Violet eyes bulged. One large hand seized Kalan’s wrist. Arek thrust. His blade bit into the demon’s abdomen. Jole came in low, slashing across the Na’Reishi’s back.
With a pained howl, the demon sank to the ground, releasing his sword. The fall drove both his and Kalan’s weapons deeper. The Na’Reishi threw back his head and roared. His hand groped along his waist. Light caught on a bare blade.
“Kalan, watch out!”
The dagger bit into Kalan’s side until only the hilt could be seen. Arek sucked in a shocked breath. He drove his power, his Gift, into the demon’s body.
The Na’Reishi fell, but the thrill of victory was absent. Arek dropped his sword as Kalan collapsed, and caught him just before he hit the ground.
“Merciful Mother!” His friend gasped, pain carving deep grooves in his face. He pressed a hand to his side.
“Easy, my friend, easy.” Arek’s voice shook as he peeled Kalan’s bloody fingers away from his wound. “Let me see how bad it is.”
His mouth dried. One of the thick leather straps cinching Kalan’s armor to his body was partially cut. After striking the buckle, the blade had deflected into the gap between that one and the next.
More war cries filled the air. The cadence wasn’t Na’Chi. An icy chill ripped through Arek.
“Lady’s Breath!” Jole’s invective matched his paling face, and his wide-eyed gaze was fixed on something behind them.
Arek twisted to look. Through the forest, figures darted and wove their way toward them. More Na’Reish demons. The dappled shadowing made it hard to count how many. “Another patrol!”
Outnumbered and already down at least one warrior, the odds had just gone from good to potentially devastating.
Kalan’s hand squeezed his. Urgency blazed in the pained depths of his gaze. “Take. It. Out. Now!”
“I need his shirt, Jole.” Arek pointed with his chin at the dead demon. “Pad and bandage.”
Field dressing at best whereas Kalan needed a healer. A swift glance at the advancing Na’Reish; they had a minute, maybe two at the most.
Arek curled his hand around the dagger hilt. “Ready?”
Kalan swallowed hard and nodded.
Arek yanked the blade from his side. Through gritted teeth, Kalan screamed. His body arched, then collapsed again, half conscious. Jole packed the makeshift bandage against the wound and tied it tight with another strip of material.
While he did this, Arek scanned the clearing. The fighting still raged on. Relief flooded him to see every other Light Blade and Na’Chi still standing.
Another demon fell and a dark-clad figure dumped the body to the ground.
“Varian!”
The Na’Chi leader’s head snapped up, his gaze glowing almost red. Arek knew he’d spotted the new patrol when he bared his teeth in a feral grimace. He covered the distance between them in seconds.
“Kalan’s wounded. He needs a healer.” Arek grasped the Na’Chi’s arm, gaze locking with his. “Retreat with the others. You’re still in charge. Jole will back you if the other Light Blades protest. You must get the Chosen back to Sacred Lake. Understand?”
“You’re his Second.” Varian’s brow dipped low. The words were guttural, deep, not quite human. “Why aren’t you going to lead them?”
A scream of rage jerked them around. Varian launched himself at the Na’Reish warrior charging them from the edge of the clearing. A blur of movement, he kept low, and took his opponent down in a bone-crushing tackle. The two of them rolled across the ground.
More Na’Reish entered the clearing, each issuing a battle cry. Terrified into action, the farmers scattered in all directions. Their bid for escape stalled the demons for a few precious seconds.
Merciful Mother, they were all going to be slaughtered if they stayed. Not even the extra skills and strength of the Na’Chi would help them. And the Blade Council couldn’t afford to lose the Lady’s Chosen. Not now.
Arek snatched up his sword. They were going to need a distraction. It wasn’t exactly how he’d imagined his Final Journey, but at least he’d get to take out as many Na’Reish as he could before he fell.
“Jole, take Kalan.” Heart pounding, he couldn’t look at his best friend as he rose. He did share a steady look with Jole. Had to. Someone needed to understand his decision, and despite their friendship… no, because of their friendship, Kalan wouldn’t.
