Hand and Talon (World of Kyrni Book 1)

by Melonie Purcell

  “We should probably go,” she suggested, forcing herself not to look at the saddlebag in question.

  “I imagine we should,” he returned, trying to stare a hole into her head. After another second, he turned his horse down the street and headed out of town. When they walked past the cottage that had been her unsuspecting ally, she didn’t even look up.

  They were barely at the edge of town when Dane leaned forward and tugged on the side of Krea’s tunic. “What’d you lift?” he whispered in her ear.

  “Shhhh!” she hissed back, winning her yet another deadly glare from Sorin.

  The town of Ryth was well behind them when they came to a fork in the road. To their left, the road continued on, well-traveled and broad. To their right, the road dwindled down to little more than a path with tufts of grass springing up along its middle until it twisted around and disappeared into the trees. Sorin stopped at the divide and spoke for the first time since leaving the guard. “I have half a mind to send you on ahead of me to see if the Nayli can teach you some respect. It’s obvious enough that I can’t.” He twisted in his saddle to stare at her.

  Not so many weeks ago, Krea would have launched into an explanation justifying her actions. As it was, she was more than content to wait him out in silence, except that she never got a chance.

  Dane, who had been alarmingly still behind her, jumped back so fast at Sorin’s words that he slid right down Caldir’s rump and fell hard on his own. “Ain’t no way I is going into that forest,” he declared, climbing to his feet. “No way!”

  Dane was already setting off back to Ryth when Sorin brought him up short, his voice booming into the still morning air. “Get back on the horse,” he commanded, and Krea was fairly certain that the people living on the edge of the town had heard him.

  Dane froze, considered his options without turning around, and started to run.

  At first Krea thought Sorin was hissing, but when she looked over at him, she saw his lips moving in a quiet chant, his gloves in his lap and his eyes fixed on the retreating boy. A wind that didn’t reach the treetops swirled around them, and by the time Krea had glanced from Dane back to Sorin, she saw a sunball collecting in his fae-hand, tiny beads of light flying together like bees swarming a hive.

  “No,” she screamed before the ball had fully formed. “I’ll go get him. Don’t hurt him.” She kicked Caldir forward, but before the horse took two steps, Sorin had sent the ball of light flying at Dane. It crashed to the ground a foot in front of the running boy and sent him skidding backward from the impact.

  Dane shook his head and tried to find his feet, but Krea knew from experience that he was blinded by the light, completely disoriented. Before he could take more than a couple of steps, Sorin had him scooped up and was cantering back to where Krea waited, completely horrified. He all but threw Dane back on Caldir, spinning his own horse around to face them.

  Unlike the last time he had used sunballs to fight off the proth, Sorin looked anything but tired. In fact, he looked more alive than she had ever seen him. As he flexed his wood hand, power rippled around him so that even the air seemed to tremble in his presence.

  Krea and Dane both stared in terrified silence, waiting for Sorin to speak. When he finally did, it was not the booming yell that Krea expected, but the soft, low rumbling speech that she knew to be just as deadly. “I have no idea what the two of you are about, but know this: I will not chase you around or abide your disobedience the whole rest of this trip. You will both do as I say, without question—in fact, without comment—until we reach Shaylith. Do you understand?”

  Krea nodded. She felt Dane do the same.

  “Do you really understand?”

  Now he was just being an ass. But his mood was such that she didn’t think now was the time to point it out. Besides, she was mostly sure she heard someone coming up the road, so she nodded again. Sorin stared over Krea's shoulder and frowned. Krea turned to confirm her suspicions.

  Down the road, a puff of dust rose into the air. As she watched it come closer, she saw the noble from the inn flanked by his two guards. They didn’t appear to be in any great hurry, but she didn’t want to meet up with them just the same. She turned back to Sorin to discover him once again appraising her with irritation.

  “That's the noble from the inn,” she said.

  “Aye.”

  “Why are we standing here? We have no reason to talk to him.”

  “Do you have a reason to run away, Krea?”

