In the Shadow of Swords (8 page)

to shriek a command. The úathir turned and loped southward out of the clearing, branches snapping and smoldering in its wake
.

Marin knew the demon was racing toward the riders
.

Hiril turned to her, whispering, “You must warn the others.” He pulled an arrow from his quiver and handed it to her. “Take this as I give chase. The kayal will flee when I attack. They will follow the úathir to the riders and choose to fight there.” Hiril brushed his hand against Marin’s fist as she clutched the arrow. “Fire it into the sky. The powder in the shaft burns red once the arrow leaves the bow. The company will see it as a warning beacon. After that, get to them as quickly as possible. We will meet there.” Hiril placed a hand on her shoulder, urging her to go
.

“But… the witch is the one I was hunting.” Turning to him, Marin looked into his eyes and felt his strength flowing into her. “I know it,” she insisted. “I can feel it was the one that took Maeros’ fingers and feet.”

He smiled grimly
.

“I will go after the kayal-witch.”

8

MARIN
TREMBLED
with rage.

Who was Hiril Altaïr to go after her prey? It was hers. She had tracked the kayal across the miles of Aeíx, followed it through the long, miserable day to this spot, sworn to her duty as a rider with the Four Banners. Who was he to take her prey instead? Just who was this man—he who had darted into the night to single-handedly ambush a kayal company still powerful with the dark magic they had conjured?

She couldn’t see his arrows fly, but she heard the evil creatures shriek as one of their number fell, its head shattered by a powerful bowshot from her right.
TWO
more of the things toppled, and the rest swarmed toward the far side of the glade, where branches still smoldered from the úathir’s passing.

They were following the forest demon straight to Torre Lavvann’s company
.

Marin nocked Hiril’s fire arrow, pointed it skyward, and loosed the bowstring. She rolled to the ground as a streak of brilliant red shot upward, coming up in a crouch and running around the clearing’s edge as kayal arrows tore at the brambles that had concealed her
.

Hiril had been mistaken. Some of the dark creatures had stayed behind to fight. And neither of the two coming to search for her body had fallen to friendly bowshots
.

She faced them alone
.

Marin forced away all thoughts of her company. Surely they had seen the fiery arrow. Indeed, she would be surprised if they hadn’t been alerted by the úathir’s piercing scream
.

She was already moving to her left as she fired two quick arrows into the backs of the kayal who had come searching for her. Then she threw herself flat and rolled; the red flash of her warning signal had revealed glinting eyes in the branches of the lone pine tree, and as she’d expected, answering shots came from that quarter. They thudded into tree trunks a comfortable distance away as Marin continued to circle the glade
.

She lined up her target in the dark, found the likely angle, aimed high, and released one powerful shot into the branches of the pine. Two kayal plummeted through the darkness and crashed to the ground, both pierced by the single arrow. She caught herself wondering if Hiril Altaïr had seen her skill. She also noticed there were no answering bowshots
. Was
it possible she had finished off the enemy in this place?

Sounds of battle drew nearer through the trees: the shouts and shrieks of men and kayal, the clash of steel, the thud of hooves. Had her company defeated the úathir? Were the creatures fleeing back this way? Marin doubted that a single wound would prove mortal to the kayal, and she would not have the injured rising again to join their dark kind in battle
.

With blade in hand, she broke from the cover of the trees. The fallen kayal were moving as she came upon them; despite their injuries, they groped for their weapons. Without mercy, Marin plunged her sword into the first, and then silenced the second with a fierce blow to the neck. There were two more, fallen beside the brambles, and at least three morenearby that Hiril had taken with his parting shots. How many others? Were the rest caught in the skirmish that approached down the smoldering track through the trees?

Marin barely saw the kayal as it dropped from the branches of the pine and came at her with a long, jagged blade
.

She hadn’t counted on this one
.

9

THE KAYAL attacked Marin with incredible fury
.

Its blade sang through the air. She parried and riposted. The thing struck back, hooking her sword, forcing her arm aside. She feinted and gashed her enemy’s sword arm with a twisting lunge. Blade dripping with black blood, she slashed again and lopped off its head
.

She turned in a slow circle, calming herself. Five other kayal lay sprawled on the ground. The one that had taken Hiril’s arrow through the head would never move again. Marin quickly dispatched the other four, then headed toward the sounds of fighting
.

The smoking branches where the úathir had passed still stank of Maeros’s charred flesh. Marin breathed through her mouth as she watched for signs of friend or foe. The battle sounds seemed to be moving farther north
.

Except—

Something ran toward her in the gloom, too light for an unhorsed rider in chain mail, too fast even for Hiril. Marin raised her blade as the kayal appeared. Its blind haste signaled flight rather than attack—until the thing fixed its gaze on her. Even in the dark, its black eyes gleamed red. It raised a jagged blade, swerved and charged. Something about this creature—its scent? its hatred?—told Marin she was confronting the butcher she had tracked from Darós
.

The kayal-witch
.

And Torre Lavvann would spare it? Not while she faced it here alone!

Marin launched herself at her adversary, slashing deep into itssword arm. But her enemy pushed back with even more fury than the one she’d fought moments earlier. It struck her blade as fast as she could parry. Saving strength while seeking advantage, Marin gave her enemy more ground as it tried to back her into a tree trunk. Her own battle fury gave way to a chill that spread from the pit of her stomach
.

She might not survive this fight
.

Suddenly two arrows pierced the kayal from behind. With a grunt of shock and the snap of bone, it dropped its sword and fell face down, arrows protruding from its back and the base of its neck
.

Marin dropped to her knees and closed her eyes, gasping. Footsteps pounded the forest floor, and she smiled at the welcome clink of chain mail. Someone gripped her shoulders. With a sigh, she dropped her sword and began to tremble
.

