“Only if I had to.” Ra-khir sighed again. “I might have to stand against Kevral, too. That’s bad enough.”
Tae could not help noticing Ra-khir did not assume he could kill Kevral. She was, after all, the superior swordsman.
“Please don’t make me have to.”
“I’ll try,” Tae said.
Unconvinced, Ra-khir lowered his head, cupping his face between his palms. “Tae, there’s more to this than just a kingdom trying to steal a baby from people you love.”
The comment seemed bare insult. Tae turned Ra-khir a sidelong glare. “I think I’ve had ample chance to learn that.”
Ra-khir did not back down or apologize. “I’m just trying to spare you learning the hardest way again.”
The knight had an undeniable point, and it left Tae to wonder whether his father’s conviction, building toughness with life-risking trials, played a role in his own choices. “I said I’ll try. I’ll do my best to stay out of the way, but I’m not going to make some wholehearted, unbreakable promise. That’s what got me into trouble in the first place.” He added, his tone razor sharp, “And you, too, Ra-khir.”
Ra-khir had little choice but to accept that; they both knew he would get nothing more. “Thank you.” He raised his head. “I appreciate your concern and your honesty. And I’m sorry about what happened.” He took a step toward the group, then stopped and turned back to Tae. “If it’s any consolation, my father also believes you’re innocent.” Without awaiting a reply, he headed back toward Kevral.
Tae grinned, surprised to find himself feeling better than he had since the whole incident started. Kedrin’s trust meant more than he would have guessed. He had come a long way, finally recognizing what his years of bluffing among the gangs had nearly destroyed. Ultimately, truth would win more respect than lies.
* * *
The dankness of the landscape stole nothing from Kevral’s happy mood. Away from Béarn’s court and the inescapable presence of Pudarian guards in the hallways, she frolicked like a colt in the cool breezes. The baby slept, the only reminder of its presence, and the controversy of its existence, the bulge that had become familiar over the last year. Anticipation of a battle filled Kevral’s blood with a comfortable warmth, and she clung to that notion as a shield against logic. Though they had found none of the shards easy to obtain, most of the tasks had not involved physical combat. Still, the last one remained vivid in her memory, her opponent irritating but worthy in his skill. Concentration on warfare could fully distract her thoughts from the politics and diplomacy she hated. She envied Ra-khir’s maturity, wondering whether the two years of age between them made the difference. Though she desperately wanted to place the best interests of the child first, possessiveness always interfered with the decision.
El-brinith stood. “It’s that way.” She pointed in a direction Kevral randomly labeled west. Even the intermittent appearance of the sun from behind the clouds gave her scant information. She had no way to know if it rose and set the same directions as in their world, though there seemed no harm in defining bearings with that assumption.
Kevral scanned the area for the rest of the group. Tae and Rascal remained separately apart. Ra-khir headed toward where the others gathered. As they walked in the indicated direction, Tae shifted to the front, though it seemed ludicrous to scout ahead. The flat, brown terrain offered little concealment. To Kevral’s surprise, Rascal joined Tae. Apparently, they had discovered a truce of sorts, her deliberate avoidance of him finished, at least for the moment.
Gradually, the new world gained landscape. They spotted patches of forest to the left, then the right. A copse opened in front of them, charred deadfalls flopped randomly around piled ashes, and greenery struggled from one side of a blackened, listing tree.
“Djevskulka,” Andvari breathed.
The common Northern expression irritated Kevral. “Do you know where that comes from?”
Andvari surveyed the ash. “No, but I’m guessing a campfire got out of control.”
Darris agreed, “Certainly looks like it.”
Kevral refused to get sidetracked. “I mean the term. Djevskulka.”
Surely recognizing the all-too-familiar disdain in Kevral’s tone, Andvari winced. “It’s an innocent word we say in the North when we come upon destruction unexpectedly. Djevskulka. More appropriately, skulka i djevlir. Devils’ play.” He shook his head, war braids flying. “Not play, exactly. More like . . .” He struggled for the translation. “. . . brutal fun.”
Kevral elaborated, easily shifting between trading and Northern, dialectically as well as verbally. “Shortened from skulkë i djevgullenhåri.”
