He felt Lethos probing at the doorway in his mind. He disliked denying his friend at such a time. Yet he did not know what this business with Thorgis would bring, and he did not need Lethos's interference now. Danir had instructed him to retrieve that sword, and he would do so using any means, including those of which Lethos might disapprove.
"I see you've decided to let me catch up," Grimwold said as he left the shelter of the trees. His feet crunched dead grass as he crossed into the wan daylight. Thorgis did not move, as Grimwold expected. As the bait, he would have to be hooked himself, wouldn't he?
As he drew closer, the winds began to swirl more violently. His hair blew across his face, into his eyes and mouth. Forest debris--leaves, pine needles, twigs--splattered him, and his feet felt as if they might lift off the ground in the wind. Thorgis tilted his head against the scattered junk.
With a flash of lightning and a loud crack, the ground between Grimwold and Thorgis sprayed into the air. Grimwold's vision went white and his ears rang from the thunder strike, but he did not falter. He held himself against it, smirking as his bleached vision returned. Before him was a beautiful woman in silver wolf fur and a torn, blue dress. Her wide, clear face was marred with lines of deep hatred. He knew her as the Manifested leader, Myrakka, who had killed his mentors.
"Where is your Cohort?" Grimwold asked.
"He sleeps, thanks to the treachery of your bovine friend." She stood straight, her hands at her hip where Grimwold hoped to see the stone dagger. He saw nothing but the curve of her waist. "It would have been easier on both of you had he not been so rash."
"I suppose it would've been easier for you to murder us if we had both taken your poison. It seems to me all treachery lies with you."
Myrakka's expression remained stiffened with hate, but her voice was calm. "You are an abomination, Grimwold. You are the worst of our kind made into flesh. You believe your powers set you above all others, that you are a law of your own. You cannot possibly understand what I know, what has taken me thousands of years to comprehend. You are the greatest danger the world knows today."
"I'm the greatest danger to your rule. I'll grant you that. You killed my mentors, and you tried to kill Lethos and me. The time for talking is done."
Myrakka raised her arm, and Grimwold felt the hairs on his head rise. Yet without her Cohort to strengthen her, her power flowed slower.
It was all he needed.
"Be silent and still," he commanded. His own power shot like a chain from the center of his head, crashing through Myrakka's weak defense. Her clear blue eyes widened with terror as his will coiled about her mind. "Lower your arm."
She obeyed, though her slender arm shuddered the entire arc down to her side. She stood rigid, her mouth clamped shut and her eyes smoldering with fury.
"Give me your stone dagger," he said. "The one you used to kill Kafara."
He felt her will twisting like a bear on a chain, but he crushed down on her. Hot blood streaked from his nose and rolled into his mouth. Without Lethos, he could not keep this up much longer. She did not move. She did not have it. "You may speak only to answer my question. Do you have anything now that can harm me?"
"Yes," she said, tears streaming from her eyes.
"Give it to me."
Again she pulled against him, and Grimwold thought the chains would break. Here was the supposed queen of the Manifested chaffing at his strength. She could have had no idea how strong he was, nor could she understand that he would expend his last ounce of strength to best her. She produced a rock from the folds of her robe. He knew it to be stone from the place of his birth, something more lethal than poison. Had she planned to bash his skull open with it? A simple enough plan that might have worked had she not underestimated his power.
The stone was unexpectedly light in his hands. "You may leave me now. Go nurse your wounded pride, then come back to finish the fight properly. I'll cut out your black heart when next we meet."
He threw aside his power as if it were a no more than real chains. She snapped back and stumbled, then glanced at Thorgis. Grimwold guessed the intent.
"You can't touch that sword, and if you take the man who can, I will make you cut your guts out with it. Want to find out if that sword will kill our kind or not?"
She smiled at him. "That stone you took is nothing. I possess something far greater, and you will not find me so weakened next time. I promise when we meet again you'll not be so smug. You'll be dead."
