The Girl With Red Hair (The Last War Saga Book 1) (3 page)

He leapt into the branches of a nearby tree, and climbed until he was level with the small vent in the side of the timber building. He molded himself to the shadows as he lowered his eyes to the opening. Even the shadows could not have seen him as anything but their own.

Jaydan was wailing. Kneeling beside his parents, the young Healer was wailing with a fury Tannyl didn’t know him capable of. Blood covered the floor, the walls, and even the ceiling of the small bedroom. Part of Tannyl wanted to call out, to abandon his perch and offer Jaydan whatever support he could. This feeling he banished, shrugging it off as someone would a chill breeze. It was a weakness he could not afford to show. Weakness got people killed. Cold, calculated focus was his most honed and trusted weapon.

In the blood-splattered bedroom, Jaydan reached for his father’s hand and grasped a small wooden box. Whatever the item was, it silenced the cries of mourning. Tannyl could hear only the most silent of breezes in that moment. He took solace in the silence, his senses telling him that it would not last. And the Hunter’s senses were never wrong.

Suddenly, Jaydan whirled, standing as if struck by a bolt of lightning.

“Who are you?” the Healer shouted.

From somewhere out of view a voice responded, but it was far too soft for even Tannyl to hear. It was little more than a shift in the wind, but it had the rhythm of speech. Whatever was said enraged Jaydan. The Healer jabbed an open hand straight in front of him and the room was engulfed in light. Thunder peeled a fraction of a moment afterward. Tannyl nearly lost his balance, having to reach back and steady himself against the trunk. His vision swam and his ears rung. He had seen magic used often enough in his travels and knew Jaydan had some ability with it, but never had he witnessed such a demonstration. Though, to be honest, he wasn’t sure what he had seen. His senses were scrambled.

Jaydan stumbled from the Healers’ cottage in a stupor. The last few steps were taken on his hands and knees. He had just regained his footing when Tannyl appeared as he usually did—like a mist from the shadows. The Hunter was rubbing his temples and repeatedly opening and shutting his mouth. The still-simmering rage caused the sight to appear double.

“Find anything?” Tannyl asked after a moment. All business. Emotionless.

Jaydan stared back until his vision centered. The small wooden box pressed against his ribs, promising only more questions. His temples pulsed and magic swirled around his body, waiting to be used. Begging. The Healer shook his head and set his jaw. The skin along both forearms and hands was already beginning to blister. He could smell the scent of his own burned flesh. The pain was a welcome distraction. As long as he didn’t think on it
too
much.

Tannyl nodded slowly and grunted. He then swiveled and looked down the path leading out of Woodhaerst. Jaydan followed the gaze, but it was several moments before Sachihiro came bounding into view, nearly at a sprint. Jaydan shook his head. It always amazed him how sharp the elf’s senses were. But, for once, Jaydan didn’t envy him.

Sachihiro was breathless when he reached them, but still managed to blurt, “Dead. That. She. Uncle. Dead. Bitch.”

Jaydan’s heart leapt into his throat. He had spent enough time with the musician to catch full meaning from his fractured statement. He had seen her too. Jaydan’s teeth ground loudly and magic crackled at his fingertips.

A distant shout arrested the attention of the disjointed group. Tannyl’s eyes shot in the direction of the Square. Again, a distant cry rang out. Even Jaydan could sense the desperation in the shout. The others did as well. They ran as one.

As they stumbled from the forest, Jaydan at once took in the scene. The center of the Square was… gone. Typically a place of feast and festival, the Square had been turned into a wasteland. A black hole of bleeding smoke and shadow cratered the soil. Bodies littered the ground. Those still with faces, he recognized. Flitting shapes darted in the air, screeching and clawing. And at the center of the swarm was the village Elder, Fae’Na.

Before he could act, Jaydan heard the quiet twang of a bowstring and two creatures fell from the air. Jaydan looked back at the trees. Tannyl had another arrow nocked and pulled back, the green fletching tight against his cheek. His eyes followed the line of the shaft.

“Save her,” he whispered, though to Jaydan it sounded like a shout. It left no room for disagreement.

Jaydan turned and the rage returned. His village. His family. It rotted around him and fed something dark within him. He had been too weak to save them. Even before, he had failed. But no longer. He would become something more. Something stronger. Something to be feared. His eyes found the nearest shadowy creature flitting about on smoky wings. Magic flowed to his body at the coyest thought. He brought the energy into his being, shaped it, changed it, and unleashed it.

Sachihiro swung his lute around until it rested between his shoulder blades, and with his other hand freed the short sword at his hip. He nearly lost his balance as a narrow streak of flame darted over his right shoulder, followed by an arrow slipping just above his left ear. But he maintained his charge. Woodhaerst had been attacked. He could not tell by what or for what reason, but it lay in ruin. They had not discovered a single survivor until now. If he could get to her, save her…
What?
his mind screamed. It wouldn’t bring back his uncle. Whatever answers Fae’Na could provide would not be enough. Could never be enough. But that was more thinking than he cared to do. Especially now. Sachihiro pressed on, his knuckles burning white with desperation.

He slid to a stop at Fae’Na’s side and stabbed at a passing shade. His clumsy strike missed, and the creature snapped shadowy fangs at him as it flew past. His eyes darted to the others. It was hard to identify the number of attackers, and even harder to identify what they were. Their heads were serpentine, their wings a mix of misty shadow and tightly stretched membrane. None were larger than a cat, but each of their four legs was tipped with sharp talons. And they moved quick enough to leave him dizzy.

“Get out of here,” Fae’Na shouted.

The Elder was wielding a quarterstaff and swung it at any creature that got within range. Arrows continued to fly overhead. Some took the creatures from the air, but most seemed to hardly perturb the winged demons. The bolts of flame and magical energy did even less. The body of one creature dispersed for a brief moment as Jaydan’s flame struck its center, only to reform again with a hiss.

“We’ll save you,” Sachihiro shouted back with his best stage voice. “I once—”

A swooping creature clawed at Fae’Na and she let out a snarl as her flesh immediately faded to a mottled black beneath the ethereal talons. Sachihiro was struck a glancing blow to the temple and went to his knees more as a retreat than from the strike.

Fae’Na looked over his head and Sachihiro saw her wince, though he hadn’t seen her attacked again. She shook her head, braided hair twisting like ravenous serpents.

“All of you,” she bellowed. “Get out of here!”

Sachihiro knew the others would not heed the words. Tannyl was the most stubborn man he had ever known, and there had been something glinting wickedly in the Healer’s eyes when he last looked into them. No, they would fight. There needed to be hope.

“Don’t worry, Elder,” he said with gusto. “I know just the thing to drive the bastards away.”

Dropping the sword, Sachihiro twisted his shoulder, bringing his lute to face with practiced precision. But there would be no applause here. He traced his fingers over the runes