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Revenge is a poison laced with honey. The first taste is sweet, but the longer one sucks on it, the more it rots the teeth and burrows into the soul.
~Aprim, fasah of Tharra, Eelarga
3421 AI
Boulick, Muintir
6126 AI
HEST SETTLED ON THE BED Donantes had provided but, despite the enveloping comfort of it, couldn’t rest. When he could no longer handle the inactivity, he threw off the covers and started pacing. Sydur found him sweaty and frustrated.
“I don’t have to ask if you’re ready.”
“I suppose it shows. I want to get this over with and return to Cahar. Something about this place wears on me.”
“Could be Graen. It’s much brighter here than in Cahar, so the heat can be oppressive.” Sydur rested a hand on Hest’s shoulder. “All I ask is that you don’t do anything reckless.”
“Aye. You needn’t worry about me. Remember, I’m the one with an arc lukesure at my back.”
Sydur frowned. “That’s what I’m afraid of. As I said earlier, we don’t want a repeat of what happened in Cahar.”
He recalled the queasy awe he’d felt when he looked at the claw gouges in the dirt where he’d fought Liam, and the horror when he glimpsed the matching grime under his own nails.
“Nay, but I’ll do what it takes to clear Boulick of the fiahat and the sanyalee,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his brow.
“We all will.” Sydur shook his head. “You’ve grown up, boiwith. No longer are you the stable boy I met in Stad. Although you were full of bluster, you didn’t have the competence to carry through. Now... well, I’d not want to meet you as an enemy.”
Hest closed his mouth and swallowed back the emotions Sydur’s praise inspired. “Thank you.” No other words were fitting.
“Let’s meet the rest of our team.” Sydur motioned for Hest to exit first.
The warriors in Donantes’ kitchen, armed and armored, clashed with the domestic simplicity of the tidy surfaces and checkered curtains, yet the Rittider appeared as at home there as they did waiting outside the king’s chambers.
Oakwin was giving brief instructions to Tarhall, Kyeth, and a third Rittider who would mingle with the Croft and Barrel’s patrons, ready to carry news to Hest, and then it was only a matter of waiting until they were several blocks away. Once they had enough of a head start, Hest took his own contingent back to the forge.
The journey was uneventful; Hest saluted Lugh and four more of their number as they broke off to lay in wait outside the Croft and Barrel to waylay Stymori. Back at Smithy’s Hest was thrilled at the sight of Usheen curled up on the dirt floor. He went directly to the arc lukesure and sank down beside him, soaking in the warmth emanating from his scales. Waiting was so much easier with Usheen by his side.
He must have dozed off, for his head jerked up at the sound of an unfamiliar—and unpleasant—voice.
“I see you are here.” An ethereal figure of a man floated in front of Hest, white hair rippling as if in a breeze. “Care to make things easier on yourself and your friends?”
Closing his mouth and gathering his composure, Hest stood.
The man bowed. “Ah, the king himself has graced us with his presence! I had thought perhaps you were insulting me by sending others in your stead.” He snapped his fingers and Kyeth appeared next to him followed by Tarhall. “I assume these are your men, then?”
Hest’s heart sank, but he steeled his expression.
“If they are, then you’ve revealed the traitors in my midst.”
Keeping his voice steady, Hest replied, “Maybe, but I may have my own contingencies in place.”
Tarhall and Kyeth were hauled away from Stymori, who rubbed his hand along a tall staff as they disappeared from view. “Now. Your men will be returned in exchange for yourself and the arc lukesure. Leave now and meet me at the cliffs to the west of town. Try anything else and your men will be killed.”
Hest glared at the sanyalee. “And how will I know they’ll be unharmed if I come?”
Stymori smiled, a chilling expression that was both devoid of mirth and full of wicked pleasure. Kyeth reappeared at his side, and the sanyalee touched the tip of his staff to the Rittider’s forehead where an ugly gash appeared, immediately welling up with blood that sheeted over his face and dripped from his brow.
Hest took a step forward as if he could physically attack this apparition. What had the sanyalee done to Kyeth? Would his friend be all right?
Satisfied by Hest’s reaction, Stymori continued. “You have my word that for every quarter span you do not come, I will inflict another wound like this one. They’ll bleed a slow and painful death if you refuse me.”
Fear coursed through Hest, and he clenched his fists at his side. “We’ll be there.”
“Boiwith, nay!” Sydur hissed as the man faded away. “You can’t go.”
“What other choice do we have? I can’t sit by and watch my men—my friends—be killed.”
“Give Lugh time.”
“If you can send a message to him before I get to the western gates, then so be it, but I won’t be waiting around.”
Goshkeah rested a hand on Hest’s arm. “Moregot, you’ll have me beside you, but the cannonsea is correct. That man can only be the sanyalee; you need Lugh to fight him.”
“Then Lugh had better get there soon.” Hest motioned for Usheen and made for the door.
