Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  “You there, what are you doing?” the man demanded, stomping closer.

  Pretending to tie her boot, Krea glanced up at the guard in mock surprise. She kept her head tilted and made sure that clumps of hair dangled down over most of her face. “I’m taking these to my lady,” she explained, holding up the bag. “I hope they will put her in a better mood.”

  The guard rolled his eyes. “If it does, you go back and buy every scrap of whatever’s in that bag. Nordu have mercy. For being a young thing, that girl is cross as a old war horse. Let us all hope her trip to Shaylith will bring her home in a better mind.”

  Krea giggled and went back to her boot. She didn’t let out her breath until the man disappeared around the fountain wall. Clutching her excuse for being on the grounds in the first place, she got up and hurried down the outer corridor that was her back way in. She was almost there.

  Down the dusty alley, the sight of the familiar snake hole made her smile. One more turn. Just as the last corner came in view, a low hiss sent a chill down her spine. She stopped and held stone still. If that noise came from a chey, it would be the largest snake she had ever seen. With absolute dread, Krea slowly turned around.

  A beast, twisted and mangled, crouched on four legs in the middle of the path, its needle-sharp fangs bared. Despite the thin, matted gray fur that covered the body, its head and face seemed oddly human and impossibly forbidding. It hissed again, the sound low and vicious. Even though the creature only came to her hip, its powerful hind legs and daggerlike claws made it lethal.

  It took two quick steps forward and shook like a flea-bitten dog. Wide, webbed wings sprung from muscular shoulders and made a disturbing snap as they unfurled. The thin membrane that covered the wings looked more like scraps of leather lying across bone than actual skin. One thing was certain. The creature was faerie, and running up against a fae was never a good idea.

  The faerie dipped its head low to the ground. Huge, orange eyes locked onto hers, and Krea could not look away. She tried to move, but taking a single step was like swimming through mud. Even when the beast launched into the air, she just stood there staring into those angry, glowing orbs. Only when the creature broke eye contact in its effort to attack was the spell finally lifted.

  By then it was nearly too late.

  At the last second, Krea threw herself to the side. She avoided the full impact of the attack, but the faerie’s knife-edged claws raked across her arm, leaving a trail of blood. The wound felt as if a hot poker lay buried under her skin, but she didn’t have time to check the damage. The beast was already crouching for another attack.

  Averting her gaze, Krea rolled to the side. The creature dropped to the ground so close she could see the bugs crawling in its fur and feel the spittle as it snapped its fangs together in anger. It reeked of rotting flesh, and the low growl rumbling out of the faerie’s chest filled the narrow alley.

  She clenched a fistful of dirt and hurled it at what she hoped was the flat, hairless face. Fighting this creature was hard, but fighting it without looking at it was proving impossible.

  The faerie growled and swiped the air.

  Krea rolled to the side and jumped to her feet. Her hand went to her knife, but found an empty sheath instead. She glanced at the ground in desperation, but a rhythmic thumping cut her search short. Another beast was dropping out of the sky.

  In blind hope, Krea screamed and swung her carry bag through the air. The heavy ball thumped up against something solid, but who knew what it was. One of the beasts let out a bone-chilling screech. Something hit the ground, maybe one of the monsters, but the other one was definitely unperturbed. It attacked again.

  Searing pain shot up her leg as the creature slashed her calf with its claws. She tried to jump back, but the crippling pain sent her careening backward instead. Grabbing the carry bag again, Krea hurled around hoping to hit the beast, but without the momentum of the full swing, the metal ball inside was useless. The two faeries stalked toward her like crazed dogs about to devour their prey. Krea was out of ideas. She scooted back against the wall and slid down to feet and fists.

  Wet heat from the fae’s breath rushed over her when she started kicking, but a blazing white light as bright as the sun flooded the alleyway. Krea missed the brunt of the blinding effect because she was already squinting to avoid the beast’s paralyzing stare. Both faeries howled in pain. One threw itself against the wall and tried burying its face in the dirt.

