After a short pause, an abrupt fist slammed onto the bar with a hearty, “More!”
“Guess he liked it,” I said.
The clinking resumed. From the depths of his throat, the same mouthy Langorian roared. “All hail the great High King Draken! And death to the filthy Shinree dog who dared tried to kill him!”
My muscles went tighter than a bow string. My eyes on Malaq were brutal. What I gave Krillos was even worse. He’d come to the caves to fetch me. We’d walked for twenty minutes through the streets together and sat here for ten before Malaq arrived—all without him saying a word. “Tried?” I snarled at Krillos.
A sheepish grin formed on his Rellan mask. “Told you it was nothing you’d like.”
SEVEN
I wasn’t sure who I wanted to beat first; the Langorian behind me, continuing to spout off about Draken’s preeminence and my impotence, or the one in front of me downing the last of his ale like not a goddamn thing was wrong.
“The bastard’s mostly dead,” Krillos said, wiping the froth from his mouth.
My hands gripped the sides of the table. “Mostly?”
He shrugged like I was being picky.
Knowing I was close to coming out of my chair, Malaq said, stern and quiet, “My brother hasn’t left his bed since you threw a blade through his chest. Whatever you did—whatever magic went through him with the steel—the wound won’t heal. Spells, stitching; doesn’t matter. Within hours the hole opens as bad as before, festering and all.”
“It doesn’t get any worse?” I asked.
“Any worse and he’d be dead. He would have been a long time ago if not for your spell. It clearly won’t let him die. It wants him to suffer.” I heard his unspoken words in my mind: as do you. “Now,” Malaq wrapped both hands around his drink and leaned into the table. “The less chance my voice being recognized, the better, so for the gods’ sake, Ian, stay calm and let the man speak.”
I snatched up my mug. “Is he conscious?”
“In and out,” Krillos answered. “When he’s awake he’s either in a shitload of pain, or for the brief times he’s not, he’s trying to run the damn realm from his pillow. His advisors are like chickens in a hen house, flapping about, trying to hold things together. He hasn’t made an appearance in so long, people are questioning if he’s even alive. The military won’t fight in his name without confirmation. There’s a general or two eager to swoop in, rumors of some distant cousin traveling in to claim the throne, as well as a bastard no one knew about. Some child prince not even old enough to rule. But I’m pretty sure that’s just bullshit. One of the King’s Council wanted to pardon Jillyan and bring her in, but Draken found out and ordered him killed.”
I turned to Malaq. “I’m assuming you made a bid for the throne?”
“Shot down,” he whispered. “As expected.”
Krillos opened his mouth to elaborate and the soldiers behind us broke out in a hearty round of laughter. He waited for it to die. “Even one counselor’s support would go a long way. But Draken put a lot a doubt into their minds about Malaq’s ability to rule, citing his close relationship with Jillyan and friendship with Kane. Liel was killed in Draken’s bedchamber trying to steal the crown. I was his ship’s captain. And of course, there’s you.” Krillos tossed a guilty glance in Malaq’s direction. “We all made it too easy for Draken to discredit him.”
I ran my hands over my face. For a moment, it startled me to feel the unfamiliar contours of the merchant. “What about seizing Darkhorne by force? We have the entire Rellan army at our disposal. With recent losses, that doesn’t mean what it used to, but it’s enough for a covert military coup, especially if half of Draken’s troops won’t fight.”
“That might get me the throne,” Malaq conceded, “but it won’t earn anyone’s trust.”
“What about the crown?” I said. “Is it in Langor?”
Krillos gave a grim shake of his head. “According to Draken’s counselors, your father has the crown now. Not that any of us is surprised with that one.”
We fell silent as Mel returned to the table. Her posture and tone were far different than before as she delivered drinks to me and Krillos, but not Malaq. “Sorry, hon,” she whispered to him, “but you need to leave. Those same damn thugs have killed two in here this week. I don’t want to be counting you as number three.”
“Always looking out for me,” Malaq whispered.
“Someone has to,” Mel teased. “You remember the back door?”
“In detail,” he said.
