Rufio looked at the girl. “I think she will be fine, Isabella. Don’t underestimate her. Your queen is more resilient than we give her credit for.”
“I don’t underestimate her, I feel bad for her. She has lost a great deal: her father, her city, her garden, the man she loved. All she has left is her son and what she carries in her heart.”
Rufio reached out and patted Isabella on the thigh. “It will be enough.”
The cook looked over at the children riding along on their ponies. He was amazed at how well they all rode. He held little Sabra in front of him as he trotted along behind them. Sabra seemed to be enjoying the trip, but her older sister could not stop talking.
“Nick, where did Mother go?”
“Well, Tressa, I think she went to find Kian.”
The little girl frowned. “He has been gone too long, Nick. I hope mother brings him back soon.” The cook nodded and smiled.
“Nick?”
“Yes, Tressa.”
“How far away is Mama and Kian?”
“I don’t know, Tressa. Somewhere north of Turill, I think.”
“Do you think they will be back soon, Nick?”
The cook sighed. “I hope so, Tressa. I truly hope so.” The little girl rode in silence for a moment. Nick Nock prayed she would be quiet for just a little while.
“Why do you hope so, Nick?”
“So I can retain most of my sanity, Tressa.”
“Nick, do you think the queen will let me keep my pony?”
“You will have to ask her, little one,” Rufio said as he rode up. “She is just up ahead. Why don’t you go and see if she will let you keep it.”
The little girl smiled and kicked her pony, sending it bouncing towards the queen.
Nick Nock blew out a breath of air. “Thank you, Captain, you just saved my life.”
Rufio grinned at the young cook. “My pleasure, I think you have the toughest job of us all. Listen, Nick, I have been meaning to talk with you.”
“About what, Captain?”
“I know that you and Vandarus were friends. Now that he is gone, I just want to assure you that I will see to it you are treated fairly with any share of coin we get and you are still welcome to stay if you wish. I’m just not sure what fate will bring my way, but I will see you have work, if you wish it.”
The cook looked at Rufio, confused. “I don’t understand, Captain?”
“What I’m trying to say is: anyone that was a friend to Vandarus is a friend to me.”
“I miss him too, Captain.”
Rufio nodded to the cook. His throat was too tight to say anything more.
“Nick, the pretty queen said I could keep my pony.” Tressa yelled as she came bouncing back.
The two men looked at each other and laughed.
It was only two days after the queen had left Turill that Griffyn and Donovan arrived with the rest of the Abberdonian troops.
The next morning, King Havalon’s forces began to form ranks and head towards the city. “Now, there’s a man I like, he wastes no time. He just gets up, eats breakfast, and attacks, doesn’t even let his men rest from their march,” Cromwell said.
K’xarr looked out over the battlements at the enemy troops. “It looks like he’s coming in force. I don’t think he is even holding any men back in reserve.”
Cromwell drew the big two-handed sword from the scabbard on his back. He wore no armor and his long unwashed black hair blew in the early morning breeze. K’xarr thought he looked like one of the barbarian War Gods of old. “No armor, my friend? Things are going to get nasty today, maybe you should at least think about some mail.”
Cromwell laughed. “No armor today, General. When the Great Lord of Battle Fane decides it is my day to die, there is no armor that will protect me.”
K’xarr raised his eyebrows. “Well, if you don’t mind, I will keep mine on, and Fane, Lord of Battle, can kiss my ass. I will decide when I die.”
Cromwell smiled at his friend. “Why must you always insult the gods? It will only bring their wrath down on us.”
K’xarr grinned. “I don’t fear the gods’ wrath and you’re no more religious than I am. You only believe in the gods when it suits you.”
“Well, that’s the best time to be a believer, when you need them, ain’t it?”
They both laughed out loud. The Bandaran soldiers around them looked at them like they were mad.