  “No,“ she said, glaring back at him. “I just don't like that he kept watching me. That's all.”

  “When was he watching you?”

  Krea blinked. He was good. But she was better. “Watching us, at the inn. Remember?”

  Sorin gave her a slow nod as the noble drew closer. “I remember.”

  “I didn't take anything of his, if that's what you think.” Technically, the box had belonged to the woman.

  He offered no response.

  “Even if she did lift something, ain't no sense giving it back. All they will be is mad ’cause she took it,” Dane said.

  Krea elbowed him in his side.

  “No,” Sorin said, pulling on his gloves. “I have trouble enough. Those three are going to Shaylith for the wedding, of that there is little doubt. As much as you deserve whatever is coming to you, Krea, I have no desire to run afoul another noble, no matter his low station. It will follow me.”

  “How does you know they’s going to Shaylith?” Dane asked.

  “Everyone is going to Shaylith. I was lucky to get these supplies. The town is pretty much cleaned out.”

  “That means they will be following us all the way there?”

  “Aye, unless we cut through the Nayli.” She felt Dane flinch behind her at that option, but he didn’t try to run again.

  “You don’t think they would follow us there?”

  “Probably not, but I would like to get a better measure of the man. Krea, adjust your water flask so that it isn’t rubbing against your horse’s whither. It will leave a sore. Dane, take this.” Sorin slipped one of the flasks off his saddle and handed it to Dane. The boy was strapping it on when the three men eyed the place where the sunball had landed with curiosity before pulling even with them. Krea could just make out the outline of the box beneath the noble's cape where it flared over his horse’s rump. That was a good sign. A very good sign.

  “Good day,” said the young noble, giving the three an appraising glance.

  Sorin nodded and finished tying off his remaining water flask. “Good day,” he said, finally meeting the young man’s eyes.

  “Are you traveling to Shaylith?”

  Again, Sorin nodded. “And you? For the wedding?”

  “Aye, for the wedding. My father was unable to attend, so he sent me in his stead to represent our family. We could travel together, if you so choose. With bandits on the roads this time of year, you can’t be too careful, especially considering the companions you ride with. I am referring to your lack of guards, of course.”

  Krea bristled at the insult on two levels. To begin with, the man had yet to even acknowledge her presence. For him to ignore Dane was understandable. After all, Dane was a child. But she was closer to marrying age than being clustered into Dane’s category, and she should have been worthy of at least a nod. Then to speak of her as a burden! She wanted to at least spook his horse, but she managed to keep her indignation silent.

  The noble’s arrogance was not lost on Sorin, and he smiled the same patient smile he had given Kole the first night she had been at his manor. “Don’t worry on our account,” he assured the man. “These two can manage fine. We would enjoy your company, though, if you would care to join us.” Sorin waved his hand toward the overgrown path that led into the forest.

  The man nodded. “You are taking the route through the Nayli?”

  “Aye. It takes at least two weeks off the trip, and I will have no bandits or merchants to deal with.”

  �
�No,” the man said finally, to the obvious relief of his guards. “I will take my chances with the bandits.”

  Sorin shrugged. “Well, good journey to you, then.”

  “And to you.” The noble turned, dipping his head toward Sorin as he left without even once making eye contact with Krea.

  With great restraint, Krea waited until the men had been reduced to a fading cloud of dust before voicing her opinion. “Arrogant, pompous...” She couldn’t think of anything more horrible than that, so she ended her tirade with a snort in the general direction the man had taken. “Didn’t even so much as look at me.”

  Sorin chuckled and set out for the trees. “You’ll get all the looks you can stand once you are marked as a kyrni.”

  “That’s not the point!” Krea insisted, automatically falling in behind Sorin. “He didn’t even look properly amazed that we were cutting through the forest.”

  “I have to admit, I expected a bit more there myself.”

  “I could of had me that guard’s knife,” Dane whispered as they headed toward the wall of trees. He intended his comment for Krea alone, but she had ridden with Sorin long enough to know that the man had to have heard.