She raised her arm, and Grimwold made no motion to stop her. She had spent too much of her power without her Cohort, and now had only enough for an escape. A wind like a hurricane blasted him, sending him sprawling. When the dirt and debris cleared, Myrakka was gone.
Thorgis remained kneeling in the grass. Grimwold struggled to his feet, wiped the blood from his nose, then stood before Thorgis.
"She promised to help me escape," he said in a low voice. "But she just wanted me as bait to draw you out."
"And you would have knelt in the dirt while she killed me? Is that what the son of the High King would do?"
Thorgis stared at the sword, which he now set in the dead grass. Grimwold followed his stare. The sword appeared so ordinary in its plain sheath, yet it was a gift from Danir himself.
"You have come to take it from me," Thorgis said, defeated and tired. "What will you do with it?"
"Fight the Tsal, of course. What other use is there for a sword if not to be carried to battle?"
Thorgis plucked a blade of dead grass and twirled it between thumb and forefinger. "I am mocked as a coward. I suppose have earned it. I always wanted to be the man to carry this blade into battle. To be the hero that is destined to wield it for good. Can you believe it? I know it does not seem so."
Grimwold shifted uneasily, not wanting to hear more of this tale. He had only to carry away the sword that now lay at his feet. He had no need to suffer a weakling prince. Yet Thorgis did not pause for Grimwold's answer, but drew a heavy breath and started his tale.
"I was with Valda when we were both young. I was a swaggering boy of thirteen or so. We were at the shore alone--I can't remember for what--when men from Finnmogur came. They were dark and foul, armed with iron and hatred for my father and his rule. Valda and I fled, but we let ourselves become cornered like rabbits. She wanted to fight with a stick for a club. I wore a damn sword, but it remained tight in its sheath. I told the raiders who we were, begged for mercy, and we became prisoners. My father ransomed us, but Valda never forgave my cowardice. I never did either. In the moment where it counted, I did not stand up like the man I pretended to be. We should have fought and died with honor, yet I shamed us both with my surrender."
Grimwold nodded. "Well, not all men are heroes."
"And not all men are the sons of High Kings. I was his only heir. I was to one day take his sword. Gods know he told me often enough. He could never see me for who I am, but only for what he wanted me to be. I am nothing like him. I have no greatness in me. He took me to battle during the war of the trolls. If enemy swords would not kill me, I was certain fright alone would do it just as well. He forced me to become a man I cannot be. He sent me with Syrus under some delusion that necessity would make me great. It just made me more of what I am. I don't hate people, Grimwold. I don't want to be detested. But ever since that day, I could never find my confidence again. I just can't stop repeating the same mistakes. My first instinct is always to preserve myself. I want to be different. I want to live the role of the High King's son. Yet someone else lives inside me and makes me a coward when men need a hero."
Thorgis pushed the blade forward. "It should go to my sister. The child in me wanted to deny her from it. But she is all that my father would have wanted from a son, and I am not fit to be his servant. I know you have carried this to battle and the blade finds you worthy to bear it. If you honor my father as much as you profess, then you would make sure it stays with his blood. I cannot carry it. It feeds on honor and bravery, both of wh
ich I cannot provide."
Dragging himself up like a man sentenced for the hanging tree, Thorgis stood before Grimwold and at last met his eyes. "I know what you've come to do. My cowardice could've killed Syrus, and so many others. I deserve no less. Let my last moments not be marred with fear. Do this quickly, before I lose heart."
Grimwold had not realized his hand rested on his sword hilt, and he dropped it to his side. "I'd not kill you without good reason. You are still the son of my king, even if you run from that duty. You have disappointed me, but your words have also reached my heart. I will take your sword, and I will return it to your sister. But what do you want? You cannot return, not without facing your shame."
Thorgis held the sides of his head and closed his eyes. "I don't know what to do. I have always been better on my own. I am good among the trees, and feel more at rest beneath them than leading men into battle. But I am afraid of being alone as well. Why have the gods inflicted me with such cowardice?"
