King’s Wrath (47 page)

Elka couldn’t believe it. Was that blood on Loethar’s shirt? But Roddy was there! The aegis magic was in place. She’d seen it tested, knew it was sound.

She turned it over in her mind, her heart hammering with worry. And then it dawned on her. He had ordered Roddy to drop the protection so he could fight Stracker honorably.

She cursed silently and bit her knuckles: she was torn once again. Her good sense won out. Running down there would achieve little. She had no magical protection, and the truth was Loethar could turn his aegis back on with just a word to Roddy — a mere glance, in fact. He wasn’t going to die, she told herself. He wouldn’t let it happen. Not for Stracker. Not after Stracker had betrayed him.

She must trust Loethar. She had no choice. Besides, she couldn’t help but admit that she despised Leo and she intended to put a stop to whatever little plot he was hatching.

They were both tired now. Each had struck blows and both their bodies had suffered cuts, some serious enough to be bleeding freely and hurting a great deal; both were wearing each other’s blood on their clothes and in their hair. Certainly both swords glistened.

Loethar paused, swaying slightly, and took stock.

Four of the Greens had died the hideous death that Greven meted. Loethar had yelled an order for the Greens to scatter, which Stracker had reinforced, but the Greens had simply regrouped, too loyal to leave their most senior warriors, too dutiful to walk away from their king.

That they wouldn’t save themselves even as he begged them to run brought tears to Loethar’s eyes. There was only one thing for it, only one way to save another man’s face being obliterated. He could hear one screaming defiantly now as Greven began to rain down the next set of blows to the sound of Piven’s gleeful laughter.

And Vulpan counted monotonously on. Each time he reached twenty-nine, Piven would shout. ‘Next!’ to Greven and then he would turn to Vulpan and order ‘Again!’ before he returned his attention to the two bloodied fighters.

‘Loethar can’t last much longer. I won’t begin to describe to you what’s going on out there,’ Jewd whispered to Kilt.

Kilt, looked uncharacteristically tense. ‘She’s trying to work her way through this. She and Ravan are together. I don’t really know why she feels he is important but I think he keeps her calm.’

Jewd shook his head. ‘I feel we are done for here.’

‘No, old friend. I will keep you safe.’

‘That’s not good enough, Kilt. I’m worried about everyone else.’

‘What do you want me to do?’

‘Kilt, you’ve always been able to dream up the most inspired ideas. We’ve never needed that to work for us more than now.’

‘Genevieve is the door that unlocks this. I feel it.’

‘Why isn’t it Piven … or Loethar … or —?’

Kilt gave a look of exasperation. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know.’

‘Well why say it?’

‘It’s a feeling, that’s all.’

‘What feeling?’

Kilt paced. ‘I think it’s because we’ve all been drawn here. All the surviving Valisars —’

‘Not Leo.’

‘We don’t know where he is but we also don’t know that he isn’t here. There are four Valisars. We know three of them are here and it’s very possible the fourth is too, hiding somewhere out there.’ He pointed to nowhere in particular. ‘My magic feels somehow complete as though it’s sensing all of them. I could be wrong.’ He shook his head.

‘Go on.’

Kilt shrugged. ‘Genevieve arrived here first. No one bothers with this place. We’ve had our dealings with it over the years, and it’s no more than a convent on the edge of mountains that very few people move through; home to the Davarigons, a quiet race we see little of.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘My point is that Genevieve finds herself here after ten anni away from Penraven … since leaving our world. And lo and behold, we all start arriving. Why did we come here?’

Jewd shrugged. ‘Any number of reasons.’

‘But no specific reason. And then one by one, the others begin arriving … all the major players in this game of chess: the Valisars, their individual champions, even Valya and Stracker.’

‘It is like a game.’

‘Well, the gods are having fun at our expense, if it is. But everything points to Genevieve, and the legendary Valisar Enchantment that a surviving female royal would possess. The most potent of all.’

Jewd nodded and sighed. ‘The magic to cure all magics,’ he said and stood. ‘And while we’ve been here musing, Loethar’s probably dead. I’d better check.’ He turned to leave, then paused. ‘I meant what I said, Kilt. If Genevieve is the door that opens the secret chamber, then you are the key that unlocks that door. Use that clever mind of yours and show us the way.’