  “Not a chance,” she said.

  “I could of just reached out my hand and grabbed it. He would of never knowed it.”

  “Even if all three men had been falling down drunk, you couldn’t have taken his knife,” Krea insisted. “It was latched to the sheath with a looped thong. You have to pay attention to things like that. Goddess, have mercy! You are such a pelt. How did you manage to keep both your hands this long?”

  “I ain’t no pelt,” Dane snapped, no longer whispering. “I got lots of knives just like that one. I didn’t want that knife anyhow.”

  Krea just shook her head. “Think Belt knows you’re gone?” she asked after a few minutes.

  Dane flinched behind her, pulling closer. “Belt knows everything.”

  The boy’s words echoed a fear she knew very well. “Think he’ll send someone after you?”

  Dane shook his head. “No, but if I ever go back to Ryth, I’s dead.”

  Krea nodded. As sure as the sun rose, Belt would kill Dane if he ever saw the boy again. Once a runner had you, there was no getting away.

  Sorin paused on the path and turned to them, his expression somber. “Listen to me,” he said, after staring at them for what felt like half a day. “We are going into the Nayli. And, aye.” He leaned forward in his saddle so that he was only inches away from them. “Everything you have ever heard about the Nayli is true, for some people. We...” He paused to consider his words. “No, I am not one of those people. I can and have traversed this forest numerous times unharmed, and am actually better for it. If you stay with me and do exactly what I say,” he explained, stressing each word, “you will be fine. If, instead, you go running off to steal something that looks interesting or because you are scared that something will get you, you will not be fine. In fact, you will be dead. You both must stay with me, and you must do what I say. Do you understand?”

  He waited, but neither of them spoke. Behind him, the path twisted around a bend of trees and disappeared. What kind of forest was this that even the path was afraid to enter?

  “Krea? Do you understand?”

  Krea nodded, chancing a glance at the wall of trees that loomed before her.

  “Dane? Do you?”

  She heard him mumble his agreement in a voice much higher than usual. Sorin continued to watch the boy, as if unsure of his commitment, before finally sitting up in his saddle, at least momentarily satisfied. “Okay, then. Stay close.”

  Chapter 15 - Attack

  The entry to the Nayli didn’t inspire confidence. It loomed out of the field like a dragon guarding her young. Krea stared at the spot ahead where a wall of impossibly tall white-barked aspen swallowed their path. It just disappeared. Green meadows rolled along on either side. Occasionally, small groves of hawthorns or oaks huddled together for protection.

  Krea was needling Dane to tell her about his night when she suddenly found herself on the ground. Someone yelled. Hooves trampled the soil around her and instincts took over. She rolled into a tight ball, just managing to avoid a kick to the head. As she struggled to regain her footing, she saw three men on horseback closing in on Sorin, and Dane scurrying toward the stand of hawthorns that had been hiding them.

  Clashing metal brought her attention back to the road. Three men clutching swords and daggers converged on Sorin. Blood splattered across her face. Krea ducked again as a dark-skinned man fell from his horse, a small hand axe protruding from his head. She expected to see one of the guards. He wasn’t one of them.

  A horse screamed in agony. Caldir! Searching for the horse amid the fray, Krea scrambled to her feet again. Where was he?

  Behind her, Sorin yelled. Whether it was a curse or a spell, she couldn’t be sure. As he fended off swords, his fae-hand twisted and turned with magical speed. Metal clashed against metal. The clangs echoed across the open field, a thundering background to the yells and grunts of the fighters.

  Two men converged on Sorin. Again and again their swords connected as Drindoc danced in obedience to Sorin’s silent commands, always keeping the two attackers on the same side. A sword sliced through the air to Sorin’s right. He reached up to deflect the blow, but he wasn’t fast enough. The man’s dagger sliced through Sorin’s tunic. A trail of blood marked its passage across his ribs.

