“Tyentso!” I screamed
“I’m working on it!” The next spear impacted and shattered against an invisible wall of air. I felt myself (under Tyentso’s direction) putting up a wall of fire to keep our pursuers back.
But even through the flame I could see that morgage sorceress making her way toward us, and I didn’t think that fire would keep her at bay for very long.
“Concentrate on what’s happening right now,” Tyentso admonished. She was right of course. I had more pressing problems.
“First, the spear,” Tyentso said. She put my hand on the shaft and I felt her changing the tenyé of the wood until it was brittle and weak, easily broken.
“Ty, if that’s nicked the artery and you pull it out…”
“Think I’ve never seen a wound before, Scamp? This is going to hurt.”
I bit back on a scream as the edges of the wound started to sear. She was burning the wound, cauterizing it. My vision blacked around the edges as I threatened to pass out.
“Stay with me, Scamp! We’re not out of this yet.”
I blinked away the darkness. I must have been out for at least a few seconds though, because I’d already pulled out the spear. I’m pretty sure the damn thing had chipped bone. It sure as hell had done a lot of muscle and blood-vessel damage. I needed to splint and bandage it. I needed to clean out the wound. I needed to treat it for the poison or toxins almost certain to be used to coat a morgage spearhead.
I didn’t have time for any of that.
“You don’t know how to fly, do you?” I asked as I limped in retreat.
“You wouldn’t enjoy the landing…”
“Pretty soon I’ll be willing to take the chance.” I laced the invisibility back around me, although it wouldn’t do too much good to stop anyone from following since I was leaving a trail of my own blood as a marker.
I heard the morgage behind us, the low chanting as that sorceress did her job, the shouting of the warriors. I started looking around for ruins that might make reasonable hiding spots.
Then the glowing lattice of energy that had covered every wall and floor of the ruins leaped upward and formed a cage around me. I slammed into the web of energy as I tried to escape, and arcs of pain slashed through my body.
A ball of smoke flew toward me, coming not from the center of the city where the morgage were, but from the outskirts. That ball lengthened and grew darker, swirling up into a man-sized shape.
A voice from inside the smoke said, “You’re a long way from home, little brother.”
A spike of panic welled inside me, and I thought for a terrifying moment that it was somehow Darzin. Darzin had somehow managed to track me down.
But it wasn’t.
The man who stepped out of the smoke was Relos Var.
60: THE INVITATION
(Talon’s story)
The two half-brothers sat cross-legged on a makeshift blanket, spread out on the stone floor in Galen’s secret hiding spot. A single tallow candle wedged near the base of the statue of Thaena illuminated their meal.
“The Culling Fields?” Galen exclaimed. “Why would you want to go there?”
Kihrin had stolen a basket of fresh-baked sag, fruit relishes, and peppered meats meant for the serving staff. He’d suggested they come here so their father wouldn’t catch them eating “common food.” Galen had leapt at the idea for many reasons, not least of which was that their father was in an even more foul temper than normal. Galen thought the harder his sons were to find, the better.
Although cramped, the small storeroom never grew hot, no matter what the temperature outside. Galen suspected a great deal of fitted stone sat over their heads, acting as insulation against the scorching sun. The storeroom possessed no windows; he had only the vaguest idea what their true location might be. The tunnel that reached this place contained twists and turns that Galen had never mapped. He liked to fancy they weren’t on the D’Mon grounds anymore.
His brother smeared a piece of sag bread with mango relish. “Why shouldn’t we go to the Culling Fields? The place is a legend. I’ve never had the metal to go. I want to watch a duel.”
“But we’re too young. Father will never agree to it.”
Kihrin grinned. “He already has.”
Galen’s jaw dropped. “He—no! How did you do it?”
“I gave him a gift.”
“What?”
“You know that Jorat fireblood mare he’s been trying to mate with his own stallions?”
Galen nodded. He did indeed know, and suspected she was the reason for their father’s bad mood. Darzin had shipped the horse all the way from Jorat, bought for a bargain from some ancient horse farm fallen on hard times. Then Darzin discovered the mare was so large, wild, and nightmarish she mauled anyone who came too close. The mare had only been on the grounds a week, and had killed five groomsmen and escaped from her stall twice. Darzin himself didn’t dare go near her. Galen thought it was only a matter of days before his father took the whole thing as a loss and had the horse put down.
“Well, I found a Jorat horseman. Bought him at the Octagon. If he can’t make that mare behave herself, I don’t think anything will.” Kihrin bit into bread with happy enthusiasm. “Darzin was so grateful he agreed to let us go.”
“Wow.” Galen blinked in surprise, and then his expression grew serious. “But you know if that slave of yours fails, Darzin will have him killed.”
“No slave of mine. I gave him to the High Lord. If Darzin wants to kill one of the High Lord’s slaves…” Kihrin shrugged as if it were none of his concern.
“Ho ho! That’s clever.” Galen grinned. “I’ll have to tell Mother about that one.”
Kihrin’s expression soured when Galen mentioned his mother. “Sure. Right.” Then he asked, “Is she … uh, well? I haven’t seen her at dinner for a few days.”
“What? She’s fine. She’s had a fever,” Galen said, giving no indication such an excuse was thin at best—for the Royal Family who specialized in magical medicines.
“Ah.” After an awkward pause, Kihrin continued, “So do you want to go?”
Galen rolled his eyes. “Of course, I want to go! Father never lets me go out.”
This statement made his brother pause. “Never?”
Galen shook his head. “He says I’d shame him.”
“But,” Kihrin said, “you must have friends…”
Galen found himself flushing with embarrassment. “I do have friends. I see them several times a year at social events. There’s Kavik D’Laakar and my cousin Dorman D’Aramarin.* I’m going to see them at the New Year’s Festival parties. And I have teachers and sometimes I speak with the children of some of the serving staff, as long as Father doesn’t find out.”
His older brother jumped up and offered Galen his hand. “Come on then. Let’s go see this tavern my father always used to go on about.”
“Right now?”
Kihrin nodded. “Absolutely right now. Before Darzin changes his mind—”