Tobin couldn’t quite place what that something was until he noted the attitude of the enemy. The ferocity in their actions changed into sloppy, less confident attacks. The burning hate in their eyes became one of panic.
Sorcery.
He scanned the area. None of his shamans had the strength to affect a battle in such a way.
But Nachun could. Was Teznak wrong? Has he also returned? Out of guilt? Or does he need more of my help to further his ambitions?
A lone figure stood near the edge of a roof on a nearby building. The man wore dark robes that flapped behind him in a slight breeze. Silhouetted against the bright moon, the man was too round to be mistaken for Nachun.
Then who? He thought about the reports of Kaz’s return. Don’t tell me you made the same mistake, brother?
Tobin rejoined the press, hacking away once again. For now, he would use the advantage of the shaman’s efforts.
* * *
Durahn felt a weight being pressed upon his shoulders. It tired him, making him lethargic. A few breaths earlier, he had been ready to rip every warrior apart by hand.
And now all I want to do is sleep.
A guttural howl burst through his lips. Shaking his head, he stormed toward his rear ranks.
Blasted sorcery.
He snatched up the robed man he found by the sleeve. “Sorcery is affecting our lines.”
“Yes, we felt it.”
Durahn glared. “What are you doing to stop it?”
“We’ve never fought against anything like this, and we haven’t fully recovered from earlier.”
“Do you know where it’s coming from?”
The shaman pointed. “There.”
Durahn followed the man’s gaze to a lone figure atop the roof of a building. Just one. Where did he come from? “What are you waiting for?”
“I was trying to explain. The person is extremely powerful. We aren’t—”
Durahn threw the man to the ground. He met each of their eyes. “Do something now or so help me I’ll kill you all myself. If you can’t stop him, then distract him until we’ve won. Now, go.”
The shamans scrambled away, splitting into different groups as they approached the building.
Durahn cursed in disgust.
* * *
A spout of water, angling in from below, knocked Krytien back several steps and broke his concentration.
Water? You don’t see that often.
Flame raced toward him from the right. He deflected.
Fire. That’s the more common approach.
Fire and water struck at him simultaneously. Though he defended the attack, a wall of steam engulfed him, blocking his vision.
That’s different. No matter. None of them are on Nareash’s level.
He started to cast a spell to scatter the steam when an unfamiliar shift in the air gave him pause. He sniffed.
Smells like a wet dog.
A large beast burst from the steam. It pierced his defenses, tackling him. He banged his head against the roof. Razor sharp teeth pierced his shoulder.
Krytien found his breath long enough to scream. He watched as the animal resembling a wolf, reared, snarling. It ripped his robes, pulling away a chunk of shoulder. Pain raced across his body. A glint in the beast’s eyes jarred him from the sudden agony.
It’s human. One Above, a shapeshifter.
The beast’s muzzle descended toward Krytien’s neck. His free hand glowed red as it came up to meet the animal’s face. Smoke rose from the beast as hair and flesh burned. Krytien gagged on the musky smell, yet refused to let go. The animal howled and thrashed before going limp as warm blood poured from its orifices.
Krytien rolled the creature off him, grunting in pain from his shoulder. He stood, and pressed his hand to the wound. He bit his lip, tasting blood, as the heat from his palm cauterized the gash.
Two more of the creatures bounded onto the roof. Each wore loose, yellowed bone around their torso. Several more shamans came into view, some wearing gray robes, others orange. Wisps of smoke rose from the hands of those in orange, while small plumes of water spun in the hands of those in gray.
You idiot. You grew overconfident. Let this be a lesson to you, Krytien.
Over a dozen shamans fanned out to encircle him, closing with each step.
And I only have the use of one arm. That will make things more difficult. Well, serves you right. He breathed deep, watching the shamans eye each other, sending signals through each other’s movements. Well, if losing half an arm didn’t stop Raker, why would losing the use of an arm, stop me?