“Golden-haired devils’—” Andvari started to translate, then broke off. “Thor’s thunder, Kevral. You can’t believe I knew it once referred to Renshai.”
“I did.”
“Maybe that’s because you’re a—”
“Renshai?” Kevral cut in. “So I’m oversensitive? So I care too much about what insults my people?”
Andvari’s gait turned rigid, and his eyes restlessly sought escape. “I was going to say ‘student of languages.’”
“Rabbit,” Tae called suddenly, using a loud voice wholly out-of-character, especially when scouting. Rascal skittered aside.
Alarmed by Tae’s manner, Kevral darted toward him. Ra-khir did the same thing simultaneously, drawing his sword as he moved. “What is it?” the knight said.
Tae turned, then recoiled from the bared steel. “Easy, Red. Do you always hunt rabbits with a sword?”
“Rabbits,” Ra-khir repeated, sheathing his weapon. “You mean it’s really a rabbit?”
Sarcasm tinged Tae’s voice. “No. It’s really an army. I just called it a rabbit to annoy you.”
The distraction allowed Andvari ample time for escape, a purpose Kevral did not divine. “Why did you shout about a rabbit?”
“First living thing I saw here besides us,” Tae explained. “Thought you all should know about it.”
“Thanks,” Ra-khir said, the word emerging more befuddled than grateful. He returned to Darris and the elves, Kevral trailing. “Now what were we talking about?”
Again rescuing Andvari, Tae broke in, “We were talking about what might have caused that fire. And this one up ahead.”
This time, all of the others hurried to Tae’s position. An irregular circle of trees leaned away from a core of charred undergrowth, their trunks fouled by ash.
“Another campfire?” Chan’rék’ril ventured doubtfully.
Kevral recalled a story from her childhood. “Renshai legend tells of a demon that terrorized a Western farming town until Colbey destroyed it.” She glared at Andvari. “The demon, not the town.”
The Northman raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, which did not raise her opinion of him. Renshai had no corresponding signal; their culture scorned it.
Kevral continued, “The version my grandmother tells starts with farmers finding burnt circles in their fields.” Her blood warmed. If a demon lived here, she would face a battle whose proportions might match the one in Valhalla. She alone carried a magical weapon, and nothing of law could harm a demon. Her gaze went naturally to the swords at her belt, Colbey’s on the left and Rache’s Motfrabelonning on the right.
The party exchanged looks. Tae encouraged, “And the burnt circles were. . . ?”
The question surprised Kevral who had heard the tale often enough for it to seem obvious. “The demon’s doing. Its breath.”
More glances passed between them. This time, Ra-khir questioned. “The demon that attacked the boat didn’t breathe fire.” He rolled his eyes toward the heavens in silent gratitude.
“Nor the one I fought in Pudar,” Kevral admitted. “But apparently some can. At least according to legend.” She considered longer. Though not her favorite Colbey story, she had heard it often enough to remember details. It had never occurred to her to compare tales she had not even believed as a child to fantastical creatur
es that had become all too real over the past year. “In the story, the demon keeps its shape, too. Until the end. Then it’s not really clear if it deliberately changes or only because of the magic of a Wizard assisting Colbey.”
Darris sat on a blackened deadfall, ignoring the soot this smeared across his britches. Wind tossed brown curls into his eyes, and his broad lips pursed in consideration. While he searched for alternate explanations, Rascal spoke the thought on every mind. “Hain’t this Colbey like some sorter god but better with’n a sword?” She placed small, grimy hands on her waist. “An’ he been needin’ a Wizard ta hep him? Hain’t we gots no chance.”
Ra-khir had the answer. “Kevral, Darris, Andvari, and I could give Colbey a good fight. At the risk of belittling, I’d say we could best him together. And we’ve got elves for magic.”
“Not that kind of magic.” Chan’rék’ril brought Ra-khir back to reality. “I’m decent with shields and enhancements, and I can heal a bit. El-brinith’s good at tracking, sensing, travel. Those sorts of things.” He turned the knight an apologetic look. “Fighting?” He shook his head in an awkward and deliberately human gesture. “I’m afraid any elf with a tendency toward violence would more likely have remained among the svartalf.”