“What are you all staring at?” Cromwell bellowed. “You should all be happy. We have a lot of work to do today and a fine dinner waiting for us in Hell tonight.” He jumped up on the battlements, leaned back, and gave the loudest Toran war cry K’xarr had ever heard him give. “Come on, Havalon, you fat old bastard. I, Cromwell Blood of the Blood Clan, await you. I am going to gut you like a pig, even if I have to kill all your pretty little soldiers to do it.”
The Abberdonians sounded their battle horns and with a great cry, charged the wall under the cover of their arrows and catapults. They carried many ladders and had built two new siege towers.
Cromwell jumped down from the battlements. “I guess he heard me.” K’xarr took his friend’s arm in a warrior’s grip, no words needed to be spoken. K’xarr thought he could not have picked a finer man to die beside. He looked at the sky. He too secretly hoped the gods were watching.
Two guards had dragged Rhys out of the pavilion a short time ago. Kian knew it would not be long before he watched his friend burn. He could hear them getting the pyre ready.
He was alone in the great pavilion for the moment, but he knew he could not get away. Even with his inhuman strength, he could not break the chains Milara had the knights put him in. The best he could do would be to pull down the pavilion and that would only get him another beating.
His keen hearing made him raise his head. It wasn’t just the sound he heard, he sensed something too. He knew not what it was, just that a feeling had come over him.
A blonde woman stepped from the shadows. She was beyond beautiful. Her hair was long, pulled back in a tight ponytail with only small pieces of hair hanging free on each side of her face. Her smooth skin was bronzed by the sun. The woman was dressed in a silver breastplate, and her legs were armored as well. Her strong arms were bare and a silver sword hung at her side. To Kian, she looked like she would be more at home in the light of a clear day than skulking in the shadows.
“Why do you sit there? Your friend is about to be put to death!” the woman asked harshly.
Kian looked at her, but said nothing. Is she blind? he thought. Could she not see the chains?
“Why don’t you do something, or has the Mistress’s evil corrupted you so much that you would let a friend die?”
Kian’s face was growing red with anger. “I’m not corrupt or evil. If I could help Rhys, I would.”
She walked closer to him, her beauty was undeniable and so was her power. He could feel it. “Are you not the man who has the terrible might of the Forever Sea coursing through his veins? Summon Malice forever, warrior, and free your friend.”
Kian had no idea what she was talking about. “I can’t summon anything, lady, and I have never heard of the Forever Sea.”
She looked at him strangely. Her eyes seemed to glow, or perhaps it was a trick of the torch light. Kian knew not which.
“Is that why my blood is black now?” he asked.
“You don’t know what your brother has done to you, do you? He has put the powers of the Waters of Oblivion into your blood, a power that is poison to all others, man and god alike. It has turned your blood black, that is true, but not in the same way as your friends K’xarr and Cromwell. Your powers should be great, swordsman, summon your blade.”
Kian wondered how she knew about K’xarr and Cromwell. At least now he knew it was Tavantis who had caused the change in his blood. “Why don’t you just unchain me? I will do what I can for Rhys.”
She walked over and looked at his wounds. The woman touched him and the pain faded enough to giv
e him some relief. “I can’t interfere any more than that. You belong to the Mistress, you are her Nightblade, and I will not directly help you. I have done too much already.”
“Why?” he almost pleaded.
“She is evil and I will never aid evil, even to help an innocent like you. Now summon your blade before the guards return. In a few moments, they will put a torch to the healer’s pyre, and that I do care about.”
Kian closed his eyes and thought of Malice, with the strange metal blade and the dark hilt. He could feel it, feel what was inside it. It wanted blood, it wanted death, it had a hunger that could never be sated. The sword was evil, he could sense that now. He opened his eyes and the blade lay on the ground before him. He reached out, his muscles straining at the chains, and scooped the sword up. The half-elf cut through his chains like they were rope. On shaking legs he stood, the dark blade clutched in his hands.
“You learned to summon the blade very easily, Kian Cardan, I am impressed. The rest I will leave to you.” The woman turned.