Mel chuckled at the suggestion in his voice. “The bastards have a meal in front of ‘em. If you slip away quiet like, they’ll have no cause to notice. Your guards are outside waiting.”
Malaq stood. He planted a warm kiss on Mel’s mouth. It was sweet, but reckless considering our company. His gray eyes darted from me to Krillos. “We’ll talk soon.” Hunching deeper inside his hooded cloak, Malaq moved away from the table.
Mel wore an apologetic frown as she watched him go. “It was good to see him. But he’s King now. He can’t be consortin’ with the likes of us in here.”
“You did the right thing,” I told her.
Tucking her tray under her arm, Mel walked away.
Krillos jumped right back into the conversation. “Getting Malaq on Langor’s throne is a start, but it’s not enough. Neither is Rella’s army. Not with the attack your father is working up to. His forces outnumber Rella’s about a shitload to one. There’s no guarantee the generals will take Malaq’s orders, either. And with you laid up—magically speaking—unless Langor can stop pissing on itself long enough to mount a defense, we’re pretty much all around fucked.”
“So what’s his plan, then?”
Krillos leaned back in his chair. His reply was on the tip of his tongue, but he wavered. His dark eyes darted, like he wanted to be anywhere else. Warily, Krillos fessed up. “Malaq wants you to heal Draken.”
“He wants me to what?” The echo of my stunned exclamation rounded the tavern. In its wake was a noticeable hush. Krillos shook his head. I sunk low into my seat. I could almost feel Langorian eyes slide my way. A second or two later, the rest of him followed.
Heavy, purposeful footfalls struck the boards of the tavern floor. They stopped behind me. A guttural voice said, “I didn’t give you permission to speak, Rellan.”
I lowered my head over my drink. “My apologies.”
The Langorian responded with a deep belly laugh. “What a polite, pretty little Rellan you are,” he praised, causing his companions to snicker softly behind him. “Too bad I hate polite Rellans.” Bile moved in to darken his tone. “I hate pretty ones even more. So if you’d like to keep the blood in that soft, pale, puny body,” he edged closer, “get on your knees…put that flapping tongue to good use…and make my boots shine.”
Shit, was my first thought. I didn’t bother with another.
Shooting to my feet, I flung my chair aside, and threw my fist in the man’s face. Krillos vacated his seat with a yelp of surprise. The Langorian and I started trading punches. His three companions left the bar, and Krillos ran to intercept. All hell broke loose as patrons and tavern workers fell over each other, scrambling for the exit.
My assailant wiped the blood from his nose. “Rellan scum,” he hissed. Spittle flew out with his warning. “That was the biggest mistake of your worthless life!”
I grunted a laugh. “Doesn’t even come close.”
The Langorian staggered up. He was visibly drunk. He was also eager and fast for his size. Making quick work of my defensive blocks, he clipped me good in the jaw; knocking me off my feet and laying me out flat across the ale-soaked tabletop. I was impressed. So was he. Utilizing the time he took to gloat to shake off the hit, I was more than ready when he came at me again. Thrusting both feet into his chest, I booted his substantial form away and rolled backwards off the
table. I hit the floor and went for a sword that wasn’t there. Damn it.
Going weaponless, while posing as a merchant had seemed like a reasonable gamble at the time.
My opponent gripped the table between us in his meaty hands and flipped it out of the way. “So you’re a brave Rellan, too. And stupid,” he grunted. Advancing, crossing his thick arms, he drew both short swords hanging from his belt. “Because this can only end one way.”
Feeling the heat of the hearth penetrate my trousers, I backed up closer. As my hand closed on the poker propped up alongside, I grinned. “You’re right. It will only end one way. Just not the way you think.”
Rushing me, he swung. I gauged his movements. He brought both blades together, intent on catching my head in between. I dropped a split second before. As his blades swiped, rustling my hair, I shoved the poker low and deep into his gut. Warmth bathed my hand red as I pushed harder. I ripped the poker out, and the Langorian lurched like a felled tree. His swords clattered to the floor. They landed on the hearthstones, one on either side of me. I snatched them up and kicked his bent form face first into the mantle.
