Thealos cut the bag loose and hurriedly opened it. It was half-filled with dripping Everoot. The magic sung to him. He would need to move quickly. The first would be strangled soon, but Thealos needed a diversion. The other two knights would be that diversion.
Slipping around the others, he went to the two knights kneeling in the dirt. Four Kiran Thall stood behind them, but no one stood in front of them. Thealos set the knife in the dirt by his feet and dropped low in front of them. It was amazing that none of them could see him. He clutched the stones in one hand, cloaking him in magic, so he only had the other hand to work with. Cupping some Everoot, he pressed it against the knight’s broken leg. He watched the man arch his back in surprise as his leg fused whole and color livened his face.
The magic sang with healing, flooding the glen with warmth and vibrance. Thealos’ skin tingled with it. His heart burned inside. He was saving their lives. It was a wonderful feeling. He took the clump of Everoot and pressed it against the other knight’s neck, watching with delight as he gasped and writhed with the magic curing him. The clump of Everoot shriveled and was gone.
Thealos snatched the knife up and slit the ropes around the ankles of the first knight, then the wrists before hurrying to the other man. Hardly a cue was needed. The healed knight sprang to his feet and pounded a Kiran Thall with his fist, wrestling a dagger from the man’s belt sheath. Thealos loosened the bonds restraining the second knight, who joined the fight with hardly a thought, attacking wildly as if a fit of madness overtook him.
“Who cut them…!”
Chaos ruptured in the glen as the two knights from Owen Draw went berserk in the midst of the Kiran Thall. Thealos ran to the dangling knight and slit his wrist bonds, and the man grabbed the rope to pull himself up. Thealos caught at the man’s legs to keep them from flailing but dropped one of the stones in his hand.
He thanked Vannier it was the sound stone.
Thealos slit the ankle bonds and then stuffed his hand in the pouch and seized a fistful of Everoot. The men holding the rope dropped it and the knight fell on top of Thealos, crushing him to the earth.
“Kill them! Kill them! How did they…kill them!”
Thealos pushed the knight off of him, swept up the fallen stone, and released their power altogether.
He watched the wide eyes and heard the gasps of shock.
“A Sleepwalker!”
Thealos slid the sword free and the dance of death began. The blade’s magic lit like a spike of sun. Memories and emotion tugged at him and he surrendered himself to the arms of both magics—the prince’s blade and the Oath magic and its wellspring of thoughts.
“For the Duke!” came the chant from the knights.
Thealos ducked low and a Kiran Thall sword went over his head. Without thinking, he stepped in, cutting up and out, shearing the man’s arm off. He twirled to the left, his feet sure and confident and another Kiran Thall went down. From the corner of his eye, he saw several unslinging their crossbows and he smelled the stinging reek of Deathbane on the tips of the bolts. Thealos ducked around behind one man, lurched forward and buried his blade into one of the crossbowmen’s gut, watching as the tip emerged bloody from behind. He kicked the man away, pulling the blade back and evaded a sword stabbing at his cheek. The world felt slow and heavy, thick and unyielding. But he was faster than they, trapped in a timeless moment of death and blood. He remembered fighting with a Crimson Wolfsman blade, remembered the churn of memories that had exhilarated him. It was like that, only a hundredfold. The purity of the magic throbbed inside him, a counterpoint to the reek of Forbidden magic.
He swept his blade through another man and followed through with his fist into a third, smashing the man’s nose and causing blood to spurt. Crossbows twanged, long and heavy in the air, the vibrations shrieking in his ears. He felt the magic well up in him, a little ball of unseen fire, rise up around him and the bolts scattered harmlessly to each side. The thrill of that power choked him with tears. He wanted to laugh at himself. Crying during such a time!
Two more Kiran Thall had crossbows and aimed them at him, but he did not pause to think or wonder and charged them both head-on. The releases snapped and the bolts went straight and true, then arced away from his body to shatter amidst the trees. Thealos’ blade took off one man’s head and slit a nasty gash on the other’s face. He remembered the fight with Tannon’s Band. The harried run through the Bandit army camp. A lone cell facing a madman. If only he had learned of the Oaths before. As a child, he should have been taught them.
A hiss of pain struck his side and he glanced down and saw that the blade had glanced him. The euphoria of the magic was distracting. Wincing, he kicked the man in the stomach, grabbing the fellow’s wrist and then clubbed his eyes with the pommel. The knights had managed to seize weapons and cut and struck through the ranks of the Kiran Thall.