The Demigod Proving (50 page)

He had to kill him.

Teirn groaned and lifted his head, trying to focus his clouded eyes on Wrend. He mumbled something incoherent.

Wrend couldn’t fail, couldn’t disappoint the Master again. He couldn’t forget the Master's expression four nights before, after he’d tried to sneak out with Leenda. He’d never seen such disappointment in anyone’s eyes. The way the Master had shaken his head had felt like a sword slashing across Wrend’s face.

He couldn’t fool himself. Despite all that had happened in recent weeks, and the things he’d done and the doubts that had found root in his heart, he wanted to please the Master. He wanted to make the Master proud—give him reason to celebrate. Not to shake his head in disappointment.

“Wrend,” Rashel said, “please put the sword down.”

“No!”

He had to do this. The Master demanded it.

He wrenched his eyes from hers and turning, took two steps toward the leader and raised his blade. The sword grated as he pushed the point through ring mail into the man’s stomach. The renegade, caught by surprise, cried out and doubled over. The paladins kept their grips on his arms as he lifted his head, meeting Wrend’s gaze in disbelief. That only made Wrend angrier.

This man was not his father. The Master was. He was a demigod. He had accepted a task.

He withdrew the blade and with both hands swung the sharp edge upward at the man’s bowed face.

“No!”

It wasn’t Rashel that shouted it, but Teirn.

Wrend finished his swing and let the momentum turn him away from the gore, toward Teirn. He’d sat up, and an expression of utter despair consumed his countenance. In that instant, as Wrend let the point of the sword fall to the ground, he hated himself for foiling his brother.

“It was my task,” Wrend said. “The Master gave me the task.”

He pushed the guilt away, and anger at the Master rose in him. Why this test that pitted him against his friend and brother?

The paladins released the limp body. It crumbled to the ground behind him, and he took a step toward his brother.

Teirn’s eyes boiled, and he began to stand.

Next to him, Rashel’s knees buckled. She fell to them, hunched forward. Tears flowed, and she looked at Wrend with agony.

His anger shifted toward her. It was unfair of her to put him in this position, to try and stop him from obeying the Master.

“What are you even doing here?” he said. “Are you one of them? One of the apostates?”

He stepped over to her, leaning over and grabbing her arm. He lifted her to her feet with one hand and pulled his face close to hers.

“No.” It came out only as a whisper between the sobs.

He shook her and she slipped out of his grasp, again falling to the ground. How disappointing that his own mother was a traitor. If not now, then at least seventeen years before. No wonder the Master valued him so much. A truly faithful person was hard to find; even one of his favorite wives had betrayed him.

“The Master has to know,” he said, “that you betrayed him.”

“I never did,” she said. She propped herself up on one elbow. “I’ve been faithful to him since he chose me. I didn’t know he was going to choose me that day.”

“Then why are you here?” he said. “If you’re not a traitor, why are you here?”

She looked past Wrend, behind him, shaking her head in sudden panic.

“Teirn, no!”

Wrend began to turn and lift the sword. A blow of double-clenched fists caught him in the side of the head and he staggered to one side, his body bending so his face came down nearly to the level of his belly.

“You little monster,” Teirn shouted.

He kicked high, and his boot caught Wrend in the jaw. This time Wrend flew up and backward, landing on his back. The wind rushed from his lungs, and the sword clattered away from him. He couldn’t inhale. Teirn kicked him in the ribs and pain exploded up through his side—accompanying the sharp crack.

“Teirn, stop!” Rashel said.

Teirn did, but only long enough to bend over and pick up the sword.

“I may not have killed the apostate leader,” he said, standing above Wrend, “but I can kill you.”

Wrend struggled for air and tried to roll, but Teirn stomped on his chest, pinning him down to the ground with a Thew-strengthened foot. He lifted the sword high in both hands, holding the point down, aimed at Wrend’s face.

Chapter 65: Victor of the proving

At some point you realize that some things are more important than others. Hopefully that realization doesn’t come too late.

-Teirn

Gasping for breath, Wrend struggled to get out from beneath his brother’s boot. But his ribs and head hurt too much, and he had no strength. He couldn’t focus on his discernment because of the pain. The sword point hovered over his face, wavering back and forth. It would split his head, just like it had divided the leader’s only a minute before.

Wrend had killed a man. He’d opened the man’s head with a sword. He couldn’t banish the images from his mind, even as he struggled to free himself and find his breath. He still saw the way the sharp edge of the sword connected with the man’s face, and cut through it. He’d done that. With his own hands.

But he wouldn’t do it again. Not ever.

“Teirn,” Rashel sobbed. “Teirn, please no.”