The words struck Grimwold with an idea. He thought of reaching out to Lethos for his opinion, but then realized what he considered was his own decision to make.
"I might be able to help you with it. I am not sure if my idea will work or if it will last even if it does. Are you willing to trust me?"
Thorgis's face brightened, and for that instant he looked more like his father than ever before. "Yes, anything to help me be better than this."
Grimwold straightened his shoulders. He had never attempted to use his powers for anything other than pure domination. Yet Kafara and Turo both indicated that he could one day learn to wield his power with far more precision and nuance. He would have to do all the learning on his own now, and here was a perfect opportunity.
The invisible chains of power shot from between his eyes. His nose began to run with blood again, a sign of waning strength. Yet Thorgis staggered back as if physically slapped. His eyes went wide with terror as Grimwold held his will in his iron grip.
"You will fear no man or beast and you will face your enemies with courage. Go now into the world and make a home for yourself." He let his powers drop, and Thorgis staggered back. Grimwold watched him as his eyes shifted from clouded to clear.
As expected, he looked at Grimwold with revulsion and fear. But he did not run. He glanced at the sword in the grass between them, and for a moment Grimwold thought he might try to take it. Yet he stepped back and nodded to Grimwold.
"That is a fearsome power," Thorgis said. "I'm not sure what it has done, but I must leave here now."
Grimwold smiled. At least his command to get Thorgis out of the way while they dealt with the Tsal had taken. Whether Thorgis would become a braver man remained to be seen. Grimwold doubted he could permanently change anyone's personality, but at least he might give Thorgis a boost. He reached down and retrieved the sword.
"I will present this to Valda, as promised. Now go find your way in the world, and may the gods keep you safe."
Thorgis nodded again, backing away as if from a trap about to spring. "Do not tell her about me. It is best she forget I ever lived. She will have worries enough without me to concern her."
Grimwold watched Thorgis trot off into the shadows of the dark pines, a cold wind following him into the dark. He might have sent the young man off to death, filling him with confidence not backed up by real skill. He would never know. He at least hoped that for once in his life he had used his power, the dead man's tide, for a positive purpose.
The sword was heavy in his hand as he turned back the way he had traveled. The Tsal now had to answer to him.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Lethos plunged through Avulash, brushing him aside with the ease of knocking over a dead stalk of wheat. The line of four Tsal behind him held a palm out toward their leader's back and their shell-shaped shields on their left sides. They startled at his burst of speed and the disregard he had for Avulash.
Two massive talons slammed down on two of their heads. The solid feel of them each in Lethos's massive palms was satisfying. He crashed the two heads together between his hands. The Tsal did not even have time to react before their helmets flung away and their skulls cracked. The gratifying give of their shattering bone beneath his hands made him roar with pleasure. The hot gush of the contents of their skulls flowed through his thick fingers.
The Tsal collapsed, and Lethos slashed out to the left.
A shield blocked his strike, but his fist crumpled it along with the Tsal behind it. He tumbled aside, not dead but out of the fight.
Avulash screamed, leaping in with his violet sword blazing with swirling runes. Lethos glimpsed him just as he turned in time.
The blade sank into his thigh, sawing through thick layers of fur and muscle. His blood gushed and his entire leg went numb with pain.
Yet he did not care. He roared, whirled on Avulash as red flecks hazed his vision, and swiped at the Tsal captain. Avulash jumped away, flying backward up the rocky slope and abandoning his final warrior to Lethos's attentions.
The last Tsal struck for this thigh as well, and though his sword glimmered with a violet sheen, it lacked the keen edge of Avulash's blade. This sword turned on his iron-hard flesh, and that was all Lethos needed. His horns itched for flesh, and he lowered his head to jamb one long horn into the neck of the hapless Tsal. He tore up, ripping the throat open and sending the Tsal flying back. Bright red blood arced high into the air as the Tsal sprawled out in death.
