CHAPTER SIXTY
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Wynu M’Nay
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28th of Decepter, 935 PC
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Each crunch of snow beneath Wynu’s boots was another reason to miss the warm weather and sandy beaches of DuVale. Oh, how he missed DuVale and all its glory. He’d do anything to feel the cool breeze and warm sand along the coast rather than wind that could chill him to the bone through three layers of clothes. Hours of training on the beach, that was his idea of a day. He cherished the years and years he’d spent pushing himself to the limits of his mental and physical capabilities. During breaks he would stare at the floating castle high above the water as he devoured whatever his grandmother had packed him that morning. The Lotus Queen’s courage to slay tyrants was his inspiration. And because of that, he’d joined her army with one goal in mind; to be the greatest Lotus to ever fight for Iris Everton. That goal made a name for him amongst his officers. That’s why he was out here freezing in the cold with these prideless degenerates. Because he could be counted on to do so and not complain. Or fail. Or die.
His purpose should have been simple. He was to travel with the obnoxious one and her witless followers until she revealed the location of Steppe and the Marsallas. Then he would slit their throats and steal back their lotus capsules. After that, all he’d have to do is head to the rendezvous point and wait for his praise. His promotion. A week in the Emerald Forest, that’s all it should have taken. Two weeks at most. But then Tessille got that message from Kathar, telling her he’d meet her at the bridge. Three days they waited on him and that insufferable murderer, Gant. Three days of cold wind and snow. Three days of listening to them denounce the Lotus Queen. Their queen! All because they weren’t perfectly content with the conditions of the army. It’s an army. They were soldiers. No soldier has it easy. You fight to survive. Prove your worth. Then you reap the benefits of your hard work. Duty above all else! It didn’t matter now. They were all dead and he had failed. A fact he was yet to come to terms with.
He had thought the Hounds could be trusted now that the Lotus Queen had forged an alliance with the mercenaries. He had thought they could be trusted to capture Gant and leave the rest of them unscathed but apparently they were still as savage as ever. They would have to be to put an arrow in a boy that young. Still, that paled in comparison to the sheer pleasure with which Gant killed his enemies. The look in his eye was that of a man possessed. Wynu couldn’t believe what he’d seen when Gant slit Tessile’s throat. And for no other reason but proximity. He knew he had to get out of there before Gant turned on him and lords knew he would.
The snow crunched one last time as he came to a stop at a bumpy log about five miles from where they’d been. Silence had always intrigued him. It was an incomprehensible wonder of the world with its ability to be nothing yet fill any amount of space. In this case, a forest the size of a small sea.
He sat down, placing his knapsack between his knees. It would have sunk into the snow back when they had set off from the Cloudcruiser. Now, with supplies as limited as they were, it barely disturbed the white ground he’d grown so tired of. He found his private stash of lotus capsules and placed one on his tongue, letting the powdery residue on its surfaces relax him. What an incredible creation, like no other in history, and that included those of The Creator. Where she had disregarded equality, The Lotus Queen had provided it.
The black inkpot and a tattered book of parchment were all that was left in his knapsack. He laid both on the log carefully. When he was ready, he pulled the glove from his writing hand and cursed as it was instantly consumed by the wretched bitterness of a Mornish winter. Duty above all else. A quill awaited him between the pages of the book. The dollop of hazy light coming from his fingernails was enough to see the lines swirling and curling across the parchment. The letters went from elegant to nearly illegible as more and more dexterity escaped his freezing fingers. Despite how badly he wanted to rush through tearing the parchment from the book and shove his glove back on, he took his time so as not to accidentally ruin the message. When he was done, he rolled the note up tightly and tied a thin cord around it. He sat there squeezing his hands in hopes of warming them, waiting for the feeling to come back fully.
He was still working on his hands when a spear glanced off the top of the log several feet away from him, stripping the forest of its impressive silence before half-sinking into the snow nearby. He didn’t turn. He didn’t move. “Throwing a spear takes finesse. Something you lack,” Wynu said.
Snow crunched; several steps but nothing rapid. There was still time to prepare.
“Would you like me to teach you?” Wynu asked.
“Fuck the games, westerner. I’ve been through this long enough to know your type.” The crunching stopped when there were only a few feet between them. “Turn around. Let’s get this over with.”
Wynu closed his eyes and called upon the Lotus Queen for her protection as he opened and closed his hands repeatedly to get the blood flowing faster. When he turned he was met by Gant’s emotionless stare. The kind that helps keep a man from making memories of what he was about to do. For a moment, Wynu considered putting a black hole in Gant’s chest but that’s not what the queen desired. He had to bring this beast to her alive or die trying.
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“The old way. The way it was meant to be,” Urman said. “No weapons.” He nodded toward Wynu’s hands. “None of that shit.”
“A hunter only needs his bow to catch his prey. You’ve done that part for me.”
“Toss the dagger,” Urman said. “The one ya killed the big gal with. The one ya said ya lost.”
