The blow never landed.
There was a loud snapping sound that Annon realized with horror was Paedrin’s arm bone. The Kishion had crossed his arms in front of him, blocking the blow toward his face, but his forearm bracers caught Paedrin’s extended arm in a vulnerable spot, and the bone had broken.
Hettie gasped.
Paedrin’s scream shattered the air in the grove. The Kishion used the arm further to draw him in, delivering a vicious blow to his temple, and he went silent as he collapsed to the forest floor.
Annon and Hettie had retreated and stopped as the Kishion turned on them next. Annon raised his hands and focused his rage, his shock, and all the antipathy he had toward his uncle and unleashed it on the Kishion. Searing pain went through his fingers as he channeled the magic at the intruder, sending out a bloom of bright blue flames in a surging mass of writhing fire. It slammed into the Kishion with the force of a storm’s fury. He was lost in the searing blue for a moment and then reappeared suddenly, stepping through the fire as if it were a harmless mist. His boot struck Annon squarely in the stomach, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him backward into a tree, making sparks dance in his eyes.
Hettie was on him like a cat, twin daggers in her hands as she launched at him from the side. He met her attack squarely, stepping inside the first sweep of the knife; he caught her wrist. In a movement as fast as a blink, the dagger fell to the earth and she was wrenched around, arm twisted behind her back, hand bent at an excruciating angle.
Annon coughed and wheezed, trying to clear his vision. The Kishion continued to tame Hettie, sending the other dagger flying, and then his arm wrapped around her neck, stopping her from breathing. Her eyes went wild with fear, her mouth gaping open as she struggled in vain to breathe.
“Where did he go?” The Kishion turned to Annon for the answer and spoke with a whispering voice as Hettie’s legs thrashed and flailed.
Annon knew she had moments left to live. The Kishion would continue to choke her and see if Annon would watch her die. Then he would come at Annon again and torture the answer out of him. Either way, he would tell it. Perhaps they would all die.
This was the man hunting his uncle. This was the one he had fled to avoid facing. The Quiet Kishion, the Arch-Rike’s personal protector. He knew the man would likely have a ring, one of the cursed black rings of Seithrall. But he also knew his uncle. His uncle, who was wiser than other men. He had given Annon information to reveal, knowing he might be taken.
“Silvandom,” Annon answered pleadingly. “Please, do not kill her.”
The Kishion’s eyes were blue. The cowl had dropped back. There were other scars on his face, as if some beast had ravaged him with its claws. His hair was a shock of dark, his cheekbones high and cut like stones. He stared at Annon with pure indifference. Life had no value to him. Not even his own. Annon could see it in his dead blue eyes.
The Kishion released Hettie and let her drop to the ground. He rose and approached Annon forcefully.
“Where in Silvandom?”
Annon licked his lips, knowing he was facing a deadly snake that could destroy him with one bite. His heart shuddered in his chest with fear.
“Prince Aran. I do not know where he is, other than Silvandom.”
“He has the dagger. The blade. Iddawc.”
It wasn’t a question.
Annon nodded.
The Kishion glanced at Annon coldly and then walked back to where Paedrin lay unconscious on the earth. Erasmus knelt still, hands up and staring meekly at the Kishion, who ignored him. He crouched down by Paedrin, gripped him by his shirt, and said in a clear voice, “Kenatos.”
There was a flash of blinding light, a murmuring spatter of thunder, and they were both gone when their vision cleared.
Purple bruises decorated Hettie’s neck. Her expression was twisted into a sour frown, one hand holding her injured wrist. “So that was a Kishion,” she muttered. “Even the Romani fear them.”
Annon examined her neck, tilting her jaw to one side. “Where else does it hurt?”
“My wrist, mostly. It hurts, but I do not think he broke it. I feared he did at first; it hurt that much.”
Annon nodded, rubbing his stomach. “The flame did not touch him.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Obviously, or uncle would have used it to kill him.”
He sighed. “I did not think of that.”