37

 

The sword fight had taken on a grim countenance. There was no more banter, no more baiting or taunting. The clash had settled into a dour contest that was no longer about strength or speed but about who wanted to live more. Gone were Loethar’s sparkling, crisp and inventive moves; he had resorted to parrying more than thrusting. His stance was defensive, his face a bleak mask of concentration.

His opponent meanwhile was tired enough that even his grunts sounded weary. Stracker was moving his legs as little as possible it seemed; he looked as though they had taken permanent root in the spot where he stood and from there alone he was hacking at his half-brother as though Loethar were a tree to be felled.

But Stracker was the aggressor and it was clear from his expression that he didn’t understand Loethar’s lack of attack. All provocation had fled and even his tatua couldn’t hide the frown that told anyone watching that he was sensing a ruse.

‘Fight me, Loethar,’ he urged, the first words to be exchanged since the last Green had fallen. Vulpan was up to nineteen and another man would be killed in ten counts.

Loethar couldn’t listen to another one die. He flung down his sword. ‘No more.’

Stracker was just struggling to lift his heavy blade for another blow. He stopped midway, confusion deepening beneath the markings on his face. ‘What?’

‘Kill me, Stracker. One last, clean, final blow.’

‘No!’ Roddy said from the background, where he had silently watched the entire horrible contest.

‘Quiet, Roddy. You may not defy me,’ Loethar growled. ‘Do it, Stracker.’

‘Why?’

Vulpan started again. ‘One … ’

‘I’m not going to let another Green die. I’ve taken long enough to reach this decision. I’ve let three die while I’ve pondered it! Now do it before another loses his life!’

‘This is not the way it should be. You’re just giving up?’

‘I’m giving up,’ he echoed, exasperated.

‘Then kill him, Stracker, and be done. I’m bored with you both,’ Piven said. ‘Shut up, Vulpan. Your reedy voice is giving me a headache and the smell of blood is spooking our horses. Greven,’ he called, ‘enough!’ Vulpan had already fallen silent, and Greven stood like a broken man, unrecognisable from the blood and gore that covered him.

Stracker stared with disbelief at Loethar. ‘Fight me!’

‘No. Kill me.’ Loethar sank to his knees. ‘Make it clean like a good barbarian.’

‘Rot in hell, Loethar. Get up and fight until you die. That’s the barbarian way.’

‘But not my way. I was always the intelligent one, Stracker. I always knew when to retreat.’

‘Except your “retreats” were usually tricks. Is this a trick?’

‘No. I have no weapon, I have no magical protection, my neck is exposed. I’m making it very easy for you. Now just end it.’

‘End it, Stracker, and be quick about it or I’ll start Greven killing again,’ Piven demanded.

‘You do it!’ Stracker said. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘But you love people on their knees cowering before you.’

Stracker rounded on Piven. ‘He’s not cowering. This is Loethar being defiant. Can’t you see? He’s defying both of us by making it so easy! Even in death he’s going to make himself a hero to my Greens.’

‘Lo! Open your eyes, Stracker. They will no longer take orders from you; he’s seen to that. I can’t kill him. That wretched aegis over there will sense any magic before it can touch him. And Loethar won’t stand for me to kill him. But you can. Or do you still want him knocking around, making a mockery of you? Because that’s what he does. He mocks you. You are nothing, Stracker, and he has seen to that.’

Stracker had stiffened with rage as Piven spoke. He turned back to Loethar and spoke in Steppes. ‘Go join your whore of a mother, your jade of a wife and your slut of a daughter in hell. Tell Ciara her Uncle Stracker says hello and I’ve sent her daddy to meet her.’

It was the mention of his precious child, the way her beautiful name rolled off Stracker’s tongue as though it were filthy, something to spit on. Of all the insults Stracker could have hurled at Loethar, this one was ill-chosen. Nothing in Loethar’s already seething and blood-drenched mind could permit him to allow the last pure image he possessed to be tarnished.

A heartbeat ago he had been prepared to die beneath Stracker’s blade, but no longer. With a roar of anguish, fresh fury giving him a new-found strength and impetus, he launched himself forward, reaching and grabbing the dagger that was sheathed at his thigh in one smooth, upward motion. Stracker’s arms were raised above his shoulders, his sword readying itself to swing down in a monstrous killing arc.