Sydur shook his head. “Are you going to terrify the populace of Boulick by leading a dragon through their streets?”
With a belly-deep sigh and a helpless prickling at the corners of his eyes, Hest turned. “What else am I supposed to do?”
Thanks to his time with Darregud, he knew what the sanyalee was capable of doing. The man would be worse than Liam. There was no way he would actually hand Usheen over, but there would be no chance to save his Rittider if he stayed. And were their places reversed, he knew that Kyeth wouldn’t waste a single moment.
“Think, boiwith. How did you come into town in the first place? Climb in the wagon, throw the canvas over him, and go. We could even hide several of us in there with him if we drape the fabric over the pulleys and ropes instead of directly over him.”
Sydur’s plan was sound. Maybe they could surprise the sanyalee.
Hest sat next to Goshkeah, while the other Rittider hid under the canvas behind Usheen. Hest watched every turn they made, saw every passerby who moved out of their path, noticed every waving flag and swinging sign, yet he couldn’t have recalled a single one, even if his life depended on it. All he could focus on was coming up with some strategy to defeat the sanyalee, but by the time Goshkeah slowed the wagon at the gate, he still hadn’t thought of a single answer.
You must not allow your thoughts to remain in turmoil, heart of my hearts. If you are to defeat this enemy, your mind must be sound. You must be vigilant, but calm.
With a grimace, Hest replied, Easier said than done. Any suggestions?
Remember that I am here to help, and trust in your friends. And do not forget Jeeah.
Without a second glance at the wagon, the guard waved them through.
“They seem more concerned with what comes into the city than what goes out.” Goshkeah guided the wagon past the line waiting to enter Boulick.
“Aye, but for us that’s good.”
“’Tis true. Do you see the cliffs?” Goshkeah glanced about.
Hest squinted as he scanned the horizon. “Maybe over there.” He pointed to a smudge on the distant western side.
The distance made him even more nervous. He knew that he’d be powerful in the laubrach, but was it powerful enough to stand up to a sanyalee? Someone who could puppet Kyeth’s body, inflict wounds without even needing to be within arms reach? Suddenly, his haste felt incredibly foolish. Why hadn’t he sent Arrin to take a message to Lugh? But then he thought about the terror Kyeth had tried to hide, his eyes trying not to plead for his king to save him. Hest shook his head. He had to keep going.
The road wound through the arid land, the rocky terrain soon giving way to a cliff-face. Hest searched it for signs of life.
“There! That’s Kyeth,” he told Goshkeah.
The Rittider stood beside a boulder, and on top of that stood a man whose robe billowed in the breeze.
Goshkeah kept their pace slow, and Hest felt the subtle rock of the wagon as the men in the back climbed out. His stomach felt like it would empty, and his palms were tingling with adrenaline, but knowing that his Rittider were at his back gave him a building confidence. Maybe there would be a solution.
When the wagon stopped in front of the boulder, the sanyalee dropped down between them and Kyeth.
“Show me the arc lukesure.” The sanyalee rolled his grip on his staff.
Hest stood, glaring down at him. “First, show me my men.”
“Most certainly.” He snapped his fingers, and Kyeth lurched forward as if pulled by a rope.
“And the others?”
The same mirthless smile crossed the man’s face. “So predictable. There.” He pointed to the boulder.
Without the sanyalee blocking their view, Hest now saw Oakwin bound, sitting on the far edge, twisting around to look at Hest. On his opposite shoulder, a great, dark eagle was perched, its vicious beak too near to Oakwin’s eyes for comfort.
Hest swallowed back his fear. “That’s only two, and you said you’d deliver them unharmed.”
“I did, but some insurance is in order, particularly since you’ve not come alone. I have one more, but as for the other, well, he didn’t make it out of The Croft and Barrel, and I wasn’t going to carry him here. I’m sure you’ll understand. Now, show me the arc lukesure, or I’ll have Volek take your friend’s eyes.” The sanyalee motioned with his staff to the eagle.
Usheen, you can show yourself, but don’t come near.
The arc lukesure sat up, unfurling his body. His scales glittered in the light.
“A most wondrous creature.” The sanyalee’s eyes glittered.
“Aye, and now you release my men.”
“I don’t believe you’re in a position to command me. From here on out, you do as I say. And I say you will come here.”
“You said to come, and you’d release my men.”
“Technically, I requested you and the arc lukesure in exchange, but I had a better offer.”
Catching movement at the corner of the boulder, Hest turned to look and froze. Out of the shadows strode a figure from his nightmares. White teeth glittered against dark skin.
“We meet again, northlander.” Nwa’s accent had improved over the last synod. “I come to fulfill my vow.”
A cold sweat broke out over Hest’s body. Nwa’s face overlapped with the memories of his many dreams, overwhelming him with the images of death, the feeling of helplessness, the blood staining his hands.
