Guilty as Sin (22 page)

“Flesshy one!” it called.

“What?” Veryl struggled with his restive mount, bouncing in the saddle.

“Bring goodss as promissed, yess?” The Hssrdan leaned back on its tail. The long

jaw fell open so it could pick at its yellowed teeth with a single claw. Michael thought

he caught a glimpse of mottled tongue.

Veryl blanched. With a jerky nod, he reefed the
vran
toward the road and gave the

animal its head. In a few seconds, they
‟
d clattered out of sight.

Immediately, the SpurCorporal began hissing orders. The TailSoldiers cracked their

whips, the slaves hustled, and soon enough the Hssrdan caravan creaked out of the

glade, the
herdbeasts
turning away from Sere to plod south toward Crastin Market. The

slaves stumbled along in the rear, choking on dust.

Gradually, the forest sounds reasserted themselves, the breathy sigh of the breeze

through the leafy canopy, the occasional bird call, a distant burble of water.

108

Michael turned his head to find Dax
‟
s face no more than an inch or so away. “I

think,” he said conversationally, “I should gut the man and leave him for the carrion

eaters.”

Spots of angry color burned on the Aetherii
‟
s broad cheekbones. “I get that, I really

do.” His lips drew back in a wolfish grin. How was it Michael had failed to notice those

perfect teeth, large and white and sharp? “But we
‟
re going to turn him over to the

Prince
‟
s justice.”

“Care to bet?”

“Not with you, thief, remember?” The muscled weight of Dax
‟
s tail fell away from

Michael
‟
s leg and immediately, he missed the silky constricting hold of it on his flesh

“Think about the law in Sere,” the Aetherii said. “First he
‟
ll be tortured—and you

know as well as I do the Prince employs experts—then there
‟
s the execution.” His teeth

gleamed again, his breath puffing sweet and warm against Michael
‟
s hair. “Being hung,

drawn and quartered is a terrible way to die.”

“I know.” Michael shrugged out of Dax
‟
s arms, stepping across to another branch.

“I
‟
m going down,” he said.

Smoothly, he began to descend, ignoring the cold, sick feeling in the pit of his

stomach. He had few illusions about courage under torture. Years ago, he
‟
d resolved to

cut his own throat before he let the Palace guards take him.

Dax watched Michael as he swung from branch to branch, nimble and confident.

He could have flown them both down to the narrow stream burbling away at the base

of the slope, partially screened by a thick stand of trees, but now that he
‟
d finally

released the thief, the respite from tension was a welcome breathing space. The gods

knew what tricks the other man would play on the way home, how he
‟
d take

advantage. Another kiss? A grope? It didn
‟
t bear thinking of, except of course, that he

was
thinking of it.

His lips thinned. Michael could damn well behave himself or walk.

The thief made his way down the slope, graceful and sure-footed even in the leaf

litter and bracken. Reaching the tree line, he turned, threw a last fathomless glance in

Dax
‟
s direction and moved to crouch by the water. Between the trees, glimpses of his

shirt—a sleeve, a shoulder—glimmered in the fading afternoon light.

It was very quiet in the glade, no birdsong, no insect calls. Dax frowned, all the fine

feathers on his body lifting. Michael cupped water in his hands and splashed his face.

Slowly Dax rose until he stood fully upright on the branch, his wings unfolding,

spreading. Oblivious, the thief squatted easily on his heels, drying his face on his sleeve.

Michael was city bred, he wouldn
‟
t notice the unnatural silence, the—

A Hssrdan burst out of the undergrowth on the other side of the stream and

launched itself across the water, straight at the crouching figure. For all its bulk, it

moved blindingly fast, the serrated edge of its halberd slicing through the air at

Michael
‟
s head. The thief swayed back, leaping to his feet, but as he did so, a piercing

whistle split the silence. A second Hssrdan appeared from downstream, lolloping

109

toward the man on all fours, covering the ground with horrifying speed. TailSoldiers

both, with Michael trapped between them.

Later, Dax had no memory of taking to the air. He came back to himself halfway

down the hill, locked in an insanely dangerous dive, his wings tucked back for

streamlining. With instinctive skill, he twisted and turned on reflex, low-hanging

branches whipping past in a blur. Twigs lashed at his face, stinging, but he scarcely

noticed.

Michael
‟
s blade flashed as he ducked and dodged, moving away from the water,

the first Hssrdan stalking him, its long jaw agape. The creature
‟
s tail lashed around,

clipping the thief on one ankle. Michael stumbled, slipped—and it was on him.

Encouraged, its companion hissed and put on a spurt.

Rip the Veil, Michael didn
‟
t stand a chance. Deliberately, Dax angled his approach

so he came hurtling out of the setting sun, hitting the second Hssrdan in the back with

bone-jarring force, a storm front of muscle, feathers and murderous fury.

The impact forced a hissing grunt out of the creature, but it recovered quickly,

swiping back over its shoulder with a taloned paw and ripping out a couple of feathers.