Hearing Krillos laugh, I spotted him near the bar. Engaged with two opponents, he was making good use of the heavy fry pan in his hand. Mel was perched on the countertop, shouting encouragement at Krillos and lobbing one bottle after another at his attackers. I wondered how helpful the woman would be if she knew, underneath his Rellan skin, Krillos was one of them.
Confident he had things under control, I left him to it. I had my own problems with the fourth Langorian who had set his sights on me—and his eldring. He unhooked the leash off the beast’s collar and the chain slapped the floor with a loud, foreboding clank. It was the sound of freedom, and the male eldring recognized it instantly. Dropping to all fours, bony claws clicked as the beast stalked me. Eagerness dripped from his generous mouth, stretching thick and white over an elongated, quivering jaw. His lean face of leathery hide spoke of hunger. His eyes, a burst of orange-red beauty, met my fake Rellan blue ones. And it was just as I thought: recognition.
The eldring knew the eyes I was looking through weren’t mine.
It couldn’t see through my glamour spell. Visibly, I was a sandy-haired, average-sized Rellan merchant in a fancy coat. Scent-wise, I was something else. Something his kind had smelled before. An anomaly they had met, not only in battle, but in a more cozy setting: their own minds. That didn’t make us friends. I’d killed a hell of a lot more eldring than I’d saved.
Issuing a husky growl, the eldring took to his hind legs. He towered over me, tossing his egg-shaped head side to side. A hungry gargle simmered up from the depths of his throat.
“Bet you’re confused,” I said. His responding snarl made my ears ring. “So am I. An eldring in a bar…? Sounds like the start of one of Malaq’s bad jokes.” Getting another snarl, I tried something else. “You shouldn’t be on a chain. You need to run, to be in the wild. You remember what that’s like? The forest rushing by? The damp soil beneath your feet?”
He replied with a quiet, less violent growl.
“Chasing prey. Honing in on the smell. The air moving through your lungs so fast it burns. The hunger growing in anticipation as you run.” I stopped myself, realizing a sweat had broken on my skin. The images I’d conjured were far too appealing. Adjusting my grip on the swords, I refocused. “You don’t belong here…in a city…with these assholes.” I slid impatient eyes to the Langorian creeping around my left. He seemed startled I’d noticed his less than stealthy approach. “They don’t take kindly to being toted around like pets,” I told him.
“They take kindly,” he shot back, “to whatever I say. And I say to this one…” He pointed steel at the eldring. “Rip open his scrawny chest, take a bite out of his still beating heart, and pick the pieces out of your teeth with his rib bones.”
“Nice. Very poetic. But they don’t like taking orders, either. And that collar,” I studied the metal cuff ringing the eldring’s neck, “looks damn heavy. Bet it itches, too. In fact, I’d say he’s been waiting for a chance to rip it off and smash it across your face.” I caught and held the beast’s eyes. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
“All it loves,” the Langorian countered, “is a fist full of bloody meat. Which is what you’re about to be.” He came up alongside the eldring. “Don’t stand there like a dumb fucking ox! Kill the Rellan. Or I’ll take my whip to that ugly brat outside tied to my saddle and strip the filthy hide off its bones.”
His meaning sunk in. Anger burst out of me. “You have his child?”
“Child? I have a matted ball of shit and fur and claws that I’ve been needing an excuse to get rid of.” Brashly, he stabbed his blade into the eldring’s side. “So do what you’re told!”
Snarling in helpless rage, whatever hesitation the beast might have had vanished. Death gleamed in his eyes as he hunkered down. Bounding back up, the eldring jumped, and I slid beneath his broad leap. Rolling onto my back as he passed above me, I shoved both swords up into his black-pelted chest. Momentum carried him on; ripping the weapons from my hands and sending the eldring careening into an empty table. Wood cracked on contact and the heavy beast landed atop the splintered pieces.
