He won’t for long. This poison will work quickly.”
Rsiran looked over. Della leaned over Brusus, her hand running across his forehead, pressing down and wiping the sheen of sweat off him. She wore a thick, pale green robe and her grey hair twisted into a bun atop her head. Deep green eyes looked at Rsiran and Jessa before turning to the man lying motionless on the floor.
“Can you help him?” Rsiran asked.
Della stood. Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth deepened. Then she shook her head. “I don’t know the poison.” She looked down at Brusus. “I’m sorry, Rsiran. There are limits to what I know.”
Chapter 5
Rsiran sat next to Brusus. They had lifted him onto a cot Della stored in her back room. Since Rsiran had met her, she’d used it frequently, often for him. Dried blood caked along Brusus’s mouth. His chest rose slowly, his breathing shallow. Della stood on the other side, hands resting on his exposed chest, eyes wide and blazing a brilliant green.
Their attacker was bound gagged, and shoved into a corner. Every so often, Rsiran resisted the urge to go to him and kick. Della watched him, her face twisted into a concentrated mask.
“All I can do is slow it,” she whispered.
Brusus hadn’t moved since they’d brought him from the Barth. Jessa had built the fire up in the hearth so it now blazed brightly, pushing out warmth he didn’t fully feel. She sat behind Rsiran in the other chair, eyes closed. Her neck had been bandaged. As she’d said, the wound hadn’t been deep. And, thankfully, not poisoned. Della promised to Heal her fully later.
Rsiran’s shoulder throbbed. Somehow a knife had struck his back as he’d Slid. He didn’t think that was possible, but hadn’t expected someone could grab hold and Slide with him, either. Della had pulled the knife from his back and Healed his wound. Quick work, not like she would have done had she not had Brusus to worry about, as well, but enough that he wouldn’t die from it. His stomach and face still hurt from where the man had kneed him, but there wasn’t much to do for that except give it time.
“He grabbed onto the Slide,” Rsiran said. He looked at where the man rested. His arms were bound tightly behind him, and his legs were lashed together. Della hadn’t attempted to Heal him, but said he’d live.
She nodded. “That can happen if they know you’re going to Slide.”
“How would they know?”
She frowned. “What has Jessa told you that she sees when you Slide?”
“Most of the time she comes with me.”
Della smiled. “When I watch, I see nothing distinct, but there is a pattern. Faint swirls of color. You must know what you’re looking for to see it.”
Rsiran understood what she implied. “You’re saying he’s been around another Slider before.”
Della glanced at the man. He hadn’t moved since they’d tied him. “That’s likely how he knew what you were doing. Otherwise, I think you Slide too quickly to catch.”
“I didn’t realize there was a speed to Sliding.”
Della looked at him with concern. “You’ve grown strong since I’ve met you. Now all I see are brief flashes. I don’t know how he managed to catch you before you Slid.”
Rsiran looked at the man’s clothing and remembered the deep green eyes. “He’s Elvraeth.”
“Perhaps he was once.”
Rsiran’s breath caught. “What are you saying? He’s one of the Forgotten?”
Brusus’s breathing seemed to quicken, and Della touched his face again, running her hand across his cheeks. His breathing settled back into a steady rhythm.
“All I am saying is he’s not of Elaeavn. Whatever else he is, I don’t know with certainty.”
Rsiran sighed. Elvraeth and Forgotten. A dangerous combination. “Why did he want me?”
She shook her head. “His barriers were too solid. Still are. I cannot Read him.”
He looked down to Brusus. If he died, Rsiran would lose any opportunity to understand what he planned, and what he might know about the Forgotten. But it was more than that for him. Brusus was a friend. “Is there anything that can save him?”
Della didn’t look up. “As I said, I do not know the poison.”
“I could Slide wherever we need—”
“And look for what, exactly? Whatever poison was used on him thins the blood. If we knew what it was, we might be able to help, but I do not. I can slow this, but that is all.” She shook her head. “Brusus knew the risks with what he did. Especially lately. I’m sorry, Rsiran.”
He swallowed back the lump in his throat. The idea of Brusus dying was too much to take. He’d almost lost him once and had to reveal his ability to save him. Even after what he’d been through—or maybe because of it—he didn’t want to risk losing him again.
“And Haern? Can’t he help?”
“I can’t See where Haern has gone,” Della said softly.
Rsiran thought about the lorcith knives he’d made, focusing on them for a moment, but he’d made too many, and there was no guarantee that Haern still carried his. Rsiran could Slide toward each, but what if he came upon a constable? Or worse, one of the Elvraeth? That would be worse for them and would draw attention to Jessa, to him.