  “Caller, leave!” The raspy demand could only have come from one of the fae. The words sounded foreign to the creature’s tongue, as if spoken through a mouth full of rocks. “Go backs to hide, or Mashter takes more than you linksh.”

  Another flash lit the alley. Krea yanked her legs in and huddled tight against the wall. Deadly claws lashed out in vain as the creatures howled and screeched. Then, in a burst of blue flame, they both disappeared and the burning white light faded away.

  Krea sagged against the wall. She had watched the whole scene through a slit between her fingers, but she still saw spots when she tried to look around the alleyway. She trembled from head to toe. The agonizing pain in her leg and arm, forgotten in the wake of the miraculous light, rushed over her. Through the spots, she made out a figure walking toward her, but she was too terrified to react.

  “Be still,” commanded the familiar voice, now beside her.

  Sorin crouched and took her arm in his. Krea glanced down to see what he was doing, and screamed. The hand that held her was not made of flesh. Instead of skin, the surface gleamed in the sun like the polished handle of a blade. Different shades of brown, some deep and others light, streaked and twisted up from his wrist. His hand looked for all the world to be made of wood.

  She tried with all she had to scramble to her feet, tried to push him away, but her leg pulsed in pain and she fell again. Before she could make another attempt, the wood hand clamped around her arm.

  Sorin pushed her back down with his other hand, a hand made of flesh. “Be still.”

  Krea ignored him and tried to wiggle free again, but he held on to her.

  “I said, be still,” he demanded. “This injury can kill you. Just stop moving.”

  She would have tried to get away again, but before she could move, Sorin cupped his human hand over the shoulder wound and closed his eyes. Moving his lips in a silent chant, Sorin summoned his magic once again. Tendrils of warmth swarmed over the wound, driving away the pain and sealing the skin. When he moved his hand, an icy tingle left her skin numb. He repeated the process on her leg and then dropped against the wall, clearly exhausted.

  Across from them sat the guard she had run into earlier. After a strange silence, the man struggled to his feet and sidestepped along the wall, watching Sorin as if he were a deadly animal.

  Sorin just waved an arm at him in curt dismissal without looking up. “Go tell your captain. Go.”

  Krea forced a deep breath and looked over at Sorin. He was soaked with sweat and breathing hard, as if he had fought off both faeries with his bare hands. He sat with his head resting against the wall, eyes closed. The hand he had used to heal her looked tan and as normal as any other man's. His other hand was something else altogether. Just past the wrist, Sorin's skin blended into bark. It was unlike that of any tree she had seen, but without a doubt, his left hand was made of wood. The bark was smooth and brown. Deep red and orange streaks ran over the surface, swirling and twisting like the inside of a healthy tree. When he slowly clenched the stick fingers into a fist, Krea jumped.

  “What…what is…?”

  Sorin patted her thigh with his flesh hand and held the other up for her to see. “A gift from the drykir.”

  “What! A drykir stole your hand and left you that?”

  “No. My hand was cut off in a battle. The drykir saved my life and gave me this hand. It won't hurt you.”

  Krea couldn't decide if she wanted to touch it or run away. “Does it hurt?”

  Sorin shook his head. “No. B
ut it scares people, so I wear gloves.”

  “I can understand why.” Krea rubbed her hand over the spot where the faerie had cut her leg. The place where the wound had been felt oddly numb and tender, like new skin forming under a thick scab, but the gaping cuts were nearly smooth. “What were those?”

  “Proth,” he said, closing his eyes again. “Those were proth, and you were one second away from becoming their dinner.”

  “Proth?” Krea wrapped her arms across her chest and shook her head to clear it.

  “Aye, proth. Faerie servants of the torbadyn. They were here to kill you, I think.”

  “But why? What did I ever do? What do the torbadyn want with a common thief?”

  Sorin turned to face her. “Krea, you are anything but common, although I will admit that you are a thief. As to why the torbadyn are after you, I don’t know. They don’t usually go after the kyrni. They attack the callers instead. There is no way around it, though. Those proth were sent for you, not me.” That said, he pushed himself to his feet, picked his gloves up off the ground, and pulled them on after slapping off the dust. “We need to leave.”

