Silverkin, page 23
The alerion flapped furiously, arching back and touching down with one talon and then the other. The thud shoved Thealos forward, but the tethers kept him from slipping. The Shae rider untied his hands and then loosened Justin. The Warder Shae slid off the creature and collapsed. Thealos eased himself off and landed, staring up at the rider who nodded to him, his look almost apologetic.
“Fare well in your task.”
Thealos nodded to him, feeling his knees buckle. The others dismounted as well, except for Allavin who looked him in the eye, nodded once, and waited on his alerion. Flent backed away from the beasts with an angry look and shook his fist. Ticastasy beamed, lost in the euphoria of it still. The Shae scouts chirped and the massive birds took flight again, soaring into the sky.
Almost as soon as they were gone, the presence of Shae surrounded them. The glow of Silvan magic flashed from the trees as four quaeres of Crimson Wolfsmen appeared.
Wolfsman? Xenon! He knew the Wolfsman well enough. He would be furious for being duped and abandoned on the docks of Sol.
Thealos grabbed the pouch at his waist and started untying it.
Xenon of the Crimson Wolfsmen approached in the forefront, his face twisting with anger. The others of his quaere seemed to blaze with shared anger as well. Thealos had insulted them again in defying them.
Before Thealos had his hand on the stones, the Wolfsman Lor struck him, his palm open, the heel of his hand whipping right for his cheek.
The blow sent sparks of pain in his skull, jerking him to the side and dropping him to the ground. Xenon dropped on him, clenching his wrists, twisting them back behind him and jerking his hair to pull his chin off the ground.
“I’ve had enough of your games, boy,” he said with choking voice, his eyes blazing with fury. “It’s time I gave you a teaching in our ways. Pray you to remember it.”
A fist came down into Thealos’ kidneys.
Chapter XXIV
Thealos could have dodged it. The Oath magic writhed inside him, summoned by the urgency of his need. He could have flipped Xenon on the ground, or trapped and broken his arm. He could have blended into the vapors of nothingness and simply stepped away, unseen, unsmelled, unreachable.
But it would have ruined all his plans, plans that depended on keeping his abilities as a Sleepwalker a secret.
So he let the Wolfsman beat him.
Another strike hit his lower back, but Thealos channeled the Oath magic, drawing it up and focusing it where the blow struck. Xenon must have felt the resistance—must have felt the shock of his fist striking an object more solid. The wellspring sent hives of thoughts through his mind, memories from the Sleepwalkers who had defended themselves this way. The magic hardened him, inside and out, enough to soften Xenon’s blows. Thealos coiled up, twisting onto his side and drawing up his arms and legs, using every thought and mote of willpower to keep from using the Oath magic to strike back. He wanted to jeer at the Wolfsman, to tell him that it did not hurt, that there was no pain. Wait it out—he’ll be done soon. Just wait it out.
Flent, on the other hand, could not.
Thealos felt the Drugaen’s presence with the magic just an instant before a meaty fist hammered Xenon’s cheek and sent him hurtling backwards.
Thealos hunched forward, watching with shock as Flent pounced and landed on the Wolfsman, punching once again, twice before Xenon grabbed his wrist, yanked it aside and landed a solid side-hand blow to Flent’s throat. The Wolfsman shoved Flent back as the Drugaen choked.
Ban him—ban that son of Pitan. Thealos’ fury raged, almost slipping past his grip on it. He nearly went for Xenon himself, intent on crushing his throat. Exeres grabbed Ticastasy to keep her from intervening and whispered harshly to her. Justin’s reaction was different. The Warder had dropped to his knees, bowing his head as the attack happened—a sign of Shae deference.
Flent’s face contorted with rage and he lunged out again, swinging with both fists even though he could not breathe. Xenon stepped in easily, blocking the ill-timed blows with quick chopping motions and whipped the heel of his hand into Flent’s temple, dropping him.
Xenon wiped some trickling blood from his mouth and turned back to Thealos, his eyes livid.
A thought came to him from the maelstrom of the wellspring.
The Warder has it right. In order to break…be broken!
