“He got Cropper!” Tannon bellowed. “Kill him! Kill the rook!”
Plunging into the pond, Thealos used his cloak and wrapped the blade up in it again. He took time to stuff it into his belt before wading through the pond towards the other side, closer to the river. If he could make it to the Trident, he could lose them downstream. Dripping and soaking, Thealos scampered down the gully floor, away from Tannon and Beck and Hoth. They were close, but the dark would hide him. Passing over Cropper, he didn’t see the knife waiting for him.
Pain sent fire up his leg as the wounded soldier dug a dagger into his thigh. The arrow had stunned and wounded him, not killed him.
“You Shaden whelp!” Cropper seethed, stabbing him again. “You stinking, bleeding Shaden!”
Thealos was bleeding. The pain crumpled his leg and he went down, dropping the bow. He felt the dagger sink into his leg again as he twisted to free himself. He kicked Cropper in the face, as hard as he could. He felt the man’s jaw snap and it sickened him. Tannon and the others were hurrying over to help. Tomn shrieked like a madman, yelling that the blade was his.
Thealos grabbed the gnarled veins of tree roots exposed on the gully wall and pulled himself to his feet. The dagger stuck into his leg painfully. He wouldn’t be able to run now. He had to fight them or die. He pulled the dagger out of his leg and tossed it.
Cropper had sagged down with the blow and shook his head, trying to rouse himself. Thealos twisted the Shae weapon out of the folds of his tangled cloak. He let the sodden weight of the cloak drop as he felt the Silvan magic explode inside him, reacting to his need. It made him gasp. Fire rushed through his arm into his chest. It was a beautiful weapon – with a leaf-shaped blade and silverwork hilt. The blade came down on its own, a living thing. The pain in Thealos’ leg vanished, numbed by the rush of magic. Cropper howled with fear and agony as Thealos cut him down. Blood spattered on his hands and face, warm and wet. He tasted it on his lips. Trembling, Thealos stared at the dead man at his feet. The magic swept through him like a whirlwind. He felt no guilt.
Jurrow jumped down into the gully behind him. Thealos turned like a shift in the wind, meeting the cleaver polearm with a flash of Silvan steel. The metals clashed with a hiss of sparks. Then Jurrow went down, cut through by the power of the weapon, the blade of a Crimson Wolfsman. Thealos felt the rush of the magic intensify, felt his thoughts dance and tremble with joy. He loved it, the tastes and fears and deliciousness of it. Some part of his mind told him that his knee was throbbing, that he was bleeding, but he ignored it. The Silvan magic roared like a hearthfire inside of him. He no longer feared Tannon’s band. He wanted to kill them all. He would enjoy killing them.
Beck and Hoth met him in the mouth of the gully, free of the pond at last. He saw Tannon in the heights above him and Tomn just beyond their shoulders. Four against one.
“Should have killed you yesterday,” Hoth said, holding his sword defensively.
“Yes,” Thealos agreed. “You should have.”
“I get the sword,” Beck announced.
Thealos charged him, ready to slice him from navel to throat. His leg collapsed beneath him, unable to support the weight any longer. Panicked, he struggled to free himself of the mud that hugged his shirt and pants. Hoth’s boot stamped on his wrist – he felt his bone snap. Beck tried prying the blade from his fingers, but Thealos tightened his fist, screaming. He was losing control of the magic. Pain crowded into his thoughts. He didn’t want to face that pain.
“Hit him! Kill him!”
On his knees, Thealos struggled against the two, but he felt his grip loosen. His leg screamed from the dagger wounds. Hoth and Beck were fighting each other to get the Silvan short sword away from him. Desperately, Thealos used his free arm to jerk a knife from Hoth’s belt. Tomn screamed, shoving at Beck to grab at the sword. When Thealos raised the dagger against Hoth, he felt Tannon’s knife in his back.
His grip slackened and the world crashed in on him, pain and agony and despair. His wrist was broken, his leg cut into ribbons. He’d never felt so much pain in his life, all charging in at once. He tried to grab the dagger out of his back, but he couldn’t reach it. Slumping into the gully water, he watched in a daze as Tannon joined them from above. He was going to die. They would kill him for sure and toss his body in the river.
“My father…will pay you,” Thealos whimpered, struggling to drag himself away from the soldiers who fought to claim the blade. “He’ll pay you…” Nausea turned to fear, cold and silent in his stomach. Tannon scattered the others and turned them against him.