The Way of the Blade Page 21

  The horned-beasts grunted and squealed as they dug around the floor, gnawing on old bones, crapping and peeing. They glistened from fouling upon each other and from bleeding as their numerous horns collided in the confined space. The stench that rose into Javery’s nostrils threatened to knock him unconscious.

  He switched back and forth between breathing through his mouth and his nose. After several breaths through the mouth, he could taste the tainted air and snapped his mouth shut, only to endure the horrid smell for a few breaths. Despite it all, however, he felt the power growing inside him. For that to continue, he would breathe the stench of a thousand yorqs. Only the magic within would help him break free and get to the Carsite people.

  “Time to begin,” the Pali Witch said, her voice echoing around the narrow walls. She descended from above, graceful like a feather, and slowed to a stop directly in front of him. Hovering in the air, she turned her twisted, antlered head so that he got a hard look at her burning eyes. “You don’t realize this just yet, but I am helping you. I will take your magic before it consumes you.”

  “I need it,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Without it, I can’t stop the Scarites from killing all my people.”

  “Your people? I did not know you were their leader.” A smile crossed her scarred face, and Javery knew she had seen the look in his eye. “Ah, so you aren’t their leader. You only wish it.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I need my magic.”

  “It was never yours to begin with.” She whipped her head to the side, raking the sharp points of her antlers across his face. He screamed out and as he did, she opened her jaw wide. A greenish brightness flowed out of him, and the Witch inhaled it sharply.

  “How did you —”

  She struck again, clawing his chest with her taloned fingers. He clamped his mouth shut but the magic seeped from his open wounds. She leaned in like a lover moving in to lick his chest, but instead, she breathed in his magic.

  His muscles trembled. His eyelids grew heavy. “Please, don’t.”

  Smoke poured from her eyes as if the magic were a fire burning in her head. “Don’t be upset. You never would have succeeded. The best you could have expected was to end up living in the caves of these mountains, spending your days avoiding me, praying I never found you until you went mad from the magic eating away your brain.”

  She dug her finger in his open chest wound. Javery shouted, the sound bouncing around his head, and when his throat burned from the effort, his mouth locked open, though his body shook silently. Even with his eyes closed, he still knew exactly when she took his magic. Every drop she drank seared his skin as it left him.

  She circled him as his head hung limp. He watched her torn robes pass by, and below them, he saw the yorqs squealing and snorting over the blood that dripped off his body.

  “If only you had displayed patience,” she said. “I would have given you everything. I had hoped you were different, but I should’ve known better. Every single time one of you seems promising, seems worthy, I bring you to my home to gain my power. I put you in that room and ask you to wait. And each time you fools are too impatient. You leave and go where I warned you not to, and you destroy everything.”

  “I’m sorry. I would’ve gladly waited but there isn’t time.”

  “There’s always time, you stupid piece of crug. With magic, you can bend time to your will. And I wanted to give all my power to you, to be free of its curse.”

  “Then do so. Give it to me and —”

  “You think I want to suffer like you? You think I want to die at the end like you will? The way I would transfer the power, the way I need to transfer the power, takes years and requires patience, but I would live — I might even have been restored. I had hopes for you. Instead, I’ll drain you, and with your power, I’ll live on until the next desperate fool arrives. Maybe then, I’ll be free.”

  Javery felt her dig into his back and rip out a chunk of skin. The shock of the attack scorched fiery pinpricks along his spine. As the magic seeped out of the wound, as he felt her tongue slither around his skin, he felt his life draining, too.

  She gasped as if breaking from underwater and laughed. As she glided around to face him, he thought of all the pain the Scarites would inflict upon his people. Not his. They were never his.

  She used her talon this time. And as he screamed and cried, he pictured the way Druzane looked at him when he found her with Canto. Even as the pain burned through him, a raging fire erupted deeper inside. They may not consider themselves his people, but that was only because they had never been given the chance to see what wielding power should really be about. They had never witnessed what he could do to demand their loyalty.

  “I want this power,” he shouted. Riding that last burst of adrenaline, he attempted to summon together all his magic and hold it from her. But the tighter he clenched around it, the faster it gushed out of him.

  “Stop it!” The Witch dropped a few inches in the air before catching herself. Bits of green magic arced off her body like miniature lightning bolts. She held her stomach, but not in respect — rather, she looked as if she might throw up. Catching his eyes, she spit and flew behind him.

  Javery’s analytical side kicked in. Clearly, she could handle absorbing only a small quantity of magic at a time. By attempting to withhold it from her, she had to pull with more force and ended up overloading herself. Is that why she’s been hurting me? Of course. By inflicting high levels of pain, Javery could not concentrate enough to hold back his power. She could sip a small quantity and not risk damage to herself. It all seemed plausible, but he would have to test his hypothesis before betting everything he had on the idea.

  The Witch did not make him wait long. She whipped around him and dug her talons into his knee. This time, however, Javery fought the pain. He focused on the magic still within him, picturing it locked away deep inside. As he felt her fingers toying with his kneecap, he felt her magic seeking out his, trying to lure it away, to force it to follow her out of his body and into her own.