Krytien canted a quick spell that sent tendrils of blue sorcery coursing around his body. Another that made his eyes glow red. He considered both spells parlor tricks, but they caused the shamans to hesitate.
He took the moments he bought to tweak his defenses against another physical attack by the shapeshifters. Then, he performed the anti-nausea spell Wiqua showed him.
He finished as the shamans attacked him in unison.
* * *
Tobin felt the shift once again in his lines. Men gave up a step where moments before they would not. He glanced up to the building where the strange shaman had stood. Steam rose skyward. A dozen robed figures appeared along the roofline, some hunched like an animal.
A howl of pain emanating from the roof pierced the sounds of battle. Flashes of blue and orange danced above the structure. Lightning descended from clouds. Water ran over the sides and into gutters. Several of the enemy shamans fell over the ledge screaming.
He’s still alive then.
Other shamans hesitantly climbed the stairs leading to the roof.
But he’s busy.
Tobin began to steel himself when a burst of shouting from behind the enemy lines sounded.
A sweeping wave of blue-and-gray-armored soldiers slammed into the enemy’s flank. The great heave of pressure caused the push against his men to slacken.
The enemy went on the defensive. Tobin took advantage of the reinforcements by redistributing his lines.
A single warrior pulled his attention away from his men. Moonlight danced off the strange red and blue armor. It seemed to twist and move with its wearer as if alive. The enemy fell easily beneath the man’s onslaught. Tobin didn’t have to watch long to recognize his brother’s style. The guttural war cry coming from Kaz’s panther-shaped helm sent a chill down his spine.
He is alive.
* * *
Durahn swatted at the men under his command, pushing, prodding, and threatening to get them to move into position. The force behind the Kifzo reinforcements killed any momentum he had regained after removing the strange shaman from the battle. Anger seeped through his entire being as he felt his hold on Juanoq falter.
Where did they come from?
His great sword hacked mercilessly. As he killed the newly arrived Kifzo, he cursed each one along the way for being too weak, too small, to deny him his right as warleader.
I’ll kill every last one of them myself if I have to. This is my time.
His men began to rally around his brutal efforts.
Durahn caught a glimpse of a strangely-armored figure dominating the Kifzo’s lines.
Kaz.
He recognized the man’s fighting style. He barreled over men by the score in an effort to reach his old warleader.
I’ll make sure you stay dead this time.
Durahn’s sword swept down, crushing an opponent with the weight of the blow. “Get out of my way, runt!”
As his opponent fell to the cobbled streets, the largest creature he had ever seen stepped into his path. The figure looked bigger than a bear from the Green Forest Clan’s territory. Durahn might have confused the man for a bear except he wore armor and carried a large warhammer and massive shield.
The giant spoke in heavily accented Heshan. “Who’re you calling a runt, little man?”
Durahn had never been called little by anyone. Standing half a head taller than even the tal
lest of Kifzo, he found the thought strange.
The giant let out a deep growl, moving with surprising speed. Warhammer descending toward him, Durahn stepped aside, feeling a gust of air too close for comfort. He tried to counter the attack, but the giant’s shield deflected the blow. The warhammer came from below next, clipping a Yellow Clan warrior without slowing its trajectory toward Durahn. He avoided the attack, then the next. The giant screamed and pushed Durahn backward.
Quit fighting defensively, you fool.
You’ll never get to Kaz like this.
He ducked under the next sweeping attack and charged. The change in technique surprised the giant. Up close, the behemoth could not use his warhammer with the same ease. The giant led with his shield, trying to overpower Durahn. However, he had anticipated that strategy.
Durahn slipped around the massive shield, thrusting with his sword for the killing blow. Only his sword never met resistance.
The giant had managed to dodge the strike. A massive hand wrapped around the Kifzo’s wrist, squeezing until bones cracked. Durahn refused to scream, but could not maintain the grip on his sword.
