Blinding light shattered the darkness, and a peal of thunder tumbled Kevlin to the ground. Rhea’s scream floated distant and unreal at the edge of his consciousness.
The double-blow to sight and sound overwhelmed Kevlin’s senses. He shouted, a guttural cry of primal fear, and clutched at his head, struggling to regain his scattered thoughts and blink away the blinding afterimage of what had to be a lightning strike. If Rhea was still out there, she’d kill him.
Move, soldier!
He rolled to his hands and knees, forced his eyes open, and blinked to clear his fuzzy vision. An odd silence surrounded him, as if his ears were packed in a barrel of wool. His head pounded with a tremendous headache, and he gripped the charred earth to steady himself against the feeling of the ground swaying. Bile rose in his throat and he spat out a few drops.
It seemed to take forever, but his vision slowly focused. After a long moment, he took a deep breath and looked up.
Rhea was gone. The ground where she had been standing was scarred with a deep, black gouge a span wide. He scanned the shadowed clearing.
Nothing.
Either she’d been obliterated by the lightning strike, or she'd fled. His thoughts were as scattered as his senses, but he still lived. Not bad, all things considered.
He crawled over to Antigonus. The sentinel lay with eyes closed, one hand clutching weakly at his chest. For the first time, Kevlin noticed the silver hilt of a dagger protruding from the center of the large bloodstain. How had he missed seeing that before?
That was the least of the questions he needed answering. Why hadn’t Rhea’s magic killed him? Had Antigonus managed to block her spell? If he could do that, why hadn't he just attacked her sooner?
If Antigonus survived, Kevlin might find some answers, but he didn’t know what to do. His hands shook as he considered the powerful old man.
Antigonus, bearer of Tia Khoa, was one of the best-known names in the Six Kingdoms. He was a man out of legend, but now he lay dying. His face was pale and drawn, and his chest barely moved.
The last thing Kevlin wanted to do was touch a sentinel, so instead he leaned close and whispered, “Antigonus?”
The old man blinked open bloodshot eyes. His skin sagged from his frame and his mouth hung slightly open.
“Who are you?” Antigonus’ voice sounded like a far off whisper.
“My name is Kevlin.” It sounded like he was talking underwater. “Terach sent me to help.”
Antigonus smiled. “Then help. Remove the dagger.”
Kevlin glanced at the sentinel’s chest, but had to concentrate to bring the bloody weapon into focus. Antigonus should already be dead. Perhaps his magic kept him alive, but if Kevlin removed that dagger, the shock might kill the old man.
Antigonus gestured weakly at the hilt. “Remove it. I cannot heal myself until it is gone.”
By the Lady, he could be a fool sometimes. Kevlin grasped the dagger's hilt.
“This is going to hurt.”
Then he snatched the dagger free with a single, smooth pull.
Antigonus ground his teeth together and moaned, his body arcing up off the ground in a spasm of pain. A heartbeat later a soft, white glow appeared and enveloped the old man in a gentle embrace.
I can handle this, Kevlin told himself as he fought the impulse to back away.
The scent of herbs filled the air and Kevlin’s tension drained away as he reluctantly breathed the aroma. A faint thrumming emanated from the white light, and for a dozen heartbeats the magic flared, obscuring the wound. The thrumming intensified until it sounded like a thousand invisible hummingbirds flitting around the aged sentinel.
When the magic faded, the result was a little disappointing. Kevlin had expected the wound to vanish completely. Sentinels possessed healing abilities, although not as powerful as the stalwarts. Still, a sentinel as experienced as Antigonus should be able to heal even a punctured lung. The gaping, bloody hole in his chest had closed, but it still looked ragged and raw, as if on the verge of breaking open again.
The old man groaned and opened his eyes. His pale face didn’t seem to sag as much as before.
“Are you going to be all right?” Kevlin asked.
Antigonus grimaced and blinked a few times, his cobalt blue eyes clearing.
“I have delayed death for a time.”
“What do you mean?”