Lethos lumbered around to face the other Tsal he had thrown aside. His leg wound caused him to stumble with burning pain, but it only made the red haze narrow his vision until all he saw was the single, hateful face of the Tsal with the ruined shield charging him.
But rather than raise his weapon, he opened his mouth.
Lethos flattened out on the ground. He had no idea why, but trusted his instincts.
In the next instant, a gout of flame licked over his back. He could feel it singe the tips of his black hairs. The fire-breathing Tsal stared in disbelief, and seemed to inhale for a second blast.
Lethos shot to his feet, again faster than his bulk would seem to have allowed. He brought his horns up low, catching the Tsal in the chain links beneath his iron breast plate. The horn sunk easily through the links into the soft flesh beneath. Hot blood rolled onto his head, and his horn felt the satisfying resistance as it drove deeper and pulled higher into the abdomen.
The Tsal jetted blood from its mouth instead of fire, and Lethos hefted it bodily atop both his horns. Then he shook his head and sent the corpse of the Tsal flying aside like a broken doll. Ribbons of pink entrails followed it as it slammed into the rocky ground.
Lethos turned again, stumbling to his knee from his wounded leg. He felt hot, like he was burning up from the inside. His vision continued to fill with red haze, and the demon that lived within him threatened to consume his mind. He did not care, not now. What was there to hurt on this island but Avulash? His four cronies were now lifeless piles of meat. So much for the invincibility of the mighty Tsal. They died as easily as normal men.
Blood began to stream from the wound on his leg, flying over the grass to where Avulash stood. His palm was extended and he absorbed the blood with casual ease.
Lethos spun around as if he could cut of the flow, but the blood wrapped around his calf like a red silk ribbon.
"Your blood is mine one way or another, beast," Avulash said as he stood patiently draining him at a distance.
Lethos bounded to him in two leaps. Avulash's dismissive expression turned to horror as he realized Lethos was upon him. He backed away, the spell that drained Lethos's blood broken.
Yet when Lethos landed, his leg caved and he fell before Avulash. He could feel the itch on the back of his thick neck where he knew Avulash's blade would strike.
He swiped out with his arm, slamming Avulash away just as he raised his sword. Lethos felt himself grow dizzy from the sudden loss of blood. The cut was deep, but it only leaked blood like a minor cut, a function
of his supernatural powers. Without Avulash to actively pump it out, his blood would remain his own.
"You are hurt, beast," Avulash said as he stood. He raised his palm again. "And one cut is all I need. Your blood already strengthens me."
Beneath his palm he felt a rock press into his flesh. Without a second thought, his massive claws had extracted it from the earth and he flung it at Avulash.
The stone slammed into the Tsal's head with force enough to shatter it. The Tsal, however, were seemingly impervious to the mundane like rocks or normal weapons. But the distraction and the force was enough to give Lethos his time.
He roared again and stood, then crouched for a leap. His bound brought both of his horns cleanly into Avulash's guts.
Blood flooded his face as he flung the Tsal captain's body into the air.
Avulash came down yards distant, bounced with a splash of blood, and then fell still.
The island had grown intensely silent, as if the world held its breath. Lethos paused, the red haze retreating even as gore and guts dripped down his face into his muzzle.
He sniffed the air, smelling blood everywhere. Was Avulash dead? He did not stir.
Lethos set one massive hoof forward, expecting Avulash to rise and continue the fight. The body remained flattened in the grass. A second step. A third. Nothing.
He had done it. He had killed all of these Tsal. There was nothing left to them. He wanted to roar in delight, to dance with someone in celebration. Yet the bull demon clung to him, and it still hungered for more carnage. This had been too easy.
Without warning he was spiraling through the air.
Winds and debris scoured the island, flashing out of nothingness into berserk violence that lifted his massive form as if it were no heavier than a dead leaf. He was spinning head over hoof and circling around so that he had to close his eyes or else go mad. Avulash's laughter boomed like thunder.
The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) Page 33