  With a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, the attacker seemed off balance. He was slow bringing his dagger arm back in front of him. Sorin ducked the second man’s poorly aimed swing and came back up with a lethal slash across a horse’s neck. In an eruption of blood, the sorrel horse crumpled to the ground atop its rider. Drindoc spun again, forcing an opening between Sorin and his attackers.

  Krea didn’t hesitate. She grabbed the axe handle, still protruding from the dead man’s head, and started to run. She didn't get far. The weapon clung to its victim and yanked her backward. Krea pushed herself off the ground and yanked again, this time wiggling the short blood-covered handle back and forth until it finally broke free with a vile crack.

  Suppressing a shiver, she ran for the man still trying to break free of the dying animal. His attention was on Sorin. He didn’t see Krea until she was standing above him, the axe, still dripping with blood, raised in her hands.

  She meant to bring it screaming down on the man’s head, to bury the edge in a skull for the second time that day, but she couldn’t make her arms swing the weapon forward. She just stood. Gaping. Motionless, as the trader stared up at her with pitch-colored eyes. She had used a knife on a person before. Living on the streets left few other options. But somehow this was different. Looking the man in the eye as he lay pinned changed everything.

  Sorin bellowed a curse of rage. Krea chanced a glance, but it was all the time the trader needed. Pain seared up her leg and she jumped sideways, narrowly avoiding a crippling cut at the hands of the trader. With wild fury, he slashed his knife through the air, trying to make contact with anything he could.

  Krea jerked sideways, but the man’s other hand clamped around her ankle and yanked it out from under her. She hit the ground with a thud. Again, the knife arched backward, narrowly missing her thigh. Krea tried to roll away, but she had nowhere to go. The trader’s grip was fierce as he steadily dragged her toward him. The next swipe of his knife would meet flesh.

  Without thinking, Krea swung the axe and buried it in his arm. The man’s scream filled the air, but she didn’t stop. With all her strength, she swung again and again until the axe met only a bloody pool of dirt.

  The hand that had held her lay in a mangled heap near her leg. Blood spurted into the air as the man flailed his arm, shrieking in pain, and Krea screamed with him. Whether the trader intended to swing his knife or was only thrashing under the fallen horse, she didn’t care. All she saw was the knife coming at her again. She brought the axe down once more, this
time landing it in his throat. The trader’s screams died to a gurgle, but he continued to flail in anguish until a sword slid down from over her head and ended the man’s torment. Krea dropped the axe and spun around to find Sorin standing behind her, blood splattering his soft brown tunic and dripping from his sword.

  “I…he…,” Krea stammered, but she could find no words to express her horror. She glanced down at the blood that covered her arms and hands, and then at the man, now dead. A wave of nausea surged through her so suddenly, she barely had time to turn over before she was retching. Her head spun. Panic stole her mind. Krea pushed herself to her feet, but her legs trembled beneath her and she stumbled, catching herself with one arm as she tried again to retch. When the whirling stopped, she stared up at Sorin in horror. “I…” She got no further before he held up his hand to silence her.

  “You did what you had to do,” he explained in a voice so hauntingly somber, she shuddered. “No more, and no less. You have committed no crime.”

  She barely had time to process what he had said when a familiar whoosh brought them both to their feet. Before Krea could find the proth in the sky, Sorin was pulling together another sunball.

  The proth landed a good distance away. Whatever the proth were, they were not stupid. It continued to slowly beat its leathery wings, its claws constantly shuffling. Stench from moldy, matted fur wafted toward them with every flap. The needle-sharp fangs gleamed as it sneered, and Krea imagined its all-too-human eyes were glaring at them. Whatever she was, she wasn't stupid, either. This time, she kept her eyes on the faerie's mouth, not its magic orange eyes.

  With a rustle of wings, the gnarled beast stretched its head forward and hissed. Sorin drew his fae-wood hand back, sunball ready, but the proth was still far enough away that it could easily dodge the ball of light and attack before Sorin could collect another. It shook its fur like a horse shaking off flies, hissed again, and spoke. “Mashter needsssit.”