Aye, heart of my hearts, but in your dreams I had been cut off from you. And this step, I am here.
Nwa’s voice carried over Usheen’s pulling Hest back into the present. “You ran my father down like an animal; you took him from me. And so I will kill all that you hold dear. Starting with this one.” Faster than anyone could react, the Watu plunged a blade into Tarhall’s side.
Hest froze in shock, his blood ran hot and then cold; Nwa released Tarhall, and the body slumped to the ground.
“The sanyalee gave you an order,” Nwa said archly. “Send him your creature.” The Aeguskey’s eyes were as cold as Hest remembered them.
Usheen? What do we do?
The wagon rocked violently, knocking Hest and Goshkeah over on the seat. From the corner of his eye, Hest caught sight of Usheen. The arc lukesure’s wings were spread, presenting a formidable display.
You demand my presence?
Nwa’s face paled, but the sanyalee’s lit up with delight.
The arc lukesure pulled his head back, his chin tucked as if he were about to set the man afire. You know not what you summon, distorter of life. With one breath, I could end the life of your creature, and with another you would be nothing but ash and bone.
“Mayhap, but are you sure you would take a second breath if you tried?” A stone glowed at Stymori’s side.
Watch out! Hest called.
Do not worry, heart of my hearts. I will not be taken into darkness again.
Usheen split the air with a powerful roar, and in answer darkness washed over the cliff, as if Graen had been snuffed out. Goshkeah gasped, but in the sudden dim, Hest’s Skymnan eyes found Handi, glowing as brightly as ever in the northern sky. He bared his teeth in a fierce grin. Stymori didn’t know everything, hadn’t planned for everything. There would be a way—Hest just had to find it.
Motion to his left caught his attention. The sanyalee held the glowing stone aloft, the light showing the empty place where Kyeth had been. He set his jaw and set his hand to his sword, ready to attack the sanyalee.
Nay, you confront Nwa and rescue Kyeth. I’ll deal with the corrupter until Lugh arrives.
With a nod, Hest vaulted over the wagon edge to the ground, Goshkeah on his heels.
“Moregot, what are we doing?”
“Usheen has the sanyalee; I’m going for Kyeth. Though,” he gave a worried glance to the top of the boulder, “something needs to be done about that eagle.”
A screech unlike anything Hest had heard before split the air; a high-pitched, barking shriek answered. In the moonlight, a streak of white dove toward the cliff where Oakwin stood.
“Conry!” Goshkeah exclaimed, keeping an eye on Oakwin as they marched forward. “The eagle is away from Oakwin; Lugh must be near now.”
Bouyed by his jiddee’adar’s appearance and determined to protect his friend, Hest made his way toward Kyeth. On his right, Usheen was stalking toward Stymori, the ground trembling under his footfalls. Hest wanted to turn aside, to intervene somehow, but he knew there was nothing he could do to help his bondmate. The best he could do was everything else.
Relief washed over him when he finally spotted Kyeth at the base of the boulder where Conry and the eagle battled, but his joy was quickly extinguished by dread as a glint of light off metal flashed at the Rittider’s neck.
In the darkness, Nwa was only a shadow. “Is this the next that will die, northerner?”
“It doesn’t have to be this way, Nwa.” Hest held his sword at his side with his other hand up. “Will more killing bring your father back?”
“Not even that pretender can do that. He tried.” Bitter grief choked Nwa’s words.
“Then why carry through with this?” Hest took a step forward, but the knife at Kyeth’s neck pressed deeper.
“No closer if you wish to spare his life,” Nwa ordered, watching Hest hawk-eyed to ensure he obeyed. Then he hissed, “I want you to suffer as I have suffered. Watching those you love die... You shall watch everyone die.” He drew the blade back as if to slash at Kyeth’s throat, but the master swordsman bashed his head backward into Nwa’s face and slid down, away from the knife.
Nwa grabbed for the Rittider and missed; Kyeth had already rolled aside and sprung up immediately into a run. Nwa flung blood from his nose and stomped toward the Rittider.
Goshkeah’s blade flashed in the moonlight and clanged against Nwa’s drawn sword, intercepting the blow and forcing him to deal with Hest’s guard first. The two circled, their swords clicking as they touched tips. Then with a flurry of quick, vicious strikes, Goshkeah pushed forward. Nwa fell back toward the boulder, but then lunged, his blade penetrating the Rittider’s shoulder.
“No!” Hest ran into the fight.
Nwa’s teeth gleamed as he smiled. “Welcome, northerner, but you shall not die yet.”
Ignoring Nwa’s attempt at banter, Hest threw himself into battle, fighting with all that Kyeth had taught him—his sword weaving in and out, trying to find an opening, but there were none, and he knew his time was running out. Nwa was deft, agile—clearly the better swordsman, and Hest couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Something would have to change—
The thought cut off in panic’s cacophony as an excruciating pain wracked his body, and he fell to the ground.
