Thealos’ eyes burned with anger.
“And you think he’d approve of what you’re doing? You could spend a month in the River Cellars for a bloody nose, and he would let you rot. But killing a knight in my tavern – that’ll earn you the gallows. And he’d hand over the rope. You’d better get out of here, Secrist. Before I call the garrison.”
Secrist’s eyes glimmered with fire. “And how are you going to call them?” he challenged. He looked around the room. “You gonna send that pudgy Druge?” He stepped towards her, his finger stabbing the air. “Call them. But you know they won’t lift a finger. Not even if I hang that banned knight higher than cedar. When Ballinaire rules Sol, they’ll be wearing the black and gold. Now be a good lass and fetch me a drink.” She stood there, glaring at him. She didn’t move. “I said fetch me a drink!” he roared.
Thealos reached down and rested his hand on the pommel of his Silvan blade. He watched her carefully, wondering how stubborn she was. If she would obey him.
Ticastasy took Flent’s ale cup from Thealos’ table and walked up to the Kiran Thall slowly. She looked him right in the eye. And splashed it in his face.
XV
For a moment, Secrist stared at her in disbelief as ale dribbled down his chin. His anger was sharp and quick. “You little whore…” he snorted, backhanding Ticastasy. She crumpled to the floor. Anger shot through Thealos, fierce and hot. Some of the patrons made a dash for the windows. Flent Shago thundered a blistering oath as he yanked the knobbed club out of his belt. He swung wildly at a soldier near him, dropping him with a shattering blow across the knees. The Drugaen howled, his gray-green eyes blazing as he rushed towards Secrist.
The knight didn’t waste a moment. He also charged Secrist with his double-handed sword. Fighting erupted through the room as the Kiran Thall rushed the knight and the Drugaen. Other patrons of the tavern yelped with fear, ducking beneath tables to try and get out of the way, but some were trampled as the Bandit soldiers attacked. Two against twenty.
Thealos shoved his chair back, whipping his cloak out of the way as he grabbed the hilt of the Silvan blade. When he drew it, he felt the magic flare to life, sending a jolt of shock up his arm. The wash of magic rose through him as it had when he found the blade. It glowed a cool blue in the tavern hall.
Flent went down in the rumble, pinned and hammered from behind by three soldiers. The knight faced off against three others who feinted and lunged to get a blow in at him. He held them off with tight sweeps of the blade, giving ground slowly. The Kiran Thall attackers smirked wickedly, teasing their prey. It was only a matter of time before they had him.
“Fine weapon, Shaden,” a soldier challenged, motioning a second soldier to come with him. “Should have hid under the table like the others. I’ll take that blade and any gold you have on you. Now!”
Thealos watched the two Kiran Thall approach his table, weapons drawn. There were too many. He closed his eyes and fed the weapon’s magic with his need. The feeling was there, a cool watery pleasure wrapping him in its arms. Silvan magic. The blade went from cool blue to white hot. Yet it was like cupping frigid seawater in his hands. When he opened his eyes, he saw the soldiers hesitate. He knew they could see his eyes glowing.
“If you think I’ll be as easy to knock down as a serving girl,” Thealos said acidly, “You’ve been riding those flea-bitten nags too long.”
Thealos had to be quick. Standing off against trained soldiers was a fool’s mistake – he’d learned that with Tannon’s Band. He hadn’t the skill or training to last long against them. But he was quick and unpredictable and hoped that would be enough to throw them off.
“Afraid of a lone Shaden?” Thealos taunted. “Maybe it’s the Kiran Thall who wear silk socks and dance in the woods. Does your lady friend Secrist there ever let you lead?”
“Bloody rake, I get him first!”
Thealos lunged forward, slashing the Silvan blade at the soldier on his left, catching him by surprise.
The man saw the wicked glow of the blade and staggered back to avoid it. It gave Thealos just enough time to dart past them between another set of tables. He had to leap over a patron crawling away and duck around another table to where several Kiran Thall were kicking Flent. None of them saw him coming. The Silvan blade shrieked with magic, cutting through the tunic and mail and gashing a Bandit soldier’s back. Swinging again, he cut another man in the side, watching with sick pleasure as the leaf-blade split him open. He felt the soldiers coming in behind him and whirled to face them, holding his weapon defensively. Flent lumbered to his feet with a roar, bleeding from his nose and mouth. He hefted his Sheven-Ingen axe in both hands.