But this was Brusus.
His chest felt tight and tears welled in his eyes. He’d been a fool. Letting anger push away his friends—the only people who’d accepted him after everything he’d been through—when he should have been looking for ways to help. Had he done that, maybe he would have realized what Brusus was doing. The stress he was under and the risks he took.
“I see you have come back to us,” Della said.
Had Rsiran not known better, he would have suspected she’d Read him. But Jessa read him m
uch the same way, using her Sight to understand the changes in his mood. “I’ve…” He didn’t know what to say. How to explain how stupid he’d been? “I’m sorry, Della.”
She laughed, her voice light but strained. “No need to be sorry, Rsiran. We all must work through things in our own way. You have been through more than most in your short time.” She met his eyes. An unidentifiable weight settled in her gaze, something that came from years and wisdom. “I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. For any of you, really. I suspect the Great Watcher brought you together for a reason. Brusus never saw it like that. Always felt it his responsibility to keep others safe, to protect them from what his mother went through.” She lowered her eyes. “Brusus only thought to keep you safe. He didn’t know how deep the Forgotten had managed to reach.”
He looked over to where Jessa slept. Her breathing seemed easy and steady. Rsiran had panicked when they were attacked, fear nearly overwhelming him at the prospect of losing her again. He wouldn’t let that happen.
“I’ve been doing the same with Jessa. She’s been pushing back.” It didn’t change what he needed to do. For Jessa, he’d do whatever it took.
Della smiled and tottered behind a counter and brought him a mug of mint tea. “I never said it was the right thing to do. Only that was what Brusus chose.”
She set her hands atop Brusus. Rsiran hadn’t noticed, but in the moments she’d stepped away, color had drained even more from his face. His breathing had slowed. Now that he was aware of it, he heard a steady wheezing. Everything eased as Della touched Brusus’s chest.
“You’re slowing the poison.”
Della nodded.
“And you have to be by him to do it?” He couldn’t imagine the strength required to keep sustained use of her abilities.
“I had thought to give him enough time to say his goodbyes.” She sighed. The wrinkles around her eyes looked deeper than they’d been. “He won’t wake up, but I can hold it at bay longer this way.”
“How long?”
She shook her head. Rsiran didn’t really need her to answer to know. Already, she faded under the strain. Della was powerful, but not so powerful that she could hold this forever.
“I can make it through the night,” Della said. “More than that…” She shook her head again. “More than that, I just don’t know.”
Rsiran swallowed. The night. How long until morning? Several hours. Maybe he could find Haern in that time. He’d been an assassin, maybe he knew of this poison.
But from Della’s face, he doubted she could hold out that long, and that meant that Brusus would die.
Chapter 6
Rsiran walked from Della’s home. Cool night air gusted at him, and heavy clouds covered the full moon. A cat yowled nearby. Rsiran waited, hoping to hear another, but didn’t.
Bad luck, but then again, when had he ever had good luck?
Brusus lay dying. And Rsiran could do nothing about it.
He felt helpless. Surprising, given all he had been through that feeling helpless bothered him so much. But accepting his ability to Slide, and learning he could move lorcith, gave him a measure of comfort most times. Now, neither of his abilities could do anything to assist Brusus.
And then what? Once Brusus was gone, what would happen to him? To Jessa?
They would have to keep themselves safe, but wasn’t that what he’d been doing all along?
Rsiran stopped near the end of Della’s narrow street and crouched next to a twisted corbal tree. The sharp bark irritated his back, but he ignored it. Tears streamed down his face and he didn’t fight them. Whatever Brusus had kept him from with the Elvraeth, Rsiran didn’t want him to die because of it.
He buried his face in his hands until the tears stopped. If Brusus were to die, Rsiran would at least learn why. He might not be able to find Haern, but there was some place he could go to find more information.
He made his way along the streets. Lanterns glowed orange with enough light for him to see, but thicker shadows than usual seemed to shift around the street. Rsiran made certain to hang off to the side, not wanting to be seen. He kept his focus on the knives tucked into his pocket, ready to push them at the slightest sign of attack. After what happened with Brusus, he didn’t want to take any chances.
How had the Barth become unsafe?
A shiver worked through him. The Wretched Barth had become like a home to him since he’d been exiled by his father, the place where he first met with Brusus, where he’d met Jessa and Haern. And Firell. Maybe the Barth had always been unsafe and he hadn’t seen it.
He sighed.