Dropping his shield, the giant used his other hand to grab Durahn by the neck.
He kicked and punched at his opponent, but the blows had no effect. The giant slammed him to the ground with such force his spine snapped.
Struggling to breath, Durahn no longer felt anything.
It can’t end like this.
The head of a warhammer descended toward his face.
* * *
The enemy faltered, looking confused. The Kifzo led by Kaz looked angry, eager for blood. Tobin’s men didn’t wait for his next order, pushing forward on their own accord.
Juanoq will not fall.
But the fighting will continue on for some time. There are pockets elsewhere. He thought of Lucia again. I need to find her before someone else does. I need to beg forgiveness. I can’t let our last meeting be the way she remembers me. Even if she does accept Kaz.
He gave orders to one of his captains, eyed his brother once more, and left the ranks through a narrow side alley. He thought of where Lucia could be and ran in the direction of the Warehouse District.
With each step he wondered what he would say to the mother of his child.
* * *
Kaz finished the Gray Clan warrior he fought against with a slash to the throat. Stepping away from the front lines and craning his neck into the side street where the city’s defenders had made their stand, he caught a glimpse of a lone figure slipping away.
Tobin?
Itken said he had changed. A healed ankle. Standing taller. Carrying a sword rather than a bow. I guess I wasn’t ready to see that. Is he trying to escape now that I’ve returned?
A part of Kaz wanted to let his brother go, hoping that Tobin meant to flee the city. It would make his promise to change his people’s culture easier to keep without Tobin. However, another part of Kaz could never let that happen. He needed to talk to his brother.
Were all those years of hate warranted? I need to know.
Kaz turned his attention back to the battle. It was under control.
He issued orders to his captains, then slipped around the back ranks in pursuit of his brother.
Chapter 35
“We’re not getting anywhere,” said Harq in frustration.
“What do you mean?” asked Drake, running out the door and into the street. The rest of the Kifzo and Wiqua ran alongside him. “They said Lucia’s uncle and aunt are a block over. Third building down.”
“Yes. The fourth person who swore they knew where to find them. All lies. Just trying to get us out of their home.”
Probably so. I can’t blame them either. But what else can we do?
Harq took the lead as they ran through the streets, head on a swivel in search of danger. With the sounds of fighting fading in and out of the night, Drake wondered how long it would be before a raiding party crossed their path.
He tightened the grip on his sword.
Rounding a corner, they stopped at the building in question. One of the older structures, it held a box-like design with a window at each corner. Three steps led to the beige door.
Harq took point. Drake followed. Wiqua and the remaining Kifzo stayed hidden at street level while keeping an eye out for any invaders coming their way. Harq rapped his knuckles on the door and stepped off to the side. Drake waited opposite him, nervous and anxious, hoping that he might finally find Kaz’s wife.
No one answered.
Harq pounded the door until the frame shook, cursing in Heshan to open or he would break the thing down.
Still nothing.
Harq looked back to Drake with a questioning look. He gave the Kifzo a nod.
The warrior kicked the wooden door. It buckled, but did not break. Twice more he repeated the process until the frame splintered, swinging the door inward. Harq rolled into the room and Drake darted in behind him. The rest followed at their heels.
The space sat empty. Harq signaled the other Kifzo to check the rest of the house while they waited near the entrance. The others returned shaking their heads.
“No one is here,” said Harq.
Drake swore, recalling one of the more colorful terms Raker often used. He kicked a chair over in anger, and then remembering he was in someone’s home, righted it. “Alright. Let’s keep going. We’ll start checking houses one at a time.”
The fact that no one said a word to contradict him spoke volumes.
They know this is hopeless. We’ll never find her.
Harq made a hissing sound as Drake moved to the front door. He spun about. The Kifzo held his index finger over his lips. The warrior pointed to his ear.
Then Drake heard it. A faint whimper.
“Where?” Drake mouthed.