Kevral’s pulse hammered through her ears. “Colbey vanquished that creature with a sword that couldn’t strike it. I have one that can.” She patted the hilt Colbey had given her.
The logical extension, that no one else could fight a demon, did not occur to Kevral at that moment. Her mind clung to the excitement of the war.
Ra-khir addressed the lack that Kevral did not. “Perhaps two swords that can.” She followed his gaze to Motfrabelonning. “We know a sword merely used by an immortal can strike a demon: Colbey’s for you and Ravn’s for Rantire. Perhaps an Einherjar’s sword can work as well.”
Kevral grinned. She had not considered that benefit when Rache had honored her with his weapon. Her mind filled with images of a demon’s dark bulk hewed by a flying double web of silver. She could deal it death with either hand or both at once. Then, the image faded beyond the reality of the entire party staring directly at her, their expressions demanding.
Only then, Kevral understood the suggestion behind Ra-khir’s explanation. The idea of turning over one of her swords to anyone seemed as ugly and horrible as the soulless death she faced. Jolted fully back to reality, she reveled in the excitement battle had managed to kindle despite the loss of the greatest of all rewards: death in glory, her place in Valhalla. With Valr Kirin’s help, she had managed to discover the joy of war itself, to see death as the ultimate reward for courage, to find her immortality in the model she left for future warriors. She also realized the unfairness of leaving all of her companions cowering behind magical barriers while she wrung all of the pleasure from the battle. She had no choice but to share, no matter the discomfort of it. “Here.” Lovingly, she unclipped Motfrabelonning and offered it to Ra-khir.
The knight bowed deeply, sweeping his hat from his head to acknowledge understanding of her sacrifice. “I won’t take it now. Only if it’s needed.”
Nodding once, Kevral replaced the weapon. It felt secure and right at her side, and she could not banish the idea that she had dodged disaster.
Darris watched the sequence without comment. His sword skill probably matched Ra-khir’s, but it made more sense for her to trust the weapon to her husband and allow Darris his watchful chronicling. Kevral supposed that Tae might make good use of the weapon, yet he would fare just as well by creating distractions. In a face-to-face conflict, he would only get in her way. Not until that moment did she realize she had not seen their swarthy companion or his living shadow since shortly after she had mentioned the possibility of a demon.
As if on cue, Rascal blundered from the foliage. Tae emerged immediately behind her. “Good guess, Kevral. There’s a cave ahead with a massive creature I couldn’t identify in the dark. Bigger than any bear, though. I saw an occasional smoky huff come out, like breath in winter.”
“I’ll take that sword now.” Ra-khir unfastened his own weapon to make an exchange.
Kevral appreciated the gesture though she refused it. His broad and heavy sword might hamper the delicate balance Renshai maneuvers required. Besides, it could not cut the demon. “Let’s go.” She dashed off in the direction from which Tae had come.
The Easterner’s voice chased her. “Wait!”
Battle-starved, Kevral could not have heeded him if she had wanted to do so. A moment later, Ra-khir’s heavy bootfalls crashed through the brush, drowning out any warnings Tae might have spoken. The lighter tromp of feet sounded behind them, the others joining at a safe distance. They could not assist, except to keep themselves secure.
A sudden gust of wind bowed the weeds and sent tree branches into wild dances. Leaves and twigs washed over Kevral, accompanied by a repetitive slapping sound that echoed through the forest. Darkness blotted the patches of sunlight leeching through the umbrella of foliage.
Ra-khir shouted, “Kevral, move!”
Understanding finally trickled through the blur of joyous anticipation. It flies. Kevral sprang sideways as Ra-khir dashed forward and her other companions retreated. Fire slashed through the treetops, stabbing the spot where she and Ra-khir had stood. Flaming debris showered to the ground. A branch slammed Kevral’s shoulder with bruising force, and heat seared her cheek. Smoke sputtered from the contact. Then a red-orange blaze leaped to life on her sleeve. Damn! Kevral dropped to the ground, rolling. Contact with the ground provoked more pain than the burn itself, crushing grit into a raw wound. Battering sparks that threatened her hair, Kevral spun to a crouch as the creature’s bulk darkened intermittent openings in the overgrowth. It clearly banked for another attack.
