Kethras
Salt, iron, and fear bled together as Kethras heard the sound of sharp steel being drawn against leather. The hair on the back of his neck went stiff when he recognized what was happening.
The scent.
On its own, a scent is like a word: each can be uniquely identified and described, and has a meaning of its own; but when certain scents join together in certain ways, they take on a different meaning altogether. And the meaning that hung in the air now was one that Kethras knew.
He had smelled it on the Khyth that had ambushed Thornton and Miera on the road outside of Lusk. He had smelled it on Dailus in the temple of Annoch before the half-eye took the Hammer. He had smelled it just yesterday, when he ushered Thornton and Yasha into the Temple of the Shaper in Ellenos.
And now he smelled it on Thuma.
In a flash, he had his bow in hand with the drawstring taut, arrow at the ready.
Move.
Kethras had lived through enough battles to know to trust his instincts. So when Thuma came crashing toward him with that enormous sword of his, it was second nature to dive out of the way and fire off a warning shot, one that caught Thuma in the thigh.
His second instinct was to move toward the closest cover he could find. The wide open plains south of Ellenos—too far south of his forest home of Kienar—made that task difficult. He knelt low, baring his teeth in a reflexive show of ferocity, and backed away from Thuma. Even a seasoned Athrani warrior would have trouble spotting a Kienari cloaked in darkness.
Unconsciously, his fingers swept over the soft feathers of a second arrow before cradling it between his knuckles and nocking it in the span of a breath. He took aim at Thuma, exhaled, and fired, feeling the snap as his arrow sped through the air to its mark, burying itself deep in Thuma’s shoulder with a thunk. The big man had twisted just enough to stave off a fatal hit, saving his own life but hampering his movement.
It will slow him down, Kethras thought, but not by much.
The guttural curse that Thuma let out confirmed Kethras’s assessment as the Athrani snapped off the arrows at their shafts and threw them to the ground.
Not by much at all. “Thornton!” Kethras yelled, having lost sight of his friend. “We are betrayed!” He nocked another arrow, sweeping his eyes over the campsite and trying to determine just who was friend and who was foe. Were they all a part of it, or only a few?
There was no telling at this point.
The figures around him lit up with the reds and oranges of their body heat as his vision began to shift. Why Thuma had chosen twilight to attack a Kienari was beyond him, but Kethras welcomed the advantage.
Two blazing figures raced toward him, their swords a cool blue as they bled off residual heat from the day, and Kethras tightened his bowstring. Releasing the arrow, he struck the first one in the chest. The second one closed the gap quicker than Kethras expected, so he had no time to nock and fire; instead he grabbed an arrow from his quiver, sidestepping to the outside of the man’s sword arm, and buried the arrow deep in the man’s throat. He had already drawn his dagger when the man hit the ground in a frothy, gurgling death.
Stooping, Kethras gathered the arrows and looked around for other threats. He heard Thuma yell behind him, “Grab the boy and take the Hammer!”
Alysana drew her sword to square off against Thuma. So she is still with us, Kethras thought. Perhaps we can survive this.
The two warriors circled each other, neither wanting to take the first swing.
“You walk a foolish road, G’henni,” Thuma warned, leveling his blade at her. Blood dripped from his shoulder, but he did not seem to notice, or care. “You should know better than anyone that the Three should remain undisturbed. There is a good reason we do not wake them.”
“I know,” Alysana answered. “But it is worth the risk!”
Thuma must have seen an opening; he brought his sword down on Alysana in a great, slow arc. She raised her sword to meet his, and the force of the strike took her to her knees. She did her best to keep her feet, but Thuma was too strong. He knocked her off balance, pushed her onto her back, and came at her again. Deftly, Alysana rolled out of the way, leaping up to catch him with a savage slice to the back as he stumbled by. It wasn’t enough to kill, Kethras could see, but it had drawn blood. The rich iron smell clawed at his nostrils.
“The Shaper of Ages cannot stay trapped in the Otherworld forever,” Alysana said. She adjusted her grip on the bastard sword she wielded, having taken it in two hands to compensate for the strength she lacked compared to the bigger man. Thuma turned around, shook out his head, and charged at her again.
As steel rang out against steel, Kethras grew increasingly alarmed that he could not find Thornton.
Where is he? he thought as he cursed in frustration.
His answer would not come as he was blinded by a sudden flash of light; Athrani fire filled the night sky like the sun.
Orange, red, and white flooded Kethras’s eyes as he felt the heat of Shaping, heard the crackling as the fire fed on the air around them. Feeling the grass between his fingers as he knelt, Kethras backed away from the raging heat and let his other senses guide him. The air reeked of smoke and charred flesh. He could barely breathe through the maelstrom.
Coughing, he ventured to open his eyes again. They ached, and his vision was blurry. His pulse quickened when the battlefield came into focus again, and one figure was left standing.
Thuma, he thought, and a lump formed in his throat.
He looked closer.
No. Not Thuma . . .
His momentary relief at realizing the figure was Thornton was burnt away when he saw Yasha lying motionless at his feet. Her body was charred and smoking—just like everything else around them.
And, just like the flames, Thornton waned, wavered . . . and collapsed.