B0161NEC9Y (F) (2 page)

“Quick kills and we move on,” Kallon said as he drew a knife for each hand. “Close quarters. Aim only for those most skilled. Let the townspeople have their revenge on the others.”

“And the officer?” the curvy woman asked, holding a dagger at the ready.

“Quick kill, like the rest.
Chulan
said to make haste. This is a distraction from our true purpose.”

“A nice distraction, though. Killing Graygual is a wonderful hobby.” A man who had come out of the shadows gave a throaty laugh. He nodded at Jezzia before tossing her a well-worn shirt.

“Who are you?” Jezzia asked as she pulled the garment over her head gratefully. It smelled clean, regardless of its appearance.

“To you?” Kallon glanced at her before turning away. “We are vengeance incarnate.”

They moved out of the barn in a strange synchronicity, Jezzia steered by a middle-aged man with streaks of gray at his temples. Twelve in all, with at least another two left behind, the group stayed in a tight cluster, keeping her at the middle.

“You’ll lead the way to this master,” the curvy woman said as they moved along the outside of the barn wall, staying mostly to the shadows where they could. “We’ll cut off his head for you. After that, you’ll need to organize everyone. Sound the alarm.”

“What alarm?” Jezzia asked, almost jogging to keep pace.

“The alarm that brings your friends out of their stupor,” the aging man said. He was more severe than the others. As moonlight sprinkled down on them, she saw sorrow etched in every line of his face, a haunted look in his eyes. Jezzia wondered what he wanted more—to deliver death, or be taken by it.

“What has happened to you?” Jezzia whispered.

“The same thing that happened to you. My revenge will take longer, though. But I will have it, just as you will. We are kindred, you and I. Only in death will we be free from the pain.”

“Tulous is an uplifting sort of fellow.” The man who had laughed in the barn drifted to her side. “Not a great joke teller, though. Don’t bother asking.”

As they reached the edge of the square, their progress slowed. Two shapes lay near the middle, men lying on their faces. Silence descended around them.

“Who…?” Jezzia vaguely waved a finger at the bodies. “And…the men playing cards. Usually they stay up until all hours…”

The man next to her touched his temple. “I’m a crack shot with the ol’ thinker, don’t you worry. I’m no
Chulan
, but I’m no slouch, either.”

“Sayas.” Kallon’s voice cracked like a whip.

The man next to Jezzia closed his mouth and winked at her.

“Split up.” Kallon glanced to his right. At his nod, four people took off on silent feet, moving like wisps of smoke. Three more loped away left. Kallon’s gaze landed on her. “Lead the way.”

“But where are they going?” Jezzia whispered.

“They will take out the best of the guards. The ones keeping watch on your supplies. There are only a couple. We saw them coming in,” Sayas explained.

Jezzia’s eyes locked on the dead bodies in the middle of the square. When death had last graced the packed dirt, it had been her father and mother, holding her little brother as they had all tried to escape. She’d been ripped from their arms moments before the Graygual ran swords through them.

No one had tried to escape after that. They hadn’t dared. Until tonight.

Agony welled up. Instead of turning to sorrow, as was usual, though, it flash-boiled into rage, matching the passion of those around her. She turned on Sayas, her mind fueled with fire. “If you saw them when you came in, why not kill them then? You obviously know what their kind do, so why wait until you’re confronted with guilt before helping?”

“Ohhh.” A smirk dusted Sayas’ face. His eyes flashed. “She’s got some fight in her. No wonder they want her. She’d produce great fighters.”

“And if we were staying longer, I’d teach her how to use a knife so she could cut out your tongue for that comment,” the curvy woman said in a dry tone.

“Forgive me.” Sayas gave Jezzia a slight bow before nudging her toward the empty space of the square. Kallon had already started moving. “That was a horrible thing to say.”

“We don’t want to leave a trail for Xandre to follow.” Kallon glanced back at her. “If we help everyone we pass, we will only save a few before the Graygual descend in large numbers. If we wait and reach our destination alive, we can hopefully save the whole of the land before the Elders call us home.”

“So why now?” Jezzia’s gaze constantly darted to the shadows. On a normal night, someone might be waiting in those shadows, watching. The watchers knew who moved around, and when. If anything looked suspicious, the Graygual would pay a visit. Soon after, the screaming would begin.