No reason to lie now. He’d been too concerned with putting Seph out of her misery to keep up his ruse. Never know when a hidden weapon might come in handy with a man like Gant around. Wynu removed his sheath from his waist and laid the weapon on the log respectfully.
Urman walked toward him cautiously, still eyeing Wynu’s lethal hands.
“Is your fighting as predictable as-” Wynu stopped when the commoner charged like a bull. He backpedaled quickly, doing his best to keep his footing. The snow wasn’t terribly different from sand, but it was not the same either.
Urman planted a boot on the log between them and launched himself into the air, arms wide, face still blank. Wynu thrust himself forward, catching the flying man on his shoulder. Briefly. Gant was a dense frame, all muscle. The collision sent them both to the ground. They rolled and scrambled frantically. Little thought, mostly movement. An elbow cracked Urman’s jaw. A fist broke Wynu’s nose. There were grunts now. Shared blood. Hateful respect grew between them quickly, both knowing this would be a brawl.
Somehow they ended up apart. The brute was exactly that; brutish. Urman was unable to get to his feet nimbly in the slippery snow so he crawled like a bear to catch Wynu with his powerful paws. Wynu crawled faster though, rising to his feet as he moved. Wynu bounced on the balls of his feet. Partially from adrenaline, partially from the fucking snow all over his hands and face. Urman snarled and spit blood as he finally rose from the ground – his eyes were black and empty. Heartless.
Wynu wiped his lips. Urman licked his own.
He started to open his mouth but Urman charged again. Wynu stuck his foot in the ground but there was no ground to stick to. He slipped and fell to a knee. His shoulder took the brunt of the collision. He landed on his side beneath the monster. Blood flew from Urman’s mouth as he unleashed a hellacious barrage of heavy fists. Ribs. Arms. Chest. Everything ached, burned, hurt to move. He caught a groove in the rhythm of Urman’s punches quickly though and found his spot to strike back. Quick like a snake. He caught Urman under the jaw, sending more blood flying. Urman’s dense frame went nowhere. Instead, he simply laced his hands above his head and brought them down like a hammer. Wynu caught both his wrists. Noises. So many noises. Grunts. Screams. A fucking frenzy of noises as they glared at each other, Urman trying to rip his hands free, Wynu doing everything he could to hold them. He had to stop the assault until he could gather himself. Then… a blast of lotus flung Urman and his powerful arms backward into the snow.
Wynu was on his feet instantly. Only after it was clear the beast was injured did he try to put his hands on his head to catch his breath. It hurt his ribs too badly to stretch them, forcing him to bend over. “Get up.” The words came out between heavy breaths.
“Fuck you,” Urman said, staring at him from between his spread knees. “You lying piece of shit.”
“Come on. It was hardly anything. Just enough to even the odds.”
Urman spat bloody phlegm at him before rolling onto his elbow and pushing himself up with his tender wrists. “I’m gonna snap your fuckin’ neck.” There was no charging bull this time. He wasn’t sure what Urman was this time as he walked toward him slowly. Death embodied? “If I were you, I’d run.”
Wynu crouched, ready for the attack. Good thing too because Urman wasn’t just trying to kill Wynu, he wanted the world dead. Fists slammed into Wynu like an avalanche of fury. His ribs. His stomach. His kidney. The blow to his kidney dropped him to his knee. The next blow caught him in the temple. Everything was black for a second. Then white and cold. Then red too.
Urman’s boot broke a rib. Multiple. He could tell by how sharp the pain was. Wynu rolled onto his back, knowing his stomach would lead to death. Lords, his back might too. Urman was on him again. Nowhere to go. He should have run. That’s all he could think about as the fists rained down on his face. He should have run. He should have run fast and far. He could barely see Urman load up for a finishing blow through his swollen eyes. A mistake. A chance. He put his hands on Urman’s thighs and let a blast tear through his legs. The beast roared in agony yet it still took every ounce of his strength to get Urman off of him. He was breathing like a terrified child as he scrambled away. No. You would hardly call it scrambling. More like pathetic crawling.
He collapsed onto his side, staring at Urman’s crumpled body through one eye. I did it. “Surrender and I’ll let you live,” Wynu said.
“Fuck you.”
To Wynu’s disbelief, his shock, his terror, Urman started to climb to a knee. A single hand buried in the snow. A face scrunched up in so much pain it couldn’t all be physical.
“Stop right there!” Wynu tried not to sound desperate but what else could he be? This man wasn’t a man at all. He was fighting one of the three devils.
Urman let out a hollow scoff. “I can’t stop.”
Despite the late start, Wynu still beat Urman to their feet. He’d have to incapacitate this man if he intended to live. The first step was a stumble. The second was sturdier. The third and fourth gained momentum. He lunged, realizing too late what was happening as Urman’s hand swept across his ankle. He was still alive when he hit Urman’s dense frame. Barely. Just enough to feel the blade slide out of his neck. He tried to speak but his mouth was full of blood. He grabbed his throat pitifully, staring at Urman’s blank face. He fell into the snow, eyes looking up at his killer, throat filling with blood. The blade rushed toward him and everything went black.