  Each time she failed to grasp it, she turned her fingers on his knee. Three times he held back his urge to scream. Sweat rushed down his body, stinging his open wounds. When the fourth attack came, he could hold back no longer. He bellowed and wept and felt her steal more of his magic.

  With a drunken slur, the Witch said, “You’re only making this awful experience worse on yourself. But I can make it easier. By now, you must know that I’ve won, that I will have all of your magic, and that you’ll die. There is no changing this outcome. I admire your fight, and I know that your passion for your people has led you here. So, what if I promise to kill off all the Scarites for you?”

  Javery lifted his bleeding head. His sweat-pasted hair and drooling lips could not defeat the surprise in his eyes.

  “Surely you’ve tasted enough of the power to know it’s possible. Given enough time and practice, you could do it yourself. After all, your black-clad gods are merely mortals with excellent skills. But with my magic and my control, I am practically a real god. This woman in your thoughts — Malja — she is nothing but a skilled warrior. She follows a life of the blade. The other like her — Harskill — he is nothing without his special clothing. It is his real power. Yes, I see it clearer now. If you give me your power, stop fighting me for it, then after I kill you, I’ll promise to wipe them from the land.”

  Letting his head droop, Javery managed to breathe out one word. “Okay.”

  He could feel the Witch smile with vicious lust. She had won, and now she would have all his magic. “I didn’t think you’d be so wise,” she said, resting her hands on his shoulders. As she absorbed his magic, she added, “Sadly, I won’t be honoring my deal with you. I just wanted you to make it easier on me. After all, I’m a liar.”

  “That’s okay,” Javery said. “I’m a liar, too.” His face scrunched together as he wrapped his inner-self around his magic.

  As before, the Witch used her strength to pry his
magic loose. This time, however, he knew what to do. Without warning, he simply let go. He released all of his magic into her.

  It was her turn to scream and cry and bellow. She tried to let go, but the magic jolting through her, locked her fingers. Her talons dug deeper into Javery’s shoulders. Green lightning arcs lit up the cell, frightening the yorqs into a cacophony of squeals. The smell of burning flesh filled the air followed by a loud pop — and the talons let go. The Witch’s body tumbled to the floor, sending the yorqs into a feeding frenzy.

  Javery glanced at the silk restraints. They faded away with the Witch’s life. He had enough magic left to float upward until he found an opening near the top. Escaping the cell, he landed on a solid floor, and collapsed — breathing hard, wanting only sleep, feeling every muscle and nerve alight with fire.

  He lifted his head — his eyes narrowed and dark. The Mountain Well. He had to get to that cave and restore his magic. The Well wanted blood, and he had plenty more to offer. Then, once he had the power back, he would join his people in battle — no, in war. He would save them. And if they refused him again, after all he had suffered for them, he would subjugate them. Refuse him more, he would destroy them all.

  Chapter 31

  Malja

  The warship Nittilo blocked out most of the sky as Malja gazed upward from one of the last standing buildings. Twelve long-nose guns lined either side, and two heavy cannons had been mounted on the deck. The bridge sat on the far end, and unlike ships Malja knew, this one lacked a single mast. No winds powered this beast. Only the Great Well’s magic. Caked with dirt, rust, and mold, the massive ship reminded Malja of an old warrior refusing to accept that age had taken away his ability to fight. She knew well how a man like that could surprise even the most experienced.

  Autoflys rose to the ship carrying supplies while others returned to the surface to reload. Elderly woman and children old enough to reach the controls piloted these crafts while the young adults loaded the ship. Malja could hear Hirasa on the deck ordering people about.

  “We’re ready,” Krunlo said from behind.

  Malja stepped back into the building and followed him to the war room — the same room that had both protected and imprisoned the townspeople during the Scarite attack. Fawbry, Tommy, Canto, and several men Malja did not know all encircled a table fashioned out of a door. On this table they had placed a torn map of the area.

  “Have the scouts returned yet?” Malja asked.

  Canto raised a finger to his lips. Making eye contact with Krunlo and then each of the men in the room, Canto said, “You have all placed your trust in me, and I am grateful. But I have seen in these last few days that I know too little about warfare. To lead this town through a healthy growing season, to manage our funds and pronounce judgment over our troubles, these things I understand well. Not war.”

  “You’re a fine leader,” one man said.

  “We need more than that. We need a great leader right now. One who has experienced battle and understands the tactics required to win. One who has shown bravery and caring for our people. Though initially a stranger to us, I ask you to trust me once more when I suggest to you that we need a General to lead us through this war.”

  Malja had heard this type of speech before. A leader searching for that delicate balance between giving up control during the battle and maintaining power for after. Canto had done a fine job as far as she could tell. She only hoped he was smart enough not to pick her. She had been the General many times in her life, and often it had been a smart assignment. This time, however, she needed to be on the ground, in the thick of it. The Carsites lacked enough skilled warriors to risk placing her in the back.

  Canto placed a hand on his stomach. “Please accept my decision, and for this battle ahead of us, I urge you to follow the lead of General Fawbry.”