“You were right. Guilt.” Kallon led the way to a small gap between two buildings. They huddled into the shadows. The vast, empty square pushed against their backs, reminding them that they were still largely in the open.

“Just over there is an alley,” Jezzia said with an earnest voice. She stepped in that direction, but Sayas pulled her back. His smile was gone. He shook his head, keeping his eyes on Kallon.

A man, tall and broad, faced the wide-open square. The curvy woman looked away to the right. Kallon’s head was tilted, his eyes on the woman, as if listening.

“Beyond the edge of the next building is the main road.” Jezzia pointed in the direction the woman was facing. She glanced across the square to where the road went by the stables. “But you probably knew that. It’ll have the most Graygual, though.”

“Too many,” the curvy woman said in a tight voice. “Too many for haste, and a waste mentally.”

“Agreed.” Kallon’s gaze hit Jezzia again. “We’ll take the alley.”

Kallon jogged ahead, stopping at the corner and looking around. The tall, broad man crossed and waited at the other corner. Sayas remained by Jezzia’s side as they hurried into the alley. The others poured in behind, quickly catching them up and overtaking, keeping Jezzia in the middle. Black pooled along the ground, only a filtered light from the moon dusting the walls.

“Mela.”

At Kallon’s voice, the curvy woman jogged out in front of the others, reaching the end of the alley first.

“Wait! There are usually—”

Jezzia broke off as Mela’s sword flashed, drawn from its sheath. She turned the corner of the alley, lost from sight. A single cry of pain sounded a moment later, followed by a second.

“Which way?” Kallon asked, urgency in his voice.

“Left. We go left,” Jezzia answered, out of breath.

Mela rejoined them as they reached the end of the alley. Behind her, filling a smaller lane, lay two Graygual. Blood pooled around their bodies. One’s face held shock, the other, pain.

“A woman against two Graygual.” Jezzia’s voice was wispy. Sayas helped guide her. “A
woman.
Women fighting alongside men. I saw the weapons but I thought that was a rumor…”

“Which way?” Kallon said.

Jezzia led the way as her mind buzzed. Rumors and myths floated through her memory. Hushed stories of heroism and whispered words of hope rose to the surface. An end to all of this horror had been promised.

One name tumbled out of her mouth. “The Wanderer.”

“Who is this Wanderer we keep hearing about?” Sayas asked as Jezzia doggedly came to a stop in the shadowed space across from Master’s back door. The house used to belong to Sheridan, the town’s most prosperous merchant. He was killed when he refused to let the Graygual through.

“There are three men in there,” Kallon said, his head tilted to the side again. “And three women. Are all of those women…?”

Jezzia shivered, drawing in on herself.

Kallon nodded as if she had voiced her answer. He stood straight and still, staring at the house. As if on cue, the groups he’d sent earlier drifted back in from the sides, silent, but somehow communicating. It was like a practiced dance, each party having rehearsed the steps a million times, and now putting on a choreographed show.

“These Graygual are fat and complacent,” one of the returning men said. “Easily taken down. Even the one with three stripes. They’ve seen no opposition in a while. They aren’t expecting any resistance.”

“It fits with what we’ve seen so far,” Kallon said. “Townspeople?”

“We didn’t make any sound. They are hiding in their homes, hoping no one comes knocking on their door. Like all the towns we’ve passed. Like our own town.”

“Our town was lying in wait, not hiding.”

“In these times, hopefully that is the same thing. We will see soon.”

Kallon gritted his teeth. “Yes. Go back out. Kill every Graygual you see. Rouse the town. Mela, Sayas, and I will take these.”

“All three of you?”

Kallon glanced back at Jezzia. “There are three captives. We bring the fourth. I want them safe.”

“The Graygual are cowards,” Sayas said quietly to Jezzia. “They’ll kill all their captives if they think it will help them get out alive. Or if they are certain, they die. They will kill their captives at the first sign of trouble.”

Jezzia gulped, fear bubbling up for her friends, one of which had moved into the town with the Graygual under golden lock and key. To the onlooker, they were pampered and treated well, given everything a rich wife might want. And if it were their choice, it would be a wonderful life, indeed.

If it were their choice.