Teirn stared down at Wrend, his teeth bared and the corners of his eyes tight. His foot slid up Wrend’s chest, to apply pressure on his neck.

But despite that, Wrend’s breath finally came to him, and he inhaled. He grabbed Teirn’s foot and tried to twist it away.

And he succeeded.

Teirn’s eyes softened. The anger in his face dissolved. He moved his foot off of Wrend’s neck, and tossed his sword aside. He staggered away, bringing both hands to his head as if he suffered from a massive headache.

“I’m undone!” he said. Despair made his voice quiver. “I can’t return and face the Master.”

Wrend scrambled to his feet and turned to Teirn. A left rib still throbbed; he applied Thew to it, to heal it. Beyond that, he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand what was happening; from the moment he’d seen Rashel in the cave, nothing had made any sense.

He glanced at the leader’s split-open head, and looked away to avoid being sick. But everywhere he looked, other bodies lay strewn about the cavern floor.

He’d done this. He’d brought troops here to kill. He’d killed.

Rashel still lay on the ground where Wrend had dropped her. Dust covered her face, except where tears had left tracks. She looked at him with an expression that stung him to the core.

“He wasn’t my father,” Wrend said. “The Master is my father.”

She shook her head. Her lower lip trembled.

“I’ve failed him,” Teirn said. He collapsed to his knees and buried his face in his hands. “I can’t return.”

“Teirn,” Wrend said.

Cautiously, he stepped toward his brother. He wanted to thank his brother for not killing him. Instead, a question came out.

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

Teirn withdrew his hands from his face and twisted his body so that he looked at Wrend. His cheeks were wet. Torment wracked his face.

“I thought I was strong enough, that I’d prepared myself well enough for this day.”

Conflicting emotions struggled within Wrend: gratitude for his brother’s friendship; anger that he’d kept information from him for so long; guilt for killing the heretic; relief at still being alive.

Teirn turned back the other way. His shoulders slumped.

“Calla warned me. She said I couldn’t be your friend, that it would be too hard to do what I had to do.”

“Well,” Wrend said, still not knowing what to say. Nothing he could think of sounded sufficient. “I’m glad she was right.”

He placed a hand on Teirn’s shoulder. He looked at Rashel. She’d buried her face in her hands, with her elbows close against her body that shook with sobs. He glanced again at the leader.

What had he done? She’d loved that man. She’d lain with him, whoever he was. And he’d killed him.

But the Master had commanded him to. The Master had told him to do that. It was a test. He’d passed.

And Teirn had failed.

“I tried to convince him,” Wrend said. “I asked him to release me from this proving.”

He laughed, feeling no mirth. The pain in his ribs cut his laughter off. He winced and brought a hand to his side, applied more Ichor to the injury.

Teirn stood and turned to Wrend. Sorrow and bitterness passed through his face. He clenched and unclenched his fists.

“You win. Because I couldn’t kill you, now I will die.”

“There has to be a way around it.”

“Have you thought of one?” Teirn raised his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head. “There’s no way. Even despite everything she’s done, I’ve still failed her.”

Wrend didn’t understand. Not everything. It was clear from Teirn’s face that there was more that he hadn’t said.

“Her? You mean him. You’ve failed the Master.”

Teirn’s face blanched. He shook his head. “Yes, him—but also her. Calla. She believes that no draegon should rule over a nation—that’s what Pyter stopped in the first place: the domination of draegons over humans. If you won this proving, that could bring back the dominion of draegons. So she took action to make sure you lost.”

Understanding dawned on Wrend. It filled him like light.

“So she tied me up. That night at the Seraglio. She tied me up, so I would be late.”

Teirn nodded. He wiped his eyes. Guilt etched his face.

Wrend didn’t know whether to reach out and embrace his brother and say all was forgiven—for clearly he regretted it all—or to let Teirn have it.

“And she planted that note,” Teirn said. “The one that made you interrupt the Strengthening. That was her.”

At that, anger came. Tremors ran up Wrend’s legs. His hands shook, even though he clenched them. Teirn had known all about it. He’d been party to Wrend’s troubles and worries over the past weeks. Though he hadn’t done the work, he’d known about Calla’s efforts to get Wrend killed. Not once, but twice.

“Please,” Teirn said. “Please forgive me. She’s my own mother. She convinced me she was doing the right thing.” Anger and determination flashed in his eyes. “But no more. I don’t care, anymore. I won’t betray you again.”

“You little traitor!”

Wrend started at Rashel’s shout. For a minute he’d forgotten about her. She leapt to her feet and charged Teirn, her hands held out like claws.

Teirn didn’t move, as if resigned to his fate, but Wrend stepped between them, caught Rashel’s wrists in his hands, and pushed her back. The motion banished his anger at Teirn.