“Get him out of here,” he rasped. “I’ll help Varian.”
Jole’s eyes widened with shock, with disbelief and astonishment, then finally acceptance. Jaw flexing, the warrior nodded slowly and pressed his own sword into his hands. Arek grinned. Two weapons were better than one.
“Lady protect you, Second.”
“Arek… no!” Kalan’s hoarse protest made Arek’s throat tighten.
Lady’s Breath, he knew. Reluctantly he met his friend’s glazed gaze. “This is the only way, my friend. Tell Annika… I should’ve made the time to get to know her….” The agony in Kalan’s emerald eyes pierced him. Arek stood, wishing he had time to say a proper farewell. “Lady bless you.”
Insides churning, he ignored Kalan’s repeated hails. He hurried around them to Varian. The Na’Chi leader had his opponent in a headlock. With a deep-throated growl, and a vicious twist, he snapped his neck and dropped the body to the ground. Arek grasped a handful of his leather vest and pulled him to his feet.
“Get everyone out of here. Now, before it’s too late.” He reinforced the order with a shove, then dodged in front of him, sword already swinging to block the Na’Reish warrior bearing down on them.
Arek widened his stance as their swords clashed and grunted as the blow jarred his shoulder. He swept the other sword blade in low, felt it bite deep into the demon’s leg. The seven-foot warrior howled, knee buckling. One large fist lashed out. The blow caught the side of his head. Arek staggered. He lost his grip on one sword.
A Na’Chi war cry rang out.
The one indicating retreat.
Head ringing, he forced himself upright. Another Na’Reish warrior came at him. A huge broadsword arced overhead. He leapt back to avoid being cleft in two, then caught sight of Varian. The Na’Chi finished off another opponent on the opposite side of the clearing. The warrior disappeared into a shadowed stand of saplings, the last to leave.
Lady protect them. A deep-seated calmness filled Arek. And guide me on my Final Journey. The second Na’Hord unit was seconds from overrunning the clearing.
“Don’t let them escape!” The roared order came from somewhere to his left.
Arek pivoted to face yet another adversary. He blocked one more arm-numbing blow. Something slammed into him from behind. The impact of hitting the ground drove the breath from his lungs. Another massive fist swung at him.
It hit.
Everything exploded in a ball of light. He lost his grip on his sword.
Darkness overwhelmed him.
Chapter 22
“COUNCILOR Elamm, welcome.” Kymora held open the wooden door to her apartment. She pasted on a polite smile.
Lady forgive her the lack of a genuine response, but a frisson of disapproval mixed with self-importance already radiated from the older woman’s aura. What irked her more was that the Councilor made no effort to hide it.
Since being appointed to the Blade Council, Elamm’d taken to meeting weekly with her to discuss the Temple’s involvement with community projects. All well and fine if the Councilor’s intentions were sincere, but there was an element of political ambition souring her deeds. And during Council business, the woman seemed to take a perverse pleasure in pointing out the negative of any issue.
A potent and off-putting combination that tested Kymora’s patience every time she had to deal with the woman.
“Please come in.” She kept her smile firmly in place. “I’ve prepared a pot of tea. Would you like a cup before we begin our meeting?”
“Temple Elect, that sounds like a wonderful idea.” The older woman’s vo
ice was deep, full bodied, the vowels in her words heavily rounded by a provincial drawl. “It’s been a hectic day visiting with the refugee families. Most of them had to leave their belongings behind when they abandoned their homes. They just didn’t have the means to transport everything. So I’ve approached the Weavers Guild to organize a schedule for making and supplying necessities such as blankets and clothes to these families.”
“With winter approaching, they’re going to need those essential items,” Kymora agreed.
As the Councilor moved into the room Kymora used for official private meetings, a light floral scent tickled Kymora’s nose.
“Have you also been chatting with Master Gardener Pel?”
Rich laughter accompanied the sound of her guest’s footsteps to the table in the middle of the room. “He and I have a mutual interest in propagating Keri-blossoms. I’ve asked him to grow several dozen for my private garden.”