I scrambled up. Blood wet my face where his clawed foot had scraped open my forehead. I drew an arm across the cut, smearing more red on my merchant’s coat, as I watched the eldring toss the pieces of broken table aside like twigs. Folding his clawed hands around the hilts protruding from his belly, he removed the steel with a whimper. A torrent of blood sprayed wide as he lobbed the swords across the room. The eldring’s strength and mobility was compromised. Yet, hunger and the life of his child forced him back onto all fours.
Watching the beast, anticipating his next attack, I thought about magic. I always thought about magic. But it was worse in a fight. Anger, violence, or danger of any kind, stimulated the desire to cast. I knew better to let even a morsel of temptation slip through. But as I did, I could think of nothing else. A fluttering hollow of yearning opened inside me. Need rippled cold and hard across my nerves. Waking, the nine auras of the crown slithered into my veins. My scars warmed, making me shudder as they pulsed in time with my blood.
Each throb was a potential for pleasure. Each caress was a mocking reminder of the price I would pay.
The eldring advanced. I shut out my thirst to cast and got into position. He pushed off his hind legs to jump, but the pain took hold. Collapsing, chest heaving, blood escaping in thick, wide trails to slick his fur, he tried again. On his third failed attempt, the Langorian kicked him with a clenched-teeth scowl. “Useless piece of...”
The man raised his blade. As he brought it down, I leapt to intervene. I tackled him, knocking the sword from his hand. But not fast enough. We landed together beside the beast as dark-red blood pumped from the gaping seam in the back of the eldring’s nearly severed head.
Enraged, I straddled the man and started beating him. By the crinkles in his brow, and his lack of a ready defense, I could tell he hadn’t expected to be bested by a ‘pretty’ Rellan.
His wits returning, the Langorian grabbed his short sword off the floor. His swing was hasty. I deflected it with my brace, and his intense expression fell flat. With my glamour in place, it looked like I’d stopped his sword with nothing but my forearm.
Confused, he drew back and delivered a more purposeful strike. This time, steel breached leather then skin. Red spread across the merchant’s coat. Pain spread through my arm, yet it was distant, background.
Anger was in the forefront.
Yanking my arm away, I leaned back over his body, brought a leg up, and kicked the hilt from his grasp. Then I kicked him in the face until his jaw cracked. Shock mixed with the pain in his dark eyes. He knew something was off.
I rolled off and went for the nearest weapon. The Langorian clambered up and bolted out the door. I stared after him,
breathless, pushing the rising magic away. I spared a glance at my injured arm. Examining the cut wasn’t possible through the glamor, but apparently the wound wasn’t as bad as I’d thought. The bleeding had already slowed to a stop.
Krillos had fared even better. Lacking not even a scratch on his ditcher façade, he stood at the bar between two dead bodies, guzzling the contents of a large, foaming pitcher. Pausing to breathe, he saluted me with his drink. “That, my friend, was the most excitement I’ve had in a long time.” Laughing, Krillos leaned over and gave Mel an enthusiastic kiss.
I picked up someone’s sword. “I’m going after him.”
“Why?” Krillos stepped away from the bar. “Just let him go.”
“I can’t.”
“Sure you can.”
“Langorians don’t run, Krillos. He went for reinforcements.”
“Then we won’t be here when he gets back.”
“No, the way I fought…he’s knows something’s wrong.”
“But he doesn’t know it’s you. Besides, it’s over. Hunting him down, killing him now, it doesn’t serve anything…except maybe your lust for Langorian blood.”
It was an offhand remark. Maybe, even a joke. I wasn’t in the mood.
Ignoring Krillos as he called me back, I shoved open the tavern door. Clouds blanketed the night sky. A fine mist blew on the breeze. The soft glow of lanterns permeating dirty glass was barely enough to light the streets. Not that it mattered. There were few passersby. A single horse and cart ambled around the corner. Its fading clatter broke the eerie silence. Kabri had become a city filled only with those too desperate and stubborn to abandon it.
I went a few paces in each direction, but found no sign of the Langorian. I considered a tracking spell. I remembered his features well enough. His sword was in my hand and his blood was on my knuckles. Finding him would take little effort. But I lost interest in the man when I noticed the crumpled body he’d left behind. His description was painfully accurate. It was a filthy ball of fur and claws.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Borne Page 6