“Wait,” Kian whispered. “The weapon is pure evil. I can feel it now.”
“As is the woman you serve. She created the sword from hate, the hate she had for her husband. The sword was meant for him, but he is no fool.” The way she looked at Malice, Kian could tell she had seen it before. “He knew she meant to try and control him with it,” she whispered, almost to herself. The woman refocused her attention on Kian. “The Mistress is evil, and if you serve her, one day you to will fall to the darkness. Rid yourself of her if you can.” She walked back towards the shadows of the pavilion.
“How do you know so much about her, uh…? I don’t even know your name, lady.”
The woman stopped, but did not look back at Kian. “I’m called Syann, and I know because the Mistress is my mother.” Then she stepped into the shadows.
“Time to watch your friend burn, monster,” one of the knights said as they came in to fetch him. Both died before they could cry out. Kian could feel Malice almost purr with satisfaction. There was no time to sort out all these new sensations. They would have to wait.
He could smell smoke and hear Rhys’s cries. The blood flow had returned to his legs, but they still felt like thousands of needles were poking into them. He had been on his knees too long and his wounds hurt fiercely, despite Syann’s rejuvenating touch. He would just have to endure the pain, there was no time for anything else. He walked out of the pavilion into flickering firelight.
No one noticed him. They were watching the flames as they began to lick up to the shins of the healer. Kian could feel the sword come alive in his hand. It pulsed with its lust for death.
Seven men died before he was seen. He was nude with only the dark sword in his bloody hand. Kian leaped into the fire that surrounded Rhys.
The holy men were stunned by his sudden appearance in the pyre. They thought a demon had appeared in the flames, and many of them panicked. The Church men fell all over each other, not knowing what to do.
The flames burned him, but he quickly cut his friend free and jumped out of the blaze before the fire could do any true damage.
“Kill the devil,” he heard Milara’s voice ringing out in the night. He would have found the lord justice and killed him, if he didn’t have Rhys to worry about.
The healer had been badly beaten and was in no condition to even stand on his own, let alone run. Kian threw Rhys over his shoulder as he spun Malice in his hand, slicing through another knight’s throat.
All he could do was run. He could see in the dark and they couldn’t, it was his only advantage. He cut down two more men as he fled the camp. The men of the Hand gave chase. The knights had been unarmored and were too busy trying to catch their frightened horses to be any help in the pursuit. It would take them some time before they would be ready to go after the half-breed.
Kian was fast, but the weight of the healer slowed him down a great deal. If he dropped the healer, he could have gotten away easily, but the thought of leaving Rhys behind never even crossed his mind.
After a couple of miles, Kian felt Rhys stir. “Can you run?” he asked the healer.
“No, Kian, even if I could, I could never keep pace with you. Just leave me and save yourself, you have done enough just keeping me from being burned alive.”
“No, if we die, we die together,” Kian said with conviction. He stopped and looked back. He could see his pursuers. He guessed maybe thirty men were behind him, most with the symbol of the Hand on their tabards. He knew the knights would follow as well, once they had gathered their mounts. He might outdistance them given his head start, but he would have to deal with the men of the Hand.
He ran to his right. There was a small hill a short distance away, and it was the best place he could see to make his stand. The snow was almost gone, but the little that was left made the short climb difficult. “Time for you to rest.” He sat Rhys down on the back side of the hill.
“What the hell are you doing?” the healer asked.
Kian said nothing as he walked to the side of the hill facing his pursuers. He wished he had a pair of leggings at least. No matter, nude or clothed, he would most likely be dead soon. He wished he could have at least saved Rhys. Kian felt Malice stir in his hand, the blade still hungered.
“There he is.” They had finally seen him. Some of the men had lit torches, but it was still very dark. He waited as they came up the hill towards him. Kian took a deep breath of the cool night air and brought his blade to guard.
He blocked a spear thrown for his chest, then split the skull of the first man that had dared to come up the hill. The dead man fell back into the men behind him. The killing had started. Kian felt the monster inside him come alive.