But Loethar’s full body weight, powered with rage, met Stracker’s wide-stance, well-exposed groin with a sickeningly dull thump. Not even Stracker’s legendary might could withstand such impact on such a tender, vulnerable region. He crumpled,
falling like a tree cut off at its base, his face twisted in agony as his stomach attempted to heave its contents. Snarling, Stracker tried to curl up but Loethar sat astride him.

He said nothing but without hesitation plunged his dagger into the throat of his enemy … and twisted once before lending his weight to drag his blade deeply and obscenely through Stracker’s thick neck, cutting through flesh and ropelike tendons. Predictably and instantaneously blood spumed in a massively strong spurt, dissipating for the second spume as Stracker’s choked death rattle began.

Loethar spoke in Steppe; as much as he despised the man he’d just killed, he was kin, and so he began to say the words of the prayer that sent a soul safely on its way. Stracker watched with steadily glazing eyes as Loethar prayed sombrely, his breath no longer laboured, death one last hearbeat away. And then the spark of life died in his eyes and Loethar knew his half-brother was gone.

He stood unsteadily, dragging his frame drunkenly from the corpse. Instantly he felt the aegis magic wrap itself around him like a comforting blanket of warmth, curing his ills. The wounds that could infect and take his life, the cuts that needed stitching were healed. Even the blood loss was stymied. Roddy was pouring strength into him and Loethar was shocked by how easily he straightened, stood proud again.

Loethar wiped the blood from his eyes and still without saying a word set about a grim task that had not been seen performed by a tribal man since his predecessor of two reigns previous deemed it unnecessarily savage. But scalping Stracker with his forehead intact — where the main tatua of his tribe and his status was displayed — was not about demeaning his kin’s body. It was out of the love he knew his mother held for both of them. He would send part of Stracker — perhaps the most important part — back to the land it was from to be burned; offered up peacefully to the gods in the hope that
Stracker would indeed find the peace that eluded him in his restless, empty and angry life.

A dread silence claimed the Greens, still no doubt chilled from the death of their own but mesmerised by Loethar’s bladework. When it was done, he held up the slippery flesh and spoke to them in their own language.

‘You will leave now. Take a part of each fallen warrior with you back to the Steppes and perform the ritual of Rok-ukk. They died badly today. They died sadly today. Their souls deserve peace.’

Men began climbing down from their horses and setting themselves to the challenge of salvaging anything from the heads of the men Greven had battered and crushed.

And it was Greven who broke the trance-like atmosphere at last.

‘Someone will make you pay for this atrocity, Piven,’ he threatened, a bloodied finger pointed at his gaoler.

‘Well, it’s not going to be you, Greven. And no other Valisar is getting through my defences and no other Valisar seems to have the stomach for —’

‘Is that so?’ said a new voice. ‘No stomach for what, Piven? For killing? Watch me, brother!’

Jewd whistled to him. ‘De Vis!’

Gavriel was still staring at the lifeless form of his brother; Lily was sitting nearby in a silence of her own private shock.

‘Who’s killed who? Frankly I don’t care any more.’ He stood reluctantly and began approaching Jewd, who was beckoning him anxiously. Lily trailed behind.

‘Loethar killed Stracker, which has some justice methinks. But that’s not what I’m talking about. Look!’

And now Gavriel could hear all the yells and the roar of something — a sound he couldn’t place. He bent his tall frame to peep through one of the holes in the wall and to his astonishment saw Leo hurling arcs of flame at the melee of Greens, who twisted
and thrashed on horses as man and beast burned into an obscenely blended form.

It was the most horrific sight he had ever witnessed. Leo’s mouth was a rictus of hate and Gavriel had no idea where this power was emanating from. Given everything Loethar and Kilt had said previously, Leo had almost no power to speak of.

‘Get Kilt,’ he murmured, too shocked to drag his gaze from the inferno outside as the smell of burning flesh assaulted him, began to make him gag.

Loethar moved first. The sight of his precious men dying in this manner was too much for him to bear. In an instant he was running.

‘Come to me, Loethar,’ Leo raged. ‘You can’t save any of them and I will not stop until the last one lies dead and scorched in the way you roasted my father.’

‘It’s me you want!’ Loethar roared.

‘But you have your aegis, so I’ll take my kingly wrath out on them.’

