Styke eyed Dvory for a moment, watching him tremble and sweat and tasting that smell of sorcery. “Are you really a traitor?” he asked Dvory. “Or did a bone-eye get his fingers in you?”
Dvory’s tremble turned into an outright shake. “I told you to drop the knife.” The voice that emerged did not belong to Dvory. It belonged to someone elderly, the accent biting and educated. Styke realized that Dvory’s eyes were no longer on him, but directed over Styke’s shoulder. He didn’t have to look to know what had transfixed Dvory’s attention.
“A bone-eye it is, then,” Styke said. “Is it that piece of shit Ka-Sedial?” He gestured with his knife toward the dragonmen. “The one who sent these?”
“Ben, I didn’t—” The voice belonged to Dvory for a split second before a look of annoyance crossed Dvory’s face and the voice changed back to that of the old man. “We’ll talk about your respect when you belong to me, Styke. Drop the knife or I kill Lindet. You won’t let her die, will you? That’s why you fought your way through all of these. For her.” There was a flicker of a smile on Dvory’s face. “Blood sees blood, Styke. Drop the knife, or I kill your sister.”
“Your what?” Ibana demanded, stepping up beside Styke, her eyes wide.
Styke locked eyes with Lindet. He saw the corner of her mouth twitch upward and couldn’t help but smile. A chuckle escaped his lips, and within moments he was laughing outright. He dropped his broken carbine and slapped his knee, then threw his head back in a roar. Across from him, her neck still in the grip of Ji-Orz, Lindet laughed with him.
Dvory stared at him in puzzlement. “What is so funny?”
Ka-poel stepped up to Styke’s right. A dozen walking cadavers, their eyes blank, their bodies bloody, swayed behind her. She stared at Dvory, fingering her machete, and Dvory stared back. Ka-Sedial, it seemed, could be distracted.
“He’s laughing,” Lindet said softly, forcing Dvory to turn toward her, “because you have no idea who we are. Ben will save me if he can, just as I would him. But death? We’ve stared at our own deaths since childhood. You think to cow us with fear?” Lindet gave a warm, almost happy chuckle. “If you kill me, I am dead. I doubt Ben will mourn me long. I don’t deserve it. But I am his blood, and he will avenge me.” She paused, looking up into the eyes of Ji-Orz. “We laugh because whatever happens to me, the rest of you are already dead. Ben, kill them all.”
Several things happened at once. The closest dragonman took a step toward Styke, knife thrusting, while a second dragonman broke for Ka-poel. A third jumped for Ibana.
Styke caught his opponent’s thrust with his boz knife. The dragonman was ready for the counter and stepped close, drawing a second knife in the blink of an eye and ramming it, underhand, at Styke’s side. Stepping into the blade, Styke felt it bite into his buttock, and the tip hit his pelvis. He wrapped his off arm around the dragonman’s neck, pulling him against his breast, and squeezed with all his might. The dragonman jerked once, dropping his knife and slapping weakly at Styke’s shoulder before slumping.
Styke cast the body aside as the third dragonman closed with Ibana. She fired her pistol point-blank, barely slowing her attacker, and drew her knife. Ibana was strong, but she was not as fast, and she fell back beneath three quick thrusts that threatened to overwhelm her. Styke swallowed the pain burning in his leg and leapt, tackling her assailant from the side just as he buried his knife between Ibana’s ribs.
The dragonman squirmed beneath Styke, reached for another knife, and Styke bit off his nose and spat it in his face. He rolled off the dragonman and came up with his own knife just a fraction of a second quicker, burying it into the soft flesh just above the dragonman’s armor and sternum.
Styke turned to find that the second dragonman had cut through Ka-poel’s ensorcelled soldiers with ease, and now pressed her violently. Styke forced himself to his feet, barely able to move, and took a step toward her.
“Don’t kill her!” Dvory yelled in Ka-Sedial’s voice.
The dragonman attacking Ka-poel faltered for a split second, trapping Ka-poel’s machete with his own knife and turning his head just a fraction toward Dvory, as if in question. Ka-poel’s other hand darted up, striking as quick as an adder, and rammed a long needle into the dragonman’s eye.
Styke took a second step as the dragonman fell, and then stumbled down to one knee. He looked at Dvory, at the expression of horror on his face, then toward Lindet, who smiled softly in the grip of Ji-Orz.
“Kill her,” Dvory ordered. “Kill Lindet, kill Styke, and bring me the girl.”
Styke looked around the room. Everyone was dead or dying. Ibana clutched at the knife stuck between her ribs, struggling to breathe. Lindet was fodder for the dragonman. Ka-poel was quick, but she would not be able to handle Ji-Orz on her own. And Dvory still stood unwounded, unfluttered, his body being controlled by someone a continent away.
“Kill her,” Dvory hissed.
Ji-Orz pursed his lips. There was no fear in his eyes as he looked across the carnage, but there was something else. His eyes met Styke’s, and he gave a long-suffering sigh and let go of Lindet’s neck. “No.”
“What?” Dvory demanded.
“Your hold on me has broken. You are weak, Great Ka. You are spread too thin, and I am no longer compelled.” Ji-Orz drew the bone knife from his belt, then a bone knife from beneath his jacket, and lay them both on the ground. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you. I’ve watched Ben Styke kill three dragonmen. In all my life, I have never and will never see such a thing again. I may fight him someday, but I refuse to slaughter an artist like this when he is barely able to fight.”
Dvory straightened, his trembling intensifying. “You’re scared of him?”
“I am a dragonman. We do not feel fear.” Ji-Orz looked sidelong at Lindet. “But I respect strength.”
“I will find you, and I will break you,” Dvory said in a low, angry voice.
Ji-Orz inclined his head slightly. “I’ll see you again, Ben Styke.” Without another word, he was gone through the side door, out the back of the great hall.
Styke turned his gaze on Dvory, watching the struggle play out across Dvory’s face in much the same way as it played out across that cuirassier commander Ka-poel enthralled last week. He could see the fight in Dvory’s eyes and the sweat on his brow. He squeezed his eyes shut, then wiped the perspiration from his cheeks with the back of his sleeve. He gave a mighty shiver before looking down at Styke with someone else’s eyes.
“You’ll bleed out soon enough, Styke. No one survives those wounds.”
Styke still rested on one knee, his head feeling heavy and his eyes tired. The dragonman’s exit seemed to take the strength from his limbs, and he wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep. He touched the bloody stone with one hand and tried to gather his wits before shakily pushing himself back up to his feet. He lifted his knife.
Dvory swallowed, looking from Styke to Ka-poel. His face took on an almost paternalistic expression. “Child,” he said. “I’ve been calling for you. Why don’t you answer? Kill them for me, and then join me in Landfall. You’ve locked the godstone, but I will unravel it sooner or later. With your help I can end this war quickly. We can put a stop to this bloodshed and unite the continents once more.”
Ka-poel gestured emphatically.
“I don’t know what that means. Why do you not speak? Are you mute?”
Styke lurched forward, grabbing Dvory by the arm as he began to draw his sword. He pressed the tip of his knife to Dvory’s throat. “She called you a prick.”
Dvory’s lips drew back in a snarl, and suddenly Styke felt himself pushed aside. He staggered away as Ka-poel took his place in front of Dvory. She leaned toward him, searching his eyes as if looking through a looking glass at something far away.