The streams of red light winked out.
Paedrin exhaled and landed with a thud. He vaulted at the nearest Paracelsus, watching the man’s sudden panicked eyes as he brought up a ring and aimed the crystal at Paedrin’s chest. The Bhikhu did a forward roll as a blast of white energy emerged from the ring, zooming over him. Rolling up, he caught the man’s outstretched arm, jerking it up and high so that the ring blasted its white light into the sky. He struck sensitive parts of the man’s underarm and ribs, and then crippled him with a blow to his kneecap.
The man’s face was ravaged with suffering, and the only sound he could make was a guttural moan.
He turned, watching as Kiranrao stalked the final Paracelsus, who struck at him with his ring. The blasts of white light missed him. The Romani moved closer and closer, teasing at him with the tip of his blade. Then he whirled around and threw his sword, the blade impaling the Paracelsus and knocking him down. The Paracelsus’s body convulsed, and he withdrew a cylinder from his cloak. He seemed to touch the end of it before he vanished, disappearing into the night.
As Paedrin turned, he found Hettie near the empty clothes of the first Paracelsus, taking the jewelry up and stuffing them in her pack. The one Paedrin had disarmed was writhing in the long grass.
“Take his magic,” Kiranrao said. “It will help shield you from his kind in the future.” A wicked grin twisted his mouth. “You must be worth more to the Arch-Rike than I thought. Or maybe it is me that he wants so badly.”
Paedrin stared at him, feeling nothing but anger and loathing in his heart. How quickly he had dispatched the other two. There was no lesson in death. These men had studied their craft for decades. Their knowledge was now lost forever. It was a pitiful waste of existence.
“Do not kill when we can only harm,” Paedrin said in a low voice. “It should be the final resort.”
“Spare me your sentiments, Bhikhu.”
“Spare me your callousness, Romani.” He shook his head. “I will not travel with you. I will not go a step farther with you. We part ways this instant unless you swear you will not kill.”
Kiranrao looked at him in disbelief. “I swear to no man. I owe you nothing, Bhikhu.”
“Then find Tyrus Paracelsus on your own.”
“Paedrin,” Hettie said, her voice low with warning. “You cannot expect a Romani to…”
“Keep his word? I had not thought of that. Even if you did swear it, I could not believe it.” He stepped away from the fallen Paracelsus and began circling Kiranrao to the left.
Kiranrao began circling to the right, hand still clutching the sword hilt.
“You wish to fight me?” Kiranrao said in a low voice. He sounded amused.
“Maybe we are brothers,” Paedrin replied sardonically, feeling his entire body focus and harden. “Separated from birth and raised in two different orphanages. Are you my brother? Are you truly Vaettir-born? You mock everything we stand for.”
“Every bird relishes his own voice.”
It was the sound of the hounds that interrupted them.
“There are enemies enough surrounding us!” Hettie said sharply. “Please! For pity sake, will both of you be silent!”
Kiranrao stopped circling. His eyes filled with menace. “You are an insignificant whelp. I value no life but my own. If you wish to school me in pain, trust me when I say that it is you who will be the learner. You are not even a second-order Bhikhu. You know nothing. I come and go as I choose. I do as I please. It is through my mercy that you are even here.” He paused, smiling again. “Is that clear, lad? Or do I kill you now?”
“The King of Wayland controls a vast breadth of land that is used to farm the wheat and grain that is shipped to other kingdoms. Each of the main farms is governed by a Duke. Each Duke is required by the king to provide riders to patrol the borders of Wayland and prevent other kingdoms from stealing crops or herds. These mounted soldiers roam the frontier and are called Outriders. It is understood that the laws of Wayland do not apply to these Outriders. When I travel to Wayland, I always bring a purse with sufficient ducats so that I may go my way in peace.”
– Possidius Adeodat, Archivist of Kenatos
There were many things Paedrin wanted to say. An equal number of gibes and threats bubbled up into his mouth. But it was the look of horror on Hettie’s face that stayed his hands. It was a look of abject terror, a look that said she knew what Kiranrao could do to a man. He felt slightly dizzy, as if he had stopped at the edge of a precipice with a foot poised to take another step.
Patience. Wisdom. Know your enemy. Learn his weaknesses.
He could almost hear Master Shivu clucking his tongue at his foolishness.
Kiranrao cocked his eyebrow.
“The hounds,” Paedrin said. “They are chasing us now.”