‘You can have me,’ Loethar yelled above the screams of the dying.

Kilt, Evie and Ravan came running to the forecourt. Kilt couldn’t take the restricted view of the peepholes any longer and wasted no time scaling his way to the top of the convent’s flat roof. Ravan followed, helping the princess, who insisted she see as well.

What confronted them was too shocking to digest: men, horses, trees, grass, even the earth looked to be on fire. But the maelstrom left the magically protected untouched. It was so barbaric that Kilt began to yell.

‘Genevieve, you have to stop this! It is within your power.’

Up on her ledge, Elka’s tolerance had dried up. If Loethar’s body language was telling her anything, it was that he was offering himself to Leo: the savage anguish on his blood-streaked face, the way he was opening up his arms to his nephew, the look he threw back at Roddy.

No. No … no … no! She would not lose Loethar this way to a crazed Leonel.

Without giving herself another moment to reconsider, Elka raised her catapult, took aim and released the stone that she’d been weighting in her hand since she’d first clapped eyes on the Vested with their arms all linked and their glazed looks.

And with the practised skill of an experienced hunter, Elka’s aim was true, striking the temple of her prey with a crisp and savage force that first cracked and then splintered her skull. The woman was unconscious directly on being hit and died in that state not long later, her rosy cheeks burning as the firestorm had been.

Elka had already ducked back into the safety of cover, blending superbly with her rocky surrounds, but she could see that Leo was already beginning to turn, with a look of genuine savagery.

No more hiding, she decided. Crawling backwards, away from the Vested, who looked suddenly disoriented and weary as their power was disrupted, she was soon jogging down the incline and back in the direction of the convent. She would be at Loethar’s side; even if he couldn’t protect her, she would never leave him again while she still lived.

A deathly quiet blanketed the convent as everyone tried to take in the infernal scene outside. Bodies lay melted and entwined around each other in a deathly embrace, some still burning, others smouldering. The stench of crackled, bubbled and fried flesh and hair, leather and fabric blended into a revolting odour that had the unprotected gagging where they stood in their disbelief and horror.

Kilt knew that unless Genevieve acted now, the land — even the world as they knew it — might never recover. Not with madmen like Piven and Leo on the loose.

They had to be stopped. Their magic had to be quashed. It had to be possible or the Valisar Enchantment would not exist. Genevieve’s whole point of being … her very existence had no meaning if not to be a weapon against this very situation.

He began murmuring while Leo and Piven swapped accusations and threats. He couldn’t hear Loethar’s voice in the fray.

‘The serpent god and Cormoron made an agreement. In exchange for the Valisar powers of invincibility, she made a proviso that one alone would have the greatest of all powers,’ Kilt said.

Ravan picked up on his prattlings. ‘A female.’

‘That’s right. But the magic was so great that no females survived.’

‘The females never survived because they were never needed,’ Ravan suddenly offered.

‘What? Is that right?’ Evie asked.

‘Yes,’ Ravan said, blinking once, slowly.

‘Until now,’ Kilt said, picking up that new thought and moving forward. ‘Ten anni ago providence played its unpredictable part.’

‘No, before then,’ Ravan counselled. ‘Darros stepped outside of the family and sowed a wild seed.’

‘He was the first?’

Ravan nodded. ‘Curiously, yes. Cyrena had won a promise from Cormoron that no Valisars would be born outside the family hierarchy.’

‘And everyone obeyed.’

‘The Valisars are dutiful, honourable. And seemed to beget single sons.’

‘Until Brennus.’

Ravan smiled. ‘Yes. Fate dealt a terrible hand. Several Valisars were born, each of them strong in their magic. Strong in their
convictions too. They were destined to clash, to challenge the crown, particularly with Loethar born outside of the normal hierarchy.’

‘And so Genevieve was born.’

‘Genevieve and then presumably the daughter that Loethar sired,’ Ravan reminded. ‘It appears Cyrena was taking no chances.’

Kilt looked over to where the argument between Piven and Leo still raged. He saw Elka scrambling down the hill, and above her, a ragtag group peeked out from behind a well-protected ledge. An old man and an older woman had arrived near Leo. Who in Lo’s name were they? His gaze was dragged away and down to where Jewd and Gavriel leaned against the wall, looking helpless.