Unspeakable rage welled up in Jezzia again. “Can I have a sword?” she asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” Sayas answered as the groups moved off as silently as they’d come.

“Why?” Jezzia faced him. “Because I’m a woman?
Your
women fight.
They
all carry swords. Why can’t I?”

“They know how to use them. You might stab yourself.”

“Here.” Kallon handed her a knife, point down. Those hard eyes pinned her to the spot. As she took it, his other hand came up, fast as lightning, and covered hers. Seriousness bled through his gaze. “Killing will not make the pain go away. It will not cure your suffering, or heal your wounds. Recovering your freedom is the way forward. Peace and tranquility is what you seek. That is what your heart desires. I see it in your eyes. I read it in your bearing. I do not advise using this knife. Not if you don’t have to, and with us here, you won’t.”

“Then why are you giving it to me?”

“Because we won’t always be here. And because I can’t tell you how to grant your own salvation. Only you can do that.”

Tears welled up unexpectedly. When he let go, she brought the knife closer. “I understand.”

He watched her for one more heartbeat before turning back to the house. Sayas stayed beside her, Mela next to Kallon.

They waited in silence. Just waited, and watched.

A hawk screeched in the distance. Someone shrieked in the house. Jezzia squeezed the handle of her blade.

A hoarse scream tore through the night from the distance. Flickering lights danced to life in a few windows. More screams and shouts.

Kallon and Mela started forward, as if one of them had said “go!”

“You stay behind me at all times,” Sayas told Jezzia as she stepped forward after them. “You stay safe above all else. If the worst happens, run. Got it?”

“No. This is my fight, too.”

“This will be your deathbed unless you listen to me.”

Kallon and Mela scaled the steps gracefully, like dancers. Jezzia trudged after them, anxiety and adrenaline making her hands shake and her teeth chatter. She hadn’t felt the cold like this for some time.

They burst through the door and hustled through the kitchen, pausing when showered with the illumination of a roomful of candles. Three girls jumped up from the couch, wide-eyed and terrified. Master burst out of his chamber, pulling on his shirt. The two other Graygual were each at a window at the front, no doubt alerted by the disturbance.

“Remember us, you sludge?” Sayas said in a voice out of a nightmare. He tossed a knife up in the air, caught it by the blade, and threw. The blade blossomed in the neck of one of the Graygual at the window. The man garbled out a scream, clutching his throat as blood welled up between his fingers.

Mela danced forward, lithe and agile, dagger in her hand. The other Graygual turned from the window, a sword coming up. His knees bent, ready for her. She stopped her advance just out of his reach, waiting as patiently as if he was pouring tea.

“I thought we had killed all of your kind,” Master growled, holding up his sword.

Kallon stared at him through smoldering, hate-filled eyes. “That was the plan. Do up your laces. I’d hate for you to die thinking you could’ve bested me if only you had tied your boots.”

Sayas chuckled as the other Graygual struck at Mela. She turned a fraction, the movement small, but his sword sliced through the air beside her, the blade so close it rustled the fabric of her top. She stabbed, the action as beautiful as it was lethal. Her dagger sliced his sword arm, making him grunt. His sword clattered to the ground, his hand going lifeless.

“Dismal. Very out of practice, ay?” Mela stepped forward and stabbed again. He tried to move as she had done, but his movements were jarring and clumsy. He couldn’t get out of the way in time.

Her blade pierced his side. He grunted again, and staggered. His body fell against the wall. Blood stained the floor in bright red splashes.

The movement of Master drew Jezzia’s gaze. She cried out as his sword struck. Kallon batted the blade to the side lazily. Master was ready again, lunging almost immediately. Kallon batted that one away, too, stepping back. Master stepped forward, striking. They had reached the mouth of the hallway, Master chasing the other man across the floor.

“Help him!” Jezzia cried, her knuckles white where they gripped the hilt of her knife. She stepped forward, trying to aid him, but Sayas grabbed her. “Let me go—he needs help! Master is an excellent swordsman.”

“Kallon, we don’t have time for this,” Mela said.

Kallon showed his teeth to the Graygual in a silent growl. “Our duty is keeping you from the slow death you deserve.” He stepped forward and to the side, his movements suddenly so fast they were nearly lost to the eye. His blade flicked and moved, like a living thing, slashing fabric and skin alike.