Pools of wisdom flooded from memories not his own. The Oath magic should be used sparingly. The Ravinir never knew how many foes they would face or how soon. Power from the Oath magic would not last forever. He had learned that battling the Kiran Thall and remembered the fatigue, the draining of strength from his muscles. Even the time that had passed had not fully restored his health. Bruises would begin purpling his skin from Xenon’s punches. Was this the time to fight? To fight off three quaeres of Crimson Wolfsmen? Even Jaerod had found that task to be a mountain almost too high to climb. How could Thealos do it, so young and untried?
He knew he had to do something. The insight would be enough to start.
Thealos bowed his head and knelt on the ground, letting the tips of his hair brush the twig and scrub.
“Do not fight them!” He stretched out his left hand to Ticastasy and Exeres. “Do not! I have earned this.”
He saw the edges of Xenon’s dirt-stained boots. The man could kick him in the face so easily. The bigger part of him screamed to resist, to glare up at him defiantly. He ignored it.
“I submit to your punishment,” Thealos whispered.
A sharp pain ripped at the back of his neck as Xenon crouched, grabbed his hair, and forced his head up. “What trick is this, barter?”
The contempt on Xenon’s face was unbearable. Unhand me, you idiot soldier. I could throw your arm out of its socket and it would pain you the rest of your life.
“I submit to you.”
“Oh, you do? A fine time for that, Quickfellow. You were clearly on your way back to the barge in Sol to turn yourself in!” His face mottled with anger. “At least the alerion riders obey the hierarchy. You’ve tested my patience since I met you. You’ve defied me at every turn. Where is your Sleepwalker friend now? Isn’t he here to coddle you again?”
Thealos closed his eyes, expecting another blow.
“You craven rook!” Stasy yelled. He could hear her struggling against Exeres. “He’s on the ground!”
Xenon rose. “Your wet nurse speaks for you, Quickfellow? A human?” His voice thickened with disgust. “Look at your companions. A Druid half-blood, a human wench, a Drugaen drunkard, and who is that, a Warder? Look at his clothes! Where did he steal them?”
“You want to say that in my language, you banned coward!” Ticastasy seethed.
“I have few words I’m willing to waste on you, human. I remember you from Sol where one of my brothers was killed.” His voice dropped low. “I owe you for that.”
Thealos raised his head, but he did not meet the Wolfsman’s eyes. “I’m glad you found us, Xenon. We need your help.”
A stiff chuckle. “You need a good thrashing.”
Accept it. Respect his underlings and he will respect you.
“If that will appease you, then do so. Or have one of your quaere do it.” It was a subtle concession, but a deliberate one.
“What games are you playing at now, Quickfellow?” he said with wariness in his voice.
“You are a Crimson Wolfsman Lor. You are in command of this expedition.”
Xenon dropped low. “Then why did you sneak away again? How did you sneak away? Was it the Sleepwalker? Did he…fetch you again?”
“There was information I needed in Sol, Lor Xenon. My friends may be a mix of the races, but I left them in Castun to collect news about the Bandit Rebellion and its movements. I…I believed that we needed that knowledge before approaching Landmoor. One of the members of your quaere would not have been trusted. They would only have spoken to me.”
Xenon tipped his chin up. It was permission to rise and speak, even though the gesture was condescending.
Thealos slowly straightened, his body arguing with the movement. Bruises—there would definitely be bruises. He grunted and bit his lip, standing full.
“You’re a rake and a fool, Quickfellow,” Xenon said, pacing back and motioning to his men. “You’re in the thrall of a Sleepwalker. I suppose I cannot expect you to think logically about your actions.”
You pompous, arrogant wretch—I am a Sleepwalker.
“May I give you my report, Lor Xenon?”
The Wolfsman nodded once. “On your feet, Warder. You are wiser than your companions.”
Justin rose as well, but kept his head down.
“A Kilshae?” Xenon asked Thealos in Silvan.
“He believes so, yes,” Thealos replied. “He is my friend regardless.”
“That doesn’t surprise me about you. Give me your report.”