Ra-khir rushed to Kevral’s side. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” Kevral said, distracted by her need to watch the demon’s every movement. “We need a better battle ground. One that’s not flammable.”
“What we need,” Ra-khir corrected, flipping his gaze back and forth between Kevral’s partially charred tunic and the banking creature, “is wings.”
“Now!” El-brinith shouted, magic or elfin vision granting her a better view of the creature.
Kevral and Ra-khir scattered. Another gout of flame splashed the ground where they had stood, igniting nearby trees and brush, striking hot pinpoints against the Renshai’s legs and cheeks. Mammoth wing beats fanned the flames above, and they crackled across green leaves, spreading from tree to tree.
Chan’rék’ril dashed to Kevral’s side, mumbling unintelligible syllables in none of the many languages Kevral knew. Harsh and dense, the words sounded odd in the musical elfin accent. Cued by El-brinith’s gentle chanting that fell like back-beat to Chan’rék’ril’s melody, Kevral knew he worked magic. And cursed. If the elf intended to shield her, he wasted his breath. She would force him to remove anything that might protect her from flames or direct attack. Renshai shunned unnatural defenses. Hiding behind magic would brand her a coward, in her own mind most of all.
The elf back-pedaled, returning to a light version of the trading tongue. “Think ‘up.’” Bronze hair curved across his cheeks, shrouding his face like a hood. The canted amber eyes reflected leaping flames like mirrors.
“Up?” Uncertain how to follow Chan’rék’ril’s command, Kevral concentrated on the letters forming the word. Nothing happened. She looked toward the elf, intending to question, but saw only Chan’rék’ril’s retreating back as he headed to assist Ra-khir.
“Up,” Kevral repeated, this time focusing on the concept. She felt herself rise, feet hovering, the ground growing smaller beneath her.
“Kevral, watch out!” Darris screamed.
Heat prickled Kevral’s scalp. She jerked her attention upward, only to find her vision obscured in a red blur of flame. Smoke stung her eyes and choked her lungs. Throat spasming, she hacked out a shriek as the treetop fire enveloped her.
�
�Up,” Chan’rék’ril shouted. “Think ‘up!’”
Kevral thrashed, trying to escape the flames. She felt herself plummeting, the whipping wind soothing against blistering flesh. Survival instinct barely kicked in in time. She envisioned herself floating, and her headlong fall ceased. Vision blurred by water, she saw a hazy image of dark ground. Now she allowed herself to drop to it, pitching to quench the last of the fire. Pained in every part, she watched Ra-khir glide upward, avoiding the blazing treetops that had proven her own downfall. The elves sprinted toward her.
Kevral did not wait for their arrival. She would not leave Ra-khir to battle the demon alone. Even as they reached her, she flew, the abrupt movement tearing agony through patches of burned flesh. This time, she followed Ra-khir’s path, soaring through foliage that the demon’s breath had not yet set aflame. She hurtled upward, speed responding to desperation, flying past Ra-khir and intercepting the demon as it rocketed toward him. She got her first full glimpse of the creature at that moment. Red eyes glared out from a ratlike, hairless head. The body appeared sleek and sinuous, as large as two cottages together and as black as moonless night. Four legs ended in leonine claws, and two lizard tails swept from its hindquarters. As Kevral zipped past, unable to stop her headlong rush quickly enough, it opened its mouth to reveal a scarlet cavern and teeth as silver, long, and sharp as daggers.
“Go for the wings!” Kevral shouted as she struggled to turn. Despite years of converting thought into instant and graceful movement, she found herself helpless to fathom the proper sequence of commands to control flight. Awkwardness became desperate frustration. She watched as Ra-khir engaged the creature, the sword in his hand flailing to strike any part of it. The blade sliced harmlessly through the demon’s dark bulk, and it howled in triumph. Rache’s sword did not contain the chaos needed to cut it.
The creature moved with catlike grace. Its claws raked toward Ra-khir.
Every nail that struck flesh would claim ten years of Ra-khir’s life, and each paw held six. Horrified, Kevral sped toward them, sword drawn, aiming directly for the demon’s back.
The Children of Wrath Page 45