“The wound is. . .difficult.” For a second it looked like he might elaborate, but instead he raised a hand. “Help me up.”
Kevlin eased him to a sitting position. A globe of amber light appeared above Antigonus’ head and lit the clearing far better than the guttering remnants of Rhea’s fires. Antigonus looked at Bajaran’s body and sighed. Some of his newfound strength faded.
Antigonus gestured toward the betrayer. “Go to him. He has an amulet around his neck. Take it.”
The amulet proved to be a large, jeweled stone set in a heavy steel chain. Kevlin let out an appreciative whistle. It was about a quarter of the size of an egg and strangely cool to the touch, with flat sides and faceted edges. Its opaque color did not reflect any light. It must have been worth a fortune. Kevlin unclasped the chain and lifted the amulet away from the fallen sentinel.
Antigonus said, "Put it on. It will offer some protection.”
Protection from what? The old man looked half-dead, so Kevlin didn't bother to ask. He clasped the heavy chain around his neck and settled the stone under his shirt. He shivered to think it was probably tainted with magic.
“Keep the dagger.”
He found the sheath for the blade on Bajaran’s belt. Silver runes in eye-twisting patterns ran the length of the black leather. Impressed, Kevlin studied the silver dagger more closely. Slender and well balanced, it felt comfortable in his hand.
Silver made poor fighting weapons, but this blade was no mere decoration. Whatever the metal, it unnerved him more that he had so much trouble focusing on it. It was probably tainted with magic too, but he wiped it clean on Bajaran’s robes and sheathed it.
He lifted two heavy purses containing a fortune in gold and silver coins from the corpse's belt and whistled again. When he turned back to Antigonus, the old man had settled back to the ground, asleep. The globe of light above his head dimmed and pulsed in rhythm with his breathing.
Kevlin slipped off his small burglar pack. He’d confiscated it from a very clever thief whose allergies had given him away when trying to steal from one of Kevlin’s previous employers. Slow thieves did not live long.
Small and shaped like a teardrop, the pack hung so neatly between Kevlin's shoulder blades that he always wore it and often forgot about it. He slipped the purses and silver dagger inside, alongside his travel rations. He would pass the items on to Antigonus later.
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A branch snapped in the darkness.
Kevlin leapt to his feet, drew his sword, and scanned the shadows. If Rhea had returned, they were dead.
Two shapes carrying drawn swords separated from the surrounding gloom, followed shortly by a third.
Kevlin shifted into a defensive stance. He had not risked his life saving the sentinel only to have someone else kill him. The newcomers slowed as they advanced, but kept their weapons ready. When they stepped into the circle of Antigonus' light, Kevlin recognized the woman, Ceren.
The sword in her hand was slender, like its owner, with a slight curve to its single-edged blade. Ceren held it low, with the point angled away from her, and the blade facing Kevlin in the standard Ayvoltec style. She moved gracefully, and the thick braid of her auburn hair hanging halfway to her waist swung into view as she walked. She was young, probably not yet twenty, but bore herself with confidence.
She was proving to be a study in contradictions. The Ayvoltec style was Nedikan, rarely used in the Six Kingdoms. She spoke with a Freyarri accent, but didn’t look like a native of Freyarr. Her olive skin fit, but she lacked the blond hair and curvaceous physique common in that southern kingdom.
Freyarr produced the best knights and archers in the empire, but its women rarely trained to fight. Kevlin had traveled widely enough that he could usually identify people's origins, but Ceren proved difficult. The last thing he needed was another mystery.
No mystery shrouded Terach. He exactly matched the classic image of a warrior from Tamarr. Average height and medium build, thick black hair cut short, and dark eyes set in a solid face. He moved with the fluid control of an athlete and wore chainmail under a maroon coat that bore the insignia of a noble house Kevlin did not recognize.
His sword, known as a pala, confirmed his heritage. Long and narrow, its single-edged blade ran straight from the pommel to an abrupt, sharp point. A flat, perpendicular guard separated the blade from the long hilt. Terach carried it high across his body in the standard Harci style.
