“Right…behind…you…” he heard her say as he passed by. She still had a terrified look.
At first, Tesh didn’t understand how those two pieces of clothes meant anything. So, Meryl was a thief. Who cared about that when he was harboring a monster? Brin hadn’t bothered to explain; she’d just bolted. Tesh finally put it together when they reached the steps to the first gate, where the Asendwayr kept their kennel of hunting dogs. Meryl was going to use his pet to assassinate the leaders of the rebellion. But Persephone was in the Kype, the safest place in an impregnable fortress. Even Raithe couldn’t get in there without an invitation.
But could a raow?
In the long dark of a Dureyan winter’s night, the older villagers told stories, tales recited by parents. Being Dureyan, the stories were never pleasant, always tales of woe and warning. The legend of the raow was typical:
Roaming hills and forests deep,
On human bones it makes its bed.
But weary raow cannot sleep,
’Til once again the pile is fed.
It prowls beyond the fire’s light,
Warrior, hunter, girl, and boy.
The raow savors every bite,
A succulent face the monster’s joy.
Steer clear of lonely hills at night,
The sunset shadows you must race.
The raow’s grip is oh so tight,
As deeply she bites into your face.
Tesh charged the last steps to the Verenthenon, following the spiral steps that circled the inside wall and spilled out to the long corbel bridge. A quick final sprint and Tesh reached the Kype.
“Open up!” Tesh hammered on the door. He bent over, supporting himself with his hands on his knees, and took deep luxurious breaths. “I need…to see the keenig.”
The little window in the door opened, and a pair of eyes peered out. “Too late. Come back in the morning.”
“Can’t…it’s urgent.”
“Who are you?”
“Tesh of the Dureya.”
“Dureya, huh? Try coming back tomorrow.”
“But you don’t understand. I have to see the keenig.”
“She’s already gone to bed.”
“I don’t care—this is important!”
“Did Raithe send you?”
“Raithe? No.”
“Then why do you need to see the keenig?”
“Because—”
“Techylor!” Tesh heard a familiar voice behind him.
Turning, he spotted Sebek coming out of the Verenthenon and walking toward him across the narrow bridge.
“Sebek!” he shouted with relief.
“I thought I saw you run up here. I was hoping to catch you below, but you went right by me.”
Sebek was dressed in his breastplate and shoulder guards. His bronze armor was customized, smaller, thinner, and lighter than the others. Even so, he rarely wore it even in sparring matches. He always complained that the metal sheets were hot in the sun.
“Yeah, listen, you need to help me.”
“I plan to.”
Tesh looked at him, surprised. Did Brin already talk to him? Smart girl. He hooked a thumb at the door where the little window had already slid shut. “This idiot won’t let me in.”
Sebek approached, quickly drawing Thunder and Lightning.
For a confused moment, Tesh couldn’t make the connection. Is he going to use his swords on the door? How will that help? “What are you doing?”
The Fhrey smiled. “Time for another lesson.”
“Lesson? Didn’t Brin tell you? We need—”
“You need to defend yourself.”
Sebek closed the distance and attacked.
Tesh dodged the blow purely out of instinct and spun solely out of reflex. Then he drew iron from both scabbards. “This is no time for a lesson!”
Sebek grinned. “Winded, are you? Looked like a long run. Can’t expect enemies to be courteous and only attack when you’re prepared. Sometimes they catch you off guard in awkward places where you can’t retreat.”
He attacked again, and Tesh noticed something different in his assault. He imagined no one else in the world would have noticed, but after so many bouts, Tesh knew Sebek’s technique—this wasn’t it. The attack was more aggressive, more dead-on—and it was faster.
Tesh intercepted the blades and thanked Roan and the gods for the iron swords. Anything less would have given way. As it was, he felt the bone-jarring impact that nearly kicked them from his hands. In the past, that’s what always happened, but Tesh had learned a new grip, and a new way of deflecting a straight edge-to-edge stroke, sparing him the loss of his weapons.
He saw the look of surprise on Sebek’s face when he didn’t lose his blades, and Tesh took that moment to strike back and to shout, “Stop it! We need to save—”
That was all the time he had before Sebek came at him again.
He swung straight on. No one ever did that. They all learned not to swing a deathblow. Instead, they were taught to angle the stroke so that a missed follow-through wouldn’t kill. Sebek was breaking that rule. If Tesh failed to block, Lightning would cleave him in half. What’s more, Sebek was stepping in, putting excess force into the blows.