  Krea stared in utter fascination as the wooden hand slid into the leather. It seemed to move slower than the other hand, but it was just as flexible. “Where are we going?”

  “I told you. We have to go to Shaylith.” Sorin picked her carry bag up off the ground and handed it to her. “We can’t delay. Let’s go.”

  The idea of seeing elders didn’t sound any better today than it had last night, but the thought of facing the proth again— or worse, the captain— wasn’t any more appealing. Shouldering the bag, she fell in behind the man who had undeniably saved her life. Maybe she would stay with him long enough to get out of Trasdaak.

  They followed the same path out of the back alley that they had the previous day, only this time Sorin was obviously in a hurry and Krea wasn’t in a spell-induced stupor. As they passed the corridor that hid her bag, Krea tried to peer discreetly into the shadows. It was too dark to see anything walking so fast. Instead, she waited until they were almost into the main square before turning around.

  “I forgot my knife,” she called, and took off running before Sorin could object. Halfway down the second alley, she stopped and leaned over, pretending to catch her breath. When she was sure no one was watching, she ducked into the dark corridor and felt around for the bag. A soft ching, like sweet music, answered her.

  At first, she meant to drop the money purse into her carry bag, but better judgment warned her away. Instead, she used her belt to secure the purse to the small of her back and loosened her tunic so it fell free of the small bulge. With a few more minor adjustments, the bag was completely silent when she stepped back out into the alleyway.

  She started for the square, but remembered the knife she had professed to retrieve. A quick jog farther up the alleyway, and she was back at the location of the attack. Her knife was nowhere to be found, but the bag of candy lay against a wall covered in dust. She dropped the candy into her bag and hurried back out to join Sorin. Not surprisingly, the captain of the guard was there to greet her.

  “So, you returned for your prize, did you,” he said before she had even cleared the alleyway. The smell of sweat and the nasty, green fandyl he chewed wafted over her in the cool morning air.

  Krea stopped. “How many times do I have to explain this? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  The vile man took two steps toward her, but Sorin’s presence kept him from moving any closer. “I thought you went to fetch your knife?” he asked, noting the empty sheath hanging against her thigh.

  “I couldn’t find it,” she explained.

  “Well, it looks like you found something else, didn’t you? Hand me your bag.”

  Relief washed over her as she thanked Nordu for the warning. Still, she didn’t want to seem too eager. Better to let the man think he had found something. With luck, his ultimate embarrassment would keep him from wanting to search further.

  “There’s nothing in there,” she said, trying to skirt around the guard to get closer to Sorin. “What do you want it for?”

  The captain sneered. “If there is nothing in it, you shouldn’t have any problem with letting me see inside. Now, give me the bag.”

  Krea made slow work of shrugging out of the bag, mostly to prevent it from hitting the money purse at her back, but to the captain’s eager eye, she was trying to avoid the inevitable. Through it all, Sorin remained silent.

  When she finally held out the bag, the captain snatched it away from her in premature triumph. She could see the shape of the ball being shoved to the side as the man searched for his precious evidence. His sneer almost turned to a smile when he found the small pouch. He pulled it out and dangled it in front of her victoriously. Not the bag he was looking for, that much was certain, but enough to get her into his custody. Or so he hoped.

  “And what of this?” he asked, dangling the pouch for all to see.

  “What of it? I like candy,” Krea countered with a patient sigh. “I paid for that candy. The lady merchant at the end of the square will testify to it.”

  The guard’s face folded into frustrated fury as he pulled the tie strings on the pouch and peered inside.

  “You can have a piece, if you like,” Krea offered, thinking it a nice touch. “It’s very good.”

  The captain started toward Krea, but Sorin’s hand on his chest brought him up short. Krea couldn't help wondering what the captain's reaction would have been had Sorin not been wearing his glove. “We will go to the merchant of whom she speaks and confirm her story. If it is not true, you can pursue this issue further, but if it is true, the girl and I are free to go.”