Waves crashed along the shore. The smell of salt and fish filled the air, mixing with a hint of coming rain. No gulls circled tonight, their cawing strangely silent.
Near the Barth, he hesitated. Part of him wanted to Slide into the tavern and see what had happened. Doing so would be dangerous. But wasn’t Brusus worth the risk?
He glanced up the street to make sure no one watched, and then Slid.
Rsiran had been careful to emerge near a corner along the wall. A defensive position in the Barth, but also one where he might be shadowed enough that others wouldn’t notice him at first.
He found the Barth empty.
It was strange seeing no one in the tavern. The smells of baked bread and roasted meats drifted from the kitchen, the food not the same as when Lianna ran the Barth, but still better than nothing. His mouth watered, and he considered grabbing something to eat before remembering how Brusus had been poisoned. He wouldn’t touch anything here.
He looked at the table where they’d been sitting. One of the stools had tipped over, but the table looked the same. Dried blood smeared across the surface as if hastily wiped up. The stack of dice Jessa had brought sat untouched. Rsiran slipped those into his pocket.
Nothing else was left, no sign of what happened earlier in the night.
Rsiran turned, thinking to leave, when he heard a soft shuffle from the kitchen.
Was one of their attackers still here?
Against one, Rsiran had a chance. Maybe that would be how he could help Brusus. If he learned what poison was used, Della might be able to save him. Or maybe it wouldn’t matter either way. Then he would have revenge for his friend. Didn’t Brusus deserve that much?
He Slid toward the hearth on the far wall. There, the door would block anyone from seeing him, giving him some advantage. He grabbed two of his slender knives from this pockets and held them, ready to push on them if needed.
The door swung open slowly. Rsiran readied.
A flash of steel came through the door first, followed by black leather.
Rsiran hesitated. He’d seen that sword before.
The door swung closed. Thom glanced around the tavern, lantern light shifting off his long scar in a strange way. Thom shifted so his back was to the door, spinning quickly to face Rsiran. He held his sword at the ready.
“Why are you here?” Rsiran asked.
Thom flickered his gaze in both directions. He remained tensed, coiled as if to strike. “Same as you, I figure.”
Rsiran frowned. Could Thom know about what happened to Brusus? “Why aren’t you guarding my father?”
Thom turned away from Rsiran and went to the front door, peeking through the small window. When satisfied, he turned back to Rsiran. “You think I’m the only one hired for the job?”
“How many others did he hire?”
Thom shrugged. “They don’t tell me too much. Besides, I’m only helping as a favor. Watching an old man in the woods can be done by anyone.”
Brusus wouldn’t trust just anyone to watch Rsiran’s father. That meant he trusted Thom. Who else did he trust enough to watch his father?
“You know what happened?” Rsiran asked.
Thom shrugged, eyeing him carefully. “For the most part. How’d you learn?”
“I was with him.”
Thom glanced at the table with Brusus’s blood on it. “You get him out?”
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Rsiran nodded.
“Where?”
He considered what to tell Thom. Brusus might trust him, but Rsiran wasn’t sure that he did. “He’s safe,” he said.
Thom sniffed and nodded toward the table. His scar seemed to writhe as he did. “Don’t look like he’s safe. Where is he?”
“I took him to a healer. She’s trying to help him.”
“Trying?”
Rsiran nodded. “He was poisoned.” He took a shaky breath. “He might not make it. She doesn’t know what poison they used.”
Thom seemed to consider for a moment. “You see who did it?”
“Not well. They were from Elaeavn, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You sure?”
Rsiran nodded. “We caught one.”
“Just one? He still alive?”
“For now.”
A dark smile twisted Thom’s face. “You going to murder him if he don’t survive? That your plan?”
Rsiran hadn’t fully considered what he would do if Brusus didn’t survive. But taking out his frustration on the man that had attacked him—and threatened Jessa—seemed as good a plan as any.
“Why do you care?”
“Don’t. You just don’t strike me as the murdering type.”
“You have no idea what ‘type’ I am.”
“No? So you could just walk over to a man,” he started, stalking toward Rsiran, his sword raised, “and take your blade and stick it into his gut?”
Almost faster than Rsiran could think, Thom’s sword swept toward Rsiran.
He pushed the lorcith knives away from him to block the sword. They crossed and slid the sword up and away, deflecting the attack.
Rsiran Slid back a step as he pushed the knives along Thom’s sword until they reached the hilt, holding the sword away.
Thom dropped his sword. It clattered to the ground. Then he raised his hands up.
“Guess I do need to watch out for your blades,” he said.
The Tower of Venass (The Dark Ability Book 3) Page 4