Thealos swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth. The other Wolfsmen had formed a perimeter around them. Some observed the plains and forest while others kept a watchful gaze on each of Thealos’ companions. Flent moaned and stirred and Ticastasy shoved past Exeres to help him. She scowled at Xenon with a look that warned him never to step into a tavern of hers again for fear of hemlock in his wine.
“Keep him still, human. If he attacks me again, I’ll kill him.”
“You can try,” Flent grumbled, rubbing his scalp and burning a hateful glare at the man.
Thealos shot him a warning look. Don’t even think about it, Flent.
“Your report, Quickfellow. Out with it!”
“Very well. Ballinaire’s army is retreating back to the fortress of Landmoor, sir. The knights of Owen Draw are flanking them, riding hard to swing around the woods on the east side, near the Trident. But Ballinaire’s forces will get here first. He’ll try and re-take the castle.”
“What do you mean?”
“Was I unclear, sir?”
“The Bandits already control the keep, you fool. Why would Ballinaire need to reclaim it?”
“You are missing some information it seems. I’ve heard that the Shae army approaches from the south. The city is held by the commander of the Shoreland regiment. He’s rebelled against Ballinaire. I believe he might agree to terms if we approach him cautiously. A Pax.”
“You are so naïve.”
Thealos bit his lip. “I am.” He waited.
Xenon planted his hands on his hips and nodded out into the Shoreland moors where deep in the distance stood the green hill ridged with bastion walls. It was the size of a small stone in the distance. “The Princess of Avisahn received word from another Bandit battle commander. The real one that has rebelled against Ballinaire. He warned her of a trap being set for the Shae at Landmoor. He warned that Tsyrke Phollen would attempt to negotiate a Pax with us. He knows you are an heir of Quicksilver, boy. He wants you dead. The creature he sent to kill you failed in Avisahn and has been summoned back to Landmoor. The news you tell me is nothing more than a trap. There will be no Pax with the Bandit Rebellion.”
“That’s not true,” Ticastasy said, staring up at him coldly.
Xenon snorted and turned back to Thealos. “The rest in Silvan, our true language. We mistrust the Sleepwalker’s intentions for you. Laisha does not trust him and neither do I. Another heir of Quicksilver will be arriving soon. We will prepare to siege the keep.”
“That would be foolish, sir. They know our army is coming. They have magic…”
“I know more about wars than you ever will, boy. We won’t siege the castle. That would take too long, and you are right—there is Forbidden magic afoot down here. We all can feel it. Already Crimson Wolfsmen are slipping into the city each night. When the army is close enough to the walls, we will strike from within.” His eyes gleamed. “A Ravinjon. At long last.”
Thealos felt sick. He remembered meeting Mage in the tunnels beneath Landmoor. He remembered Justin’s ineffectual attack and how his Warder magic was snuffed out. The blade of Jade Shayler that Thealos had carried was burned and twisted, mangled into a warped shape.
“That would be incredibly dangerous, sir.”
“We do not shirk from danger, boy. The Bandits will fall. I promise you.”
“But you don’t understand the nature of your enemies. It’s not just Ballinaire.”
“And how would you know that?”
How to make Xenon believe him? How to make him understand about the Sorian?
Thealos saw Xenon’s leaf-blade sheathed at his side and he thought of a way to make the Wolfsman understand.
With a Sleepwalker’s reflexes, he stepped in and grabbed the hilt of Xenon’s blade. The Silvan magic burst alive and sung in the afternoon air, sending shocks of pleasure up Thealos’ arm. Xenon’s eyes went wild and angry, and he snatched at Thealos’ wrist to break his hold, but Thealos grabbed his hand with his other instead and clamped it to the pommel. The magic swirled between them, locking them both in a brief instant.
The other Wolfsmen drew their blades, the edges gleaming with blue fire.
Thealos knew how the blade’s magic worked. He understood its order and its functioning. It allowed a Crimson Wolfsman to channel memories and sight to his brothers, but only within a close distance. He had experienced its communal magic in the streets of Sol. The wellspring filled in the rest.