Behind Ceren and Terach crept the other woman. She appeared to be in her late twenties, and she was not one of those women who looked alluring when terrified. Her long, brown hair was tangled and half-covered her tear-streaked face.
Terach lowered his pala with a nod toward Bajaran’s body. “Did you kill him?”
“Rhea did.”
“Where’s my mistress?” The hysterical woman scurried into the clearing. When she caught sight of Bajaran's corpse, she shrieked and covered her face with her hands.
Ceren put a comforting arm around her. "Take it easy, Haisyl," she whispered as the woman sobbed into her shoulder. Haisyl did not appear dangerous, but as Rhea’s servant, she might be just as deceptive.
“Rhea betrayed Antigonus,” Kevlin said. “She nearly killed both of us.”
Haisyl backed away, shaking her head. “No, it can’t be true. Not Mistress Rhea.”
To Ceren, Kevlin said, “Keep an eye on her.”
“So I just get dismissed so you men can deal with the real problems? Is that it?”
What was it with her? Maybe she wasn’t really from Freyarr, but just affected the accent to confuse people.
“I just thought you could comfort her best.”
Ceren looked like she wanted to say more, but thankfully turned her attention to Haisyl and whispered more soothing words to her.
“What happened?” Terach asked.
“Why can you move now?” Kevlin asked instead.
Ceren said, “The spell vanished a few minutes ago. We don’t know why.”
Which of the sentinels had been holding them down? There were still too many unknowns to trust these people. Kevlin carefully watched their reactions as he recounted what had happened.
When he finished, Terach muttered a curse and scanned the trees. “So she could be watching us right now?”
“Aye, she could be. It’d be stupid to assume she’s dead.”
“I can’t believe it,” Haisyl wailed. “I have to find her.” She pulled away from Ceren and headed toward the trees.
“I wouldn’t,” Kevlin warned
Perhaps her distress was an act. He definitely didn’t want her lurking unseen in the shadows. Any of the three might have been in on the plot to kill Antigonus. Why would the sentinel have hurled them far away when the fighting started? It might have been to remove potential assassins he wasn't sure he could trust.
Or maybe he found Haisyl as annoying as Kevlin already did.
“Why not?” Haisyl asked.
“You don’t know where Rhea went. Besides, if she’s still alive, she might just kill you.”
“She wouldn’t do that!”
Kevlin shrugged. “If you say so, but a minute ago you claimed she’d never betray Antigonus, and you were wrong about that.”
She hesitated, and Kevlin considered his options. He could let her go, but it was easier to watch the three of them together. He could detain her, perhaps bind her, but that might spark a fight with the others, and he was not ready to risk that yet.
Ceren said, “Stay with us. It’s not wise to wander into the darkness alone, Haisyl.” After another long look at the forest, Haisyl nodded and wandered back to stand beside Ceren.
Terach stepped toward Antigonus, but Kevlin held up a hand. “Hold. I don’t want you near Antigonus with a drawn sword.”
“But we’re in his party,” Ceren snapped and advanced a step. Terach tensed, just a tightening of the fingers around the pommel of the pala.
“So were the two people who just tried to kill him,” Kevlin said.
“Listen,” Terach said, his expression hard. “I appreciate what you did to help Antigonus. You did more than we expected, but don’t presume to take command.”
“I don’t want command, but I nearly got killed helping Antigonus, so I have a right to be concerned. And you’re not getting near him with bared steel.”
Terach frowned. "I am a captain of the elite imperial guard, and I’m ordering you to stand aside.”
He bore himself like a leader, but Kevlin had known a lot of men who claimed to be many things they were not. He was not sure how to validate the man’s claim. Since he was not wearing the uniform of the elite guard, he could be lying. If he was telling the truth, Kevlin didn't want to fight him.
“Where are your men?” Captains were usually assigned command of a thousand men, one of five columns in a legion.