Despite his heavy boots, Harq tip-toed over the floor in silence. He stopped before a rug in the kitchen. He peered underneath one of the small corners. He called the other Kifzo over. Several hand gestures followed. They crouched near the rug.
Harq threw it back, exposing a small trapdoor that another warrior quickly flung open. The Kifzo dove down the hole. Voices screamed and pottery shattered. Drake hurried over to the opening, clamoring inside after them.
It took his eyes a moment to adjust in the barely lit space. Harq held his knife on an older man who stood frozen in fear. Two other Kifzo watched over an older woman who fought against their grip. The old woman’s gaze flicked to a third figure lying on a bed roll, torso propped up. The Kifzo all stared at the prone figure as well.
Covered in sheets, Drake realized the woman had her knees folded up. The slight whimpering sound came from her.
Great. A woman in labor. Drake swore. One Above, will we ever find Lucia?
“Let them go,” said Drake. The Kifzo complied. The old man eased slowly away from Harq while the old woman ran to the other on the floor. Drake paid the woman in labor little mind. He had never been part of a birth before and based on the pained sounds had no intention of starting. “Another false lead.”
Harq looked up from the grunting woman, wearing a frown. “No. We found her.”
“What?”
Drake stepped closer, peering around the frantic old woman whispering words of encouragement. With his second look, Drake studied the woman in labor more closely. He had never seen Lucia in person before, but as he looked past the dripping sweat and contorted face of pain, he saw it.
Her color, her eyes, her nose, her lips. One Above, she’s just as Kaz described her.
He blinked, unable to speak, unable to breath, as a hundred thoughts rolled around his mind.
Kaz’s wife is having a child. But that means . . .
A hand shook him by the shoulder. Wiqua guided him back toward the ladder, away from Lucia. Her screaming had lessened significantly.
“Are you alright, Drake?”
“Yes. Sorry, I . . . what happened?”
“You’ve been standing there
dumbfounded for several minutes. I helped her pain. The baby is early, and she isn’t doing well.”
“Oh.”
“We can’t move her. You’ll need to find Kaz and bring him here.”
Bring him here? To see this? Drake lowered his voice. “Seeing her like this will kill him. What am I supposed to tell him?”
Wiqua’s eyes narrowed. “That his wife, the woman he loves above all else, needs him desperately.” His voice cracked. “I know this isn’t a situation anyone expected to find, but there’s nothing to do about it now. You and I both know what kind of man Kaz is. Get him here and trust in knowing he will do the right thing, whatever that may be.”
One Above, this may break him.
Drake nodded. He climbed the stairs in a daze.
“Are you going for Kaz? Wait for us,” said Harq.
“No. You’re staying. Someone needs to be here in case invaders reach this part of the city. You’ll need to keep everyone safe.”
“But how will you find him?”
“I’ll listen to where the fighting is at its worst. Then head straight for it.”
* * *
Kaz hurdled a pile of trash dashing out of an alley past two dead Gray Clan warriors. Another corpse lay across his path, then a fourth. He hadn’t spotted his brother, but the fresh bodies reassured him that he traveled the right path.
Yelling, cursing, shuffling footsteps, and clashing steel from up ahead spurned Kaz on. He reached an intersection as Tobin’s sword lopped off the head of a lone Gray Clan warrior who had ventured too far ahead of his brethren.
Tobin looked like he considered running once more from the charging enemy, but apparently he thought the strategy useless, knowing they would hound his trail. He kicked aside the headless corpse and readied himself as the large squad slowed to fan out around him.
Kaz watched the scene unfold with a mix of emotions. The audacity of the Gray Marsh Clan warriors angered him. His brother’s courage in facing so many alone brought him a surprising sense of pride. Yet, neither of those could quell the ever-present hate he had for Tobin, the origins of which he still could not recall.
Thousands of questions filled his head.
And I’ll get no answers here. Put aside your hate for now, Kaz.
Trial And Glory (Book 3) Page 39