So he let the Wolfsman beat him.
Another strike hit his lower back, but Thealos channeled the Oath magic, drawing it up and focusing it where the blow struck. Xenon must have felt the resistance—must have felt the shock of his fist striking an object more solid. The wellspring sent hives of thoughts through his mind, memories from the Sleepwalkers who had defended themselves this way. The magic hardened him, inside and out, enough to soften Xenon’s blows. Thealos coiled up, twisting onto his side and drawing up his arms and legs, using every thought and mote of willpower to keep from using the Oath magic to strike back. He wanted to jeer at the Wolfsman, to tell him that it did not hurt, that there was no pain. Wait it out—he’ll be done soon. Just wait it out.
Flent, on the other hand, could not.
Thealos felt the Drugaen’s presence with the magic just an instant before a meaty fist hammered Xenon’s cheek and sent him hurtling backwards.
Thealos hunched forward, watching with shock as Flent pounced and landed on the Wolfsman, punching once again, twice before Xenon grabbed his wrist, yanked it aside and landed a solid side-hand blow to Flent’s throat. The Wolfsman shoved Flent back as the Drugaen choked.
Ban him—ban that son of Pitan. Thealos’ fury raged, almost slipping past his grip on it. He nearly went for Xenon himself, intent on crushing his throat. Exeres grabbed Ticastasy to keep her from intervening and whispered harshly to her. Justin’s reaction was different. The Warder had dropped to his knees, bowing his head as the attack happened—a sign of Shae deference.
Flent’s face contorted with rage and he lunged out again, swinging with both fists even though he could not breathe. Xenon stepped in easily, blocking the ill-timed blows with quick chopping motions and whipped the heel of his hand into Flent’s temple, dropping him.
Xenon wiped some trickling blood from his mouth and turned back to Thealos, his eyes livid.
A thought came to him from the maelstrom of the wellspring.
The Warder has it right. In order to break…be broken!
Pools of wisdom flooded from memories not his own. The Oath magic should be used sparingly. The Ravinir never knew how many foes they would face or how soon. Power from the Oath magic would not last forever. He had learned that battling the Kiran Thall and remembered the fatigue, the draining of strength from his muscles. Even the time that had passed had not fully restored his health. Bruises would begin purpling his skin from Xenon’s punches. Was this the time to fight? To fight off three quaeres of Crimson Wolfsmen? Even Jaerod had found that task to be a mountain almost too high to climb. How could Thealos do it, so young and untried?
He knew he had to do something. The insight would be enough to start.
Thealos bowed his head and knelt on the ground, letting the tips of his hair brush the twig and scrub.
“Do not fight them!” He stretched out his left hand to Ticastasy and Exeres. “Do not! I have earned this.”
He saw the edges of Xenon’s dirt-stained boots. The man could kick him in the face so easily. The bigger part of him screamed to resist, to glare up at him defiantly. He ignored it.
“I submit to your punishment,” Thealos whispered.
A sharp pain ripped at the back of his neck as Xenon crouched, grabbed his hair, and forced his head up. “What trick is this, barter?”
The contempt on Xenon’s face was unbearable. Unhand me, you idiot soldier. I could throw your arm out of its socket and it would pain you the rest of your life.
“I submit to you.”
“Oh, you do? A fine time for that, Quickfellow. You were clearly on your way back to the barge in Sol to turn yourself in!” His face mottled with anger. “At least the alerion riders obey the hierarchy. You’ve tested my patience since I met you. You’ve defied me at every turn. Where is your Sleepwalker friend now? Isn’t he here to coddle you again?”
Thealos closed his eyes, expecting another blow.
“You craven rook!” Stasy yelled. He could hear her struggling against Exeres. “He’s on the ground!”
Xenon rose. “Your wet nurse speaks for you, Quickfellow? A human?” His voice thickened with disgust. “Look at your companions. A Druid half-blood, a human wench, a Drugaen drunkard, and who is that, a Warder? Look at his clothes! Where did he steal them?”
“You want to say that in my language, you banned coward!” Ticastasy seethed.
“I have few words I’m willing to waste on you, human. I remember you from Sol where one of my brothers was killed.” His voice dropped low. “I owe you for that.”
Thealos raised his head, but he did not meet the Wolfsman’s eyes. “I’m glad you found us, Xenon. We need your help.”
A stiff chuckle. “You need a good thrashing.”
Accept it. Respect his underlings and he will respect you.