Several dozen? A little self-indulgent on her part, and more than a little time consuming for the Master Gardner, especially now, considering the number of crops he needed to plant and care for that would help feed the refugee families the Councilor professed to have such concern for. But she resisted pointing that out.
“The blossoms do have the sweetest scent.” Kymora joined her and reached for the small metal kettle she’d set there earlier. “The incense he makes from the petals for the Temple is one of the most popular used by the worshippers as an offering to the Lady.”
With a careful hand, she poured two cups of tea. The heat from the steam rising from the water helped her gauge when to stop.
“I thought you’d appreciate Yasri-tea. It’s a blend of sweet citrus combined with an aftertaste of mint.” She pushed one cup toward the older woman, then took a seat before cradling her own. “Quite refreshing for this time of day.”
After a delicate sniff, the Councilor’s sigh was appreciative. Kymora masked her smile behind the edge of her cup, knowing she’d made the right choice. Elamm’s love of fine teas originated from her home province. The farmers there were suppliers for the best-quality herbs traded and sold within human territory.
“It’s nice to have someone else appreciate a good tea and the right time to drink it.” A quiet sip, then the cup knocked against the wood as she placed it on the table. “Temple Elect, as much as I’m enjoying this, I’m aware that your time is precious, so perhaps we could discuss the reason for my visit?”
Her aura was sharper, humming with resolve and determination.
“Please, call me Kymora, Councilor.”
“Then call me Jho.” She affected a soft sigh. “I’m not sure how to broach this….”
Lady of Light, she sounded so sincere in her concern. It set her teeth on edge, but Kymora waited, gripping the sides of her teacup tightly, and tried to savor the steamy aroma.
“There’s some concern… from a number of parties… that you seem to be neglecting your duties as Sacred Lake’s priestess,” she murmured.
“Neglecting my duties?”
“That’s the impression.” The woman’s tone was heavier, her drawl more pronounced. “Rest assured, I don’t think that for a moment. But I thought it important you know I’ve been approached by… some… who’ve expressed these concerns. On several occasions, and in… shall we say… an increasingly vocal fashion.”
Kymora resisted rolling her eyes and instead searched her memories for whom the Councilor mixed with socially. She enjoyed the company of several influential city leaders, some of the minor Guild-masters, and the other Blade Councilors.
“In what areas have I been tardy, did they tell you?” she asked.
“Well, they’re concerned that in your absence you delegated almost all of your duties to your head Servant, Sartor.”
The woman’s aura pulsed with a tightness Kymora recognized.
“He’s more than capable of handling those responsibilities.” She set her cup aside and leaned forward. It was time to get to the heart of the matter. “I’d appreciate your honest opinion, Jho. Was it the delegation of responsibility or because I was living with the Na’Chi for almost four months?”
“The latter.”
“Thank you.” She reached for the kettle and topped up her cup. “Another?”
“Yes. This conversation merits at least two cups.”
“It’s more like a four or five, I’d say,” she replied, unable to disguise her dry tone. Again, Lady forgive her lack of tolerance.
The Councilor’s laughter seemed forced. “Indeed.” She inhaled a deeper breath. “You’re taking this well, considering.”
“I’m not dismissing your concerns, Jho, or those held by those you’ve mentioned.” Kymora tapped her fingernail on the edge of her cup while keeping her tone modulated. Reason not emotion was the wiser path. “The truth is I don’t know that there’s much I can do to allay them. I’m back in Sacred Lake, and with the Na’Chi now among us, there’s no need to delegate. I’ve taken over the majority of my responsibilities again. Sartor has returned to his tutoring position with the acolytes.” She splayed one hand outward in a half gesture. “Perhaps given a little more time, these people will see I continue to honor my oath to the Lady.”