The pain was real enough, but Dax barely registered it. He clung to the hulking

shoulders, using his wings as a counterbalance, while the TailSoldier bucked beneath

him like a maddened
vran
. From farther upstream came scuffling, hoarse breaths and an

angry cry, abruptly cut off.

No, no—!

Shoving an arm under the Hssrdan
‟
s snout, Dax pushed up with all his strength.

His muscles creaked, burning with effort. Hissing, the creature reached back to grab the

leading edge of one wing and hauled him forward, claws sinking through feather and

flesh to grate on bone. Gritting his teeth, Dax let it take him, digging his knees into the

scaly spine so as not to be pulled right over.

More thrashing from nearby. His guts cramped.
Michael. Gods, Michael!

Dax drew his blade, surged forward and plunged it into his enemy
‟
s neck under the

jaw. The Hssrdan gave a gurgling bellow. Teeth bared, Dax twisted viciously. Green

ichor flowed over his knuckles, warm and slippery.

“C
‟
mon, c
‟
mon,” he muttered. Another gouge. “Fuck it,
die!
”

The TailSoldier swayed, listed and toppled over like a felled tree.

Before it hit the ground, Dax leaped aside, whirled and half ran, half flew, propelled

by his mighty wings.

The original Hssrdan had Michael clasped against its front in a ghastly embrace, the

halberd abandoned in favor of crushing his ribs. Dax was no more than six feet away

when the other man made a backbreaking effort to free himself. His lips pulling back in

a snarl, he succeeded in straightening one arm. When something small and glittering

fell into his hand, he thrust it into the creature
‟
s belly without an instant
‟
s hesitation,

working it in between the scales. Dax growled in his throat. Ah yes, a poniard, narrow

and evil. That had to hurt.

110

With a furious hiss, the Hssrdan pushed the thief away, jerked the blade out as if it

were a hatpin and tossed it over one shoulder. Before Dax could intervene, Michael

flexed his other hand and in a single smooth movement, almost negligent, flipped a

small throwing knife point first into one of the slitted eyes.

Instantly, the TailSoldier clapped both paws to its eye, a guttural roar filling the

clearing. The thief spun away, light as a dancer, yet another dagger in his fist. Where in

the gods
‟
names did he keep them all?

Michael
‟
s glance flicked from Dax to the Hssrdan, now advancing once more, its

remaining eye gleaming madly. “Stay back,” he rasped, falling into a fighter
‟
s crouch.

“An
‟
watch the tail.”

Fuck that
. Rage swept through Dax like a cleansing fire, burning away all fear and

uncertainty, leaving only a trained Pinion warrior, a Second who
‟
d never been

sufficiently motivated to kill like a First.

Until now.

Using the power of his mighty Aetherii muscles, Dax leaped, one wing swinging

around to connect hard with the small of the Hssrdan
‟
s back. The blow would have

snapped the spine of a Grounded, it knocked the TailSoldier off its feet, sending it

sprawling in the bracken. Smoothly, he pivoted, and in a single movement, brought his

naked blade around and across the TailSoldier
‟
s throat. He danced away, panting.

With a soft swish and a hideous gurgle, the flesh parted, green blood spurted and

the creature shuddered and died.

“Well, fuck,” said Michael into the silence. “I wanted to do that.” He glanced at the

bulk of the other Hssrdan, lying at the edge of the water and his lips moved in a

mirthless smile. “Greedy.”

“Too bad.” Dax
‟
s knees shook. Unobtrusively, he leaned against a handy tree. “You

all right?” He narrowed his gaze, resisting the urge to pick up the thief and check him

over inch by inch. “I don
‟
t see any blood. Red blood, I mean.”

“I was lucky.” Prodding at his side, Michael sucked in a harsh breath. “Mighta

cracked a—” His eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute.”

A couple of hasty steps and he was plucking at Dax
‟
s shirt. “Twister, there
‟
s blood

all over yer shoulder. Why didn
‟
t ye say?” He tried to press him down, but Dax

resisted. Michael
‟
s voice dropped a full octave. “Show me.”

Dax started to shrug then winced. “I lost a few feathers. Got my wing clawed.” The

wounds throbbed.

“Hssrda are filthy. If we don
‟
t clean it, you
‟
ll get an infection. Sit.” Michael scowled.

“Right the fuck now.”

With a quiet sigh of relief, Dax slid down the trunk of the tree and settled on the

ground. He gestured at the fallen Hssrda. “The caravan left, so what were these two

doing? And more to the point, we should get out of here.”

111

Rather gingerly, Michael took hold of the injured wing and draped it over his knee.

“I should have known,” he said. “TailSoldiers always outnumber officers. Stands to

reason, doesn
‟
t it? This pair were the rearguard. The ClawCaptain probably sent

another couple out ahead as advance scouts. Caravan
‟
s long gone, must be halfway to