“Elsewhere. Stand aside, Kevlin. You’ve just about spent the debt of gratitude you earned helping Antigonus. Don’t interfere with me.”
Ceren moved to Terach’s left, her sword at the ready.
“You really want to fight over this?” Kevlin asked. He held up his left hand in a sign of peace. “You're the one who convinced me to get involved. I don’t know you, so allow me a little suspicion. All you have to do is lay down your weapon first.”
Ceren opened her mouth to make an angry reply, but Terach nodded. “This once, I’ll concede the point. Don’t interfere with me again.”
In a single, fluid motion Terach slid the long pala into the sheath strapped to his back, then slipped the belt over his shoulder and laid it on the ground. He drew his dagger and placed it next to the pala.
Holding his empty hands out, he asked, “Good enough?”
Kevlin nodded and stepped aside.
Terach dropped to one knee beside Antigonus and placed a hand on the sentinel’s forehead. Kevlin hovered nearby, prepared to intervene if Terach made any threatening move. If he really was skilled in the Harci style, the man could kill with his bare hands as effectively as with his blade. Kevlin didn't know how to prove Terach’s intentions without incurring a little risk, and his gut told him to trust the dark-haired man.
Antigonus blinked open his eyes and smiled a greeting.
“You shouldn’t have sent us away,” Terach said.
“You would have died. What good would that have done?” Antigonus asked softly, then lapsed back into sleep.
“Convinced?” Terach asked.
Kevlin nodded. Hopefully Antigonus' trust was well founded.
“Cunning, I need you,” Terach said. “Take a look at his wound.”
"You guys into pet names a lot?" Kevlin asked.
"Ask Antigonus about it," Ceren said as she dropped to her knees on the other side of the unconscious sentinel. She pulled back the bloody robe and inhaled sharply. “Oh my.”
Ceren probed the wound with careful fingers. After a moment, she glanced up, “It looks fairly stable, but it could easily break open again.”
“It was a lot worse,” Kevlin said. At least she seemed to know what she was doing. “He tried to heal himself, but couldn’t finish the job.”
“Maybe when he’s rested he can try again,” she said. “We’ll bind it for now to help protect it.”
“Good idea because we can’t stay," Kevlin said.
“Why not?” Ceren asked.
“If Rhea survived, she’ll look for us here. Anyone else in the area would’ve seen the lights and might come to investigate.” In his weakened condition, Antigonus was all but helpless, and Kevlin was not about to let him get killed tonight, especially not by Rhea.
Despite Rhea's claims of continuing affection, her betrayal was the foulest treachery. Kevlin felt motivated to help the old sentinel get out of his current mess. Maybe that would help Kevlin feel better about how much of an idiot he'd been once too.
“What do you suggest?” Terach asked.
“Join my party tonight. In the morning, we can decide what to do next.”
“You’re not alone?” Ceren asked.
“No, I’m part of a small group camped off the road just to the south.”
“How many?” Terach asked.
“Eight. Come on and I can tell you more while we’re moving.”
Terach exchanged glances with Ceren, who nodded. He turned back to Kevlin. “Very well.”
“Any sign of our horses?” Ceren asked.
“None.”
“Perhaps they’ll return in the morning,” Terach said with a noted lack of conviction.
“Let’s pray for a positive spin of the Wheel,” Ceren said.
Maybe she really was from Freyarr. She clearly liked to spin the Wheel as much as any Freyarri he’d known. Akillik, god of luck, enjoyed a wide following across the empire, but the Freyarri had the closest ties to the fickle god. Kevlin did not like relying on Akillik or His Wheel. The Wheel spun against one as often as for them, and it always seemed to pick the worst possible times to come up black.
They fashioned a litter for Antigonus, and Ceren bandaged the partially-healed wound with a strip of cloth cut from the old man’s robe. The two men hefted the litter and, with Kevlin leading the way, started out with Antigonus’ dim, pulsing light holding the darkness back just enough for them to see where to place their feet.