Thealos focused the Oath magic and maintained his grip on the blade, feeding it with his memory of Mage, the scent of death and wretchedness that surrounded all the Sorian, and how it had blasted Jade Shayler’s blade into oblivion and tossed Justin into the wall with hardly more than a glance.
“Enough!”
He fed them memories of the night they had run through the Bandit camp and how Jaerod had faced off against Miestri, how her magic had overcome him while they ran. He willed back every drop of fear and loathing he had experienced in their presence, the sense of shame that the fear brought with it, the paralyzing weakness of it all. Staring right into Xenon’s eyes, he gave over the memory of Sturnin’s death as the Deathbane dagger plunged into his stomach. The howl of pain as he died.
“That’s enough!”
Thealos gritted his teeth, his muscles bulging with the strain as he kept control of Xenon’s arm, squeezing it so tightly his own fingers ached. He gave them the vision of the massacre he had seen not long ago—the battered hulls of armor, disintegrating from the effects of Deathbane-tipped bolts. The stench of its poison, the danger of its dust, all these images he willed back into his mind with perfect clarity and fed it through the leaf-blade sword.
He let go of the hilt, knowing that Xenon would beat him again.
“How many Shae must die, Xenon?” he whispered, his voice slicing through the air like a breeze. He did not look at the faces of the other Wolfsmen to see their reactions. He had seen himself through their eyes already. “How many of your brothers are you willing to lose? The magic of the Crimson Wolfsmen will not save our people. You cannot save us. How many more must die before you realize that?”
Xenon shoved him, his face contorting as the images they had shared worked their way through his mind. “Do not blame me for the death of your family, boy. These things…these memories…they are because of you! By Keasorn! What have you unleashed in this valley? What has the…”
“No,” Thealos said, stepping towards him. “I do not blame you for what happened to my family, Xenon. You tried to outrun a creature that is faster than the wind. Even if you knew where it was going, you would have lost many of your quaeres if not all fighting it. My family is dead, and I cannot bring them back, not even with a trunkful of Everoot.” Sadness welled up inside him. Tears pricked his eyes. “But maybe they died so that your quaere could live. Maybe you lived so you could protect me while I go back to Landmoor. There is a magic there greater than all of your blades. Greater than a Sleepwalker’s power. Greater than the power of our enemies.”
“I trust in the Shae army. I trust in our people!”
“The Shae army cannot save us, Xenon. This sickness…this disease destroyed Sol-don-Orai. The Shae were powerless to stop it then. But we are not powerless now. Help me get back into Landmoor! Protect me so I can get the Silverkin.” It was close. It was very close. He saw the struggle in Xenon’s eyes.
He pitched his voice low. “It is the only thing that can save us. Would you rather they helped me?” He nodded towards Ticastasy and Flent. “Would you rather they be the only ones who save the Shae? The catacombs beneath the city are treacherous. I’ll need your wisdom and experience down there. I need you, Xenon! Help me!”
The Wolfsman reached and clenched his fist in Thealos’ shirt. “You are not prepared to lead this.”
“Then you lead. I will follow you.”
“How can I trust that, boy? You’ve defied me at every turn.”
“I won’t if we share the same cause. I came to the Shoreland to help. I came because the magic of the Silverkin called to me…even from Avisahn. It is powerful, Xenon. It is ancient magic. Silvan magic. Let me share with you what I’ve seen of the tunnels. Let me show you the path to the lair of the magic.”
“That communion is only allowed among brothers! You should know that…”
“I am your brother,” Thealos said. “I may not have walked the same Way as you. But I have communed with that magic. You remember it from Sol. It accepted me then. It accepted me now. If it still does…won’t you?”
Xenon’s gaze turned cold, aloof. “You have no right to the magic, boy. You have not earned it.”
“Let the magic decide that, Xenon. Please.”
A warm breeze tugged at their tunics and cloaks. The sound of a whippoorwill ghosted in the air.
Xenon’s expression hardened. He gritted his teeth. “Show us what you’ve seen of the tunnels. The way in. The way out. Some part of it may be useful to us.”
He drew the short sword, blade down, and left room on the pommel for Thealos to grab.
The memories flared to life again.
Chapter XXV