“It is over,” said Lavvann. Marin looked gratefully up at her captain.
“TWO
are dead: Jarrle and Sarsca.” His voice was raw with grief. “We will bury them this night.”

“Brave men, both,” said Marin softly. “I will miss them. But… did Hiril Altaïr reach you?” Worry sharpened her voice. “Have you seen him?”

“I am here.” And so he was. Marin was unable to see how Hiril had fared in battle, but his step was heavier, and weariness weighed down his voice. “The rest of your company is running down the last of our enemies. The úathir was gravely wounded and its fire is flickering. It fled, but will not escape.”

“We are in your debt, Hiril,” said Lavvann. “But one more favor, if I may. Please stay with Marin Hanani while she gathers her strength. My duty lies elsewhere.”

“Of course.” Hiril waved a gracious hand. “See to your fallen soldiers.”

Lavvann retreated into the woods, leaving them alone
.

Hiril slid his hands under Marin’s arms and lifted her to her feet. “You fight fiercely, Marin Hanani.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

“Have you, now?” A smile lurked in Hiril’s voice
.

An ominous gurgle interrupted them. The dying kayal-witch writhed, groping at the arrow in its neck
.

Marin stared down at her enemy, grieving for her fallen comrades, sickened by the memory of the slaughtered prince. She kicked the creature onto its back, pushing the arrows deeper into its throat and chest. Its mouth gaped wide, and a stench of rot blew up at her
.

It only fueled her anger
.

“Your kind belongs on the other side of the veil!” she shouted. “Plague your precious Jnoun and leave
us
alone!” She almost picked it up and shook it, but the pallid, ashy skin looked diseased
.

The kayal made a rough, gurgling sound as blood pumped from its wounds. It was laughing at her! Beyond rage, Marin lifted her sword. The red gleam flared in its black eyes, first at her, then at Hiril. Thick silence fell as a shadow lashed out in the darkness, stretching from the kayal-witch to coil around Hiril. A hollow, dead voice rang from the tendril of shadow
.

“Little time will you live in peace. Then you will be cut down to rot, forever a lost spirit without release. Dark are the words I place on you.”

The shadow faded. The kayal-witch’s eyes went dull; its body collapsed on itself with a faint sucking sound
.

“You have committed your last murder,” Marin said, slashing at the carcass with her sword. Ashes whirled up from the kayal and settled again
.

“Come, lady.” Hiril took her hand, pulling her away. “Do not dwell on the hollow curses of a dying thing.”

Marin let him lead, the day’s exhaustion weighting her body like wet sand. The rain returned, rattling in the trees above them. All she understood was Hiril at her side. Marin promised herself that a curse would never rule her fate, but the thought of Hiril’s death twisted a knife in her heart. She wished that the kayal had chosen her instead
.

Hiril pulled her close, sensing her thoughts. Time stopped as they held one another under the woods’ dark canopy, rain dripping around them but not on them. Marin wondered at that. She wanted the rain to wash away the foulness of killing and the uncertainty of what lay

ahead
.

Gently, tenderly, Hiril put his hands around Marin’s neck and tilted her head back
.

Then he kissed her
.

10

THAT FIRST kiss was no dream.

Marin still tasted it on her lips, warm and promising, two years after that wonderful, horrible night. The memory lingered even as she held Hiril’s ashes in her hands.

She had been standing at the ship’s bow ever since they’d rounded the northern tip of Mornós. Both suns were high in the sky, dazzling her as she turned east to watch the Tayar Mountains rise out of the sea. Their sharp purple outline faded to soft lavender as the morning progressed, as the Hayl coastline rolled past the port rail and they approached the crowded ships’ masts of Messinor.

Marin’s bag, packed hours ago, lay at her feet. Beyond occasionally asking the sailors how soon they would dock, she said nothing. Her year of mourning ended tomorrow, and she still had ground to cover. It was all very well to lose herself in memories and dreams while confined to a ship, but now she focused her energy on the long walk ahead.

The ship sailed into the harbor, and soon she departed, walking onto the quay without a word of farewell, although she felt their curious eyes on her back. She moved along the pier, weaving her way around stevedores, merchants, and stacks of cargo. Foot traffic thickened as she left the waterfront and plunged into the heart of the city.

Like any port, Messinor was a lively place, bright with the colors of many lands, the music of many languages, and the aroma of many foods. Marin remembered that it had been some time since

breakfast. She stopped to buy a wedge of cheese and small skin of local wine from a street vendor, eating her meal as she walked through the city with her eyes on the mountains beyond.

This was a peaceful place, in its way, and the simple pleasures of eating fresh food and being on a mission again nearly brought a smile to her face.

Almost.

Still she wondered, always and endlessly, what she might have done to prevent that curse from falling on Hiril. Throughout this year of mourning, it had been difficult to eat, to concentrate, to keep on pretending that she was whole.

“Why didn’t you kill the wretched thing when you had the chance?” She had asked herself this question a thousand times. “What made you claim it as your prize? Why did you think you deserved one last word instead of simply cleaving its foul neck with your sword the moment it fell? Then it would never have come to this. He would have been spared. You would hold him in your arms right now.”

Marin shuddered as she tormented herself with these questions yet again. It was the same voice with which she’d always said, “I’ve seen worse,” but without the lightness of a casual boast. In the past year, that voice had accused her with the fierce edge that once challenged fate, now focused with all its scorn on her hesitation that night in the wood.

Hesitation that had cost Hiril his life.

“Little time will you live in peace, then cut down to rot,” the kayal-witch had cursed him—and cut down he was.

The curse had come true.

11

MARIN WAS SILENT.

The memories were flooding back into her mind. How irreparably her life had changed. That fateful day played out once more in Marin’s head as clear as it did the first time.