  As the men all bowed with hands on stomachs, Fawbry reciprocated the gesture though it looked awkward with his stump. He winked at Malja, she smiled, and then he pointed to the map. “According to those two brave girls scouting for us, the Scarite camp is sitting along the coastline here. They’ve built an impromptu town out of tents and whatever they could scavenge in the nearby area. The prison where they are holding our men appears to be this building — a stone ruin that they’ve fortified with wood and, most likely, snake-magic.”

  Though he spoke with power, Malja kept catching Fawbry’s eyes shifting on her. She knew exactly what he needed. “Okay, General Fawbry, what should we do?”

  Fawbry studied the map, visibly relaxing into his new role. He tapped the stump of his arm as he thought. “We don’t have the numbers on our side. And from what I’ve seen and from what you’ve told us, we have inferior weapons.”

  “All true.”

  “Except for the warship. They don’t know about that, and they’ll have no idea how powerful it can be.”

  “Do we?”

  Fawbry looked to Krunlo. The burly man huffed and rubbed his nose. “Powerful enough.”

  “I think,” Fawbry said, “that our best chance will be to take the majority of our force and attack head on.”

  Canto bumped the table. “That’s crazy. We’ll be destroyed.”

  “While the main force attacks, Malja and you will rescue our men.”

  Malja clicked her tongue. “Using the main force like a diversion. It’s a dangerous gamble, but Harskill certainly won’t expect that.”

  “Once you’ve freed our men, you’ll have created a small force which you can use to flank the enemy that is battling us in the main attack.”

  “And what then?” Canto said.

  Fawbry tossed his wiry hair out of his eyes. “One thing I’ve learned over my years with Malja — no plan lasts in battle. I’ve got a few ideas of things we can do, but in the end, we’ll have to see how it all comes down when we’re there.”

  “What? You want us to leave it to chance.”

  Malja smacked her hand down on the map before an uproar could begin. “This is a good plan, and Fawbry — your General — is right about how all plans fall apart in battle.” She looked over at Fawbry. “These men, however, need to know the whole thing even if it never gets executed that way. It’s an important part of a battle. That way, when things do go awry, each man will have some idea of what should be happening, what they are trying to accomplish. Understand?”

  Fawbry nodded with vigor. “My apologies.”

  To Canto, Malja added, “Don’t worry. Your men are in excellent hands. General Fawbry will do a great job. He just needs to remember that this battle is on a grander scale than those he and I have fought in the past. When it was only the three of us, improvisation was easier to accomplish.”

  “Yes,” Fawbry said. “I see that now. Please, Canto, Krunlo, everyone — gather around and allow me to present the entire battle plan.”

  “Tommy, too,” Malja said, waving Tommy closer to the map. “After Fawbry, Tommy’s the next most experienced man you’ve got.”

  Malja caught the flash of joy on Tommy’s face. Fawbry nodded agreement, his eyes never lifting from the table, and said, “I have a very unique mission for Tommy. And it’s going to be the key to us having any serious chance of success.”

  Malja took Canto by the arm and led him out of the building. “We’re not part of that plan,” she said to his protests. “Fawbry’s going to create an opportunity for us. That I don’t doubt. We’ve got to come up with a way to succeed with our task, with what we’re going to do with the opportunity your General has given us.”

  Canto gazed up at the warship hovering over the town. “Then let’s get started.”

  Chapter 32

  Javery

  Javery skimmed across the ocean surface. With the sea air blowing in his face and the heels of his feet touching the water on occasion, he crossed the miles towards the shore and the war he would end.

  When he visited the Mountain Well and offered his blood, he had intended to drain all the magic it could produce. Eventually,
however, he passed out with his bleeding hand hanging off a rock. He had no clear idea of how much magic entered him while he lay unconscious, but he felt it surging through him with each breath.

  The world brightened each time his lungs filled. He could smell the fish as they passed beneath him, and he listened to the clouds as the blew across the sky. This was what he had needed all along. This real power to change the world.

  Javery halted and stared down at the ocean. His feet, scorched and bleeding, stung when the waves splashed against him. His legs had become bone-thin and looked composed of mud and stone. Jagged tusks grew from his elbows. The Carsites would never recognize him now, but he knew they’d understand his magic — they would bow down before him like servants of the god he had become.

  He snapped out his hand and raised it high. A drotty, a silver fish the size of his leg, burst from the waters and struggled in the air four feet above. Like a fish hooked on a line, the drotty wrenched its body every way it could manage in a desperate attempt to free itself. Javery clenched his fingers into a fist, and the drotty imploded, its mashed body stuck in the air.

  He let the dead remains drop back into the ocean. And he smiled. The Witch had been right — he needed time to learn how to use all his magic, but he discovered that his body understood a lot by instinct, as if he had the power within him all along and the Well had merely awakened his dormant abilities.

  Except part of him believed that all of this had to be new. He could barely keep up with the thoughts in his brain, let alone the instinctive reactions of his body.

  He tasted the change first — a bitter, copper flavor in his mouth. Then he heard all the fish avoid the spot a few hundred feet away. He slid across the water until he reached the area. Before he managed to consciously connect his thoughts, he flew into the air, turned over and dived straight down. All on instinct.