He struck right, a head flew left and a man screamed, holding his intestines. Kian was among them, naked and bloody. The flickering torch light made him seem like a demon from Hell. He killed and killed. His blade was too fast for the eye to follow.
He leaped back to the top of the rise, crouching like an animal ready to spring. He looked back to see a man with a dagger at Rhys's throat. The warrior must have slipped around the backside of the hill in the dark. “Move and he dies,” the Hand said. Malice whistled through the air and buried itself in the center of the man’s face.
“Damn it, Kian,” Rhys screamed.
Kian ran over and retrieved the blade from the dead man’s skull. He glanced at Rhys and shrugged.
Rhys crawled to the top of the hill. He could see what was left of the Hands backing down the hill as Kian came towards them. None wanted to face the bloody beast. “Kian, let’s get out of here while we can.”
“No.” The word was more a growl than human speech. Rhys saw a faint dark glow surround his friend as the swordsman jumped down the hill towards his enemies.
It was the early hours of the morning, before the sun had risen all the way. Rhys stood on top of the hill. He could walk now, but running was out of the question.
The snow was all but gone from this side of the little hill. Now only blood and muddy footprints covered the entire north side, along with the dead. Rhys was taken aback by the carnage. Thirty or more men lay dead in the cold morning air. Steam still rose from some of their bodies.
Like a demon from a madman’s nightmare, Kian stood naked among the corpses, dried blood covering his body from head to toe. His long black hair hung over his face, slick with his enemy’s blood. The swordsman’s eyes were the most frightening. They almost looked empty, devoid of any humanity. Kian stared at the dead like a predator over a fresh kill. “He killed them all,” Rhys whispered.
He walked down the hill towards the half-elf, grabbing a cloak off one of the dead men as he did. The healer gently wrapped it around the swordsman’s shoulders. Kian said nothing. He merely glanced down at the cloak now covering his shoulders.
Rhys gathered a pair of pants and shirt from the dead. Kian pulled on the clothing without a word. The young healer looked in the direction of the lord justic
e’s camp as he handed his quiet companion a pair of boots that looked like they might fit. “We should go, Kian, the others will come soon.”
“Let them,” the swordsman replied, pulling on the boots.
“No, there are too many. We must go as soon as I take a look at your wounds.” The healer had Kian sit on the wet ground as he looked him over. Rhys did what he could for the half-elf, which was little with no supplies and being too weak to use his power. The healer could not understand why Kian was still on his feet, his torture had been extensive. Rhys knew the answer, he just didn’t want to think it. His friend was not human or elven anymore, he was something else. He would just have to come to grips with that, and so would Kian.
Kian stood up and started walking south. “Can you walk, healer, or do you need me to carry you?”
“I will walk as far as I can.” Rhys didn’t know what to say, he could not stop thinking of the bloodbath back on the hill. So much death, it almost sickened him.
“Thank you for saving me, Kian. I thought for sure I was a dead man.”
“No need for thanks, you would have done the same for me.”
Rhys had to chuckle. “I don’t think I could have.”
Kian looked at the healer sincerely. “You would have done what you could, of that I have no doubt.” It made Rhys feel good that Kian had that kind of trust in him, he just wasn’t sure his friend was right.
They walked on in silence for most of the day, never seeing anyone pursuing them. “Are you afraid of me, Rhys?” Kian asked out of the blue.
Rhys thought for a moment. “You are the most dangerous man I know, and death seems to follow you wherever you go, but no, I don’t fear you.”
Kian looked out over the open Bandaran landscape. “Do you think I’m evil?”
“No. I have never thought that. You’re a good man, and don’t ever think otherwise, my friend.”
Kian said nothing and walked on. Rhys had been inside Kian’s mind, he knew the warrior had a good heart, but he could not get the sight of the dead men on the hill out of his mind. Rhys glanced over at the swordsman. It was true Kian was good man, but he was a better killer.
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