The older woman cleared her throat. “Maybe if you spend a little less time among the Na’Chi…”
Kymora sat back in her seat, frowning. “Jho, the Lady has claimed the Na’Chi as her own. They’re as much a part of my realm of responsibility as any human.” Another sip of tea didn’t help calm her temper. She took a slow breath. “My suggestion would be to remind those concerned of the Lady’s words. No offense intended, Councilor, but while I know bringing their concerns to me is part of your work, I’d encourage them to talk with me.”
“I did inform them of that option,” the woman hastened to assure her. “But if the occasion arises, I’ll certainly remind them again. Thank you for your understanding and guidance, Temple Elect. At least now you’re aware of the concerns going around and can address them appropriately.” Again her aura thrummed with self-importance, as if satisfied that she’d reminded Kymora of her duty and moral obligations. “Now, with that little bit of unpleasantness over, shall we enjoy another cup of tea?”
Turn the other cheek… tolerance and patience bring their own re-wards.
Kymora recited the verse of scripture over and over as she poured them both another cup, and while the discussion moved on to a more neutral topic, the recent Summer’s End Festival, her attention turned inward.
Why hadn’t she been approached directly by these friends of the Councilor? Of greater concern, how many others considered her absence a dereliction of duty? The unprecedented decision to live with the Na’Chi had been taken to alleviate concerns not create them. Were the comments genuine or just Elamm and her close circle of friends taking advantage of their status with her?
Or could these concerns be generated by those sympathetic to Davyn and the renegade movement? Were they manipulating Elamm for their own purposes? What were they hoping to achieve?
An icy shiver worked its way up Kymora’s spine as she swallowed the last of her tea. The last supposition didn’t bear thinking about, but after the attack on the Na’Chi village, nothing could be dismissed or assumed as impossible.
A visit to the Temple was in order. It was time to seek the Lady’s guidance.
VARIAN pulled on the reins of his war-beast, slowing its pace until it came to a stop, then he swiveled in the saddle to peer along their back trail. He ignored the rivulet of sweat trickling down the side of his face, more concerned with the possibility of being followed than any minor discomfort.
The other five mounts with their riders and passengers drew alongside. The few crofters who’d escaped with them sat down underneath the tree nearest them. With their village destroyed, they would join the refugees being billeted at Sacred Lake. What had happened to the others, no one knew, but it was very likely they’d been recaptured.
Taybor cradled a semiconscious K
alan in front of him. His strength alone kept the human leader in the saddle. No one spoke; their tense expressions mirrored his.
No snapping of bushes, no thud of pursuing footsteps, no battle cries. Other than the irritated chatter of a winged-hobaan scolding them for intruding in its territory, the forest remained peaceful and quiet. All its odors natural and clean.
His gambit of retreating through the forest had paid off. With Kalan’s wound so deep, bleeding out had been a certainty in a prolonged run across the open plains. Blood needed time to clot. He’d sacrificed speed for stealth to save the Chosen’s life.
“Zaune, Jinnae, check our back trail,” he murmured. The two scouts slid from their beasts. “Go as far as the last creek, then cover our tracks.”
With a nod, the scouts disappeared into the shadows.
Retreat, rest, camouflage. A process they’d repeated for the past two hours.
“We’ll let the war-beasts take a break for a few minutes.” Varian dared to glance at the second saddle behind him. The empty space ate at his gut. The image of Arek taking on and falling beneath a wave of Na’Reish warriors was burned in his mind like a slave-tattoo. He couldn’t shake it or the guilt of having left him behind. He squeezed the reins until the leather squeaked in protest.
Beneath his skin, from deep within, the darkness of his other half fought to emerge, a predator straining to get free. With the amount of adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he had little doubt his eyes still glowed with battle rage. A silent growl vibrated in his chest.
“How’s the Chosen?” His voice was so gravelly and deep each word came out distorted.
“Stable.” Taybor’s violet gaze met his. “The scent of his blood isn’t fresh. The ride hasn’t reopened the wound.”
“I’ll live.” The hoarse statement vibrated with raw pain. How much of it came from the wound or with dealing with the loss of his best friend, Varian could only guess.
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