  The captain's frustration was obvious, but he wasn't ready to argue with a caller. Instead, he gave Sorin a curt nod and headed for the cart. When Sorin clapped a hand on Krea’s shoulder, she jumped. He pulled her back to walk beside him. She didn’t understand the significance of his actions, but like the captain, she wasn’t about to argue with him after what she had seen. For whatever reason, he had decided that he should be between her and the captain, and that was fine with her.

  Not surprisingly, the merchant regarded the party with curiosity. Krea imagined they were quite a sight, Krea with bloodstained clothes, the captain of the guard and a nobleman on one side of her and two soldiers on the other. She wouldn’t have wanted a group like that walking up to her cart, either. To the woman’s credit, beyond her initial shock, she quickly resumed her pleasant, uninterested disposition and waited.

  When the group stopped, Sorin pushed her in front of him, but still well away from the brooding captain. For a split second, she wondered if he was keeping her back away from the onlooking guards because he knew about the bag, but she quickly dismissed that thought. There was no way a noble would help a thief. It just wouldn’t happen. Still, being in front of him was better than being in front of her adversaries. The thump of the small pouch dropping on the table brought the speculation to a halt.

  “This skag claims she purchased this pouch from you,” said the guard through clenched teeth. “Is that true?”

  The merchant picked up the pouch in question, examined its contents, and after a barely perceptible glance in Krea’s direction, she smiled. “The lady did purchase this from me.”

  Krea knew exactly what that glance meant. As subtly as she could, she pushed her hands in her pockets and fingered one of the remaining coins. Nordu, have mercy! she thought. This had better work. She felt like her heart would jump out of her chest any second.

  Whether the captain noticed the exchange between Krea and the woman or not, she couldn’t be sure, but one thing was certain; he wasn’t convinced. The captain leaned across the table with a menacing air and sneered. “Pray tell, lady, why did this girl purchase a pouch of candy when the only bed she has to lie in is the one she exchanges for favors?”

  “Watch yourself, Captain,” warned Sorin, his tone suddenly deadl
y. “You go too far.”

  The captain pretended not to hear, but the sudden tension in his neck gave him away.

  The merchant remained ever cool. “Sir, I don’t inquire as the reason for my customer’s purchases. I have found in this business that discretion is usually best.”

  The captain started to comment, but Sorin cut him off. As the two faced each other, Krea backed out of the way. “Captain, this matter is finished. The girl will be leaving Trasdaak today. It is not in your best interest to detain her, nor is it in your best interest to detain me.”

  Exuding hostility that was almost tangible, the captain curtailed his comment. Instead, he met Sorin’s level gaze and nodded. “And, noble, it would not be in her best interest to ever return to my town.” With that said, he spun around and stormed away with the two guards on his heels.

  Sorin dipped his head to the merchant and thanked her briefly, then turned back toward town. Krea fell in step behind him, but not before taking the candy pouch offered by the woman and slipping a shol into her palm in its place. That had been too close.

  As expected, Sorin led them to the far end of the square where Troulas stood holding Drindoc’s reins. The man’s expression was grim when he finally turned to face her. He started to speak, but then thought better of it and turned to his stable boy instead. “Troulas, listen to me. When you get back to the manor, tell Kole that we encountered proth in the village.”

  “Proth!” exclaimed the boy, but he held back whatever else he wanted to say due to his master’s dire mood.

  “Aye. Proth. Two. Tell Kole we are unharmed, but to keep a sharp eye. Tell him to use the orb if he needs to.”

  “I will tell him.”

  Sorin nodded. “Okay, now go straight home. Leave the other errands Kole sent you with for another day. Ride fast and keep your eyes open.”

  Troulas looked pale but eager to rise to the challenge as he nodded his understanding and handed Drindoc’s reins to his master. Sorin patted his servant reassuringly and watched him ride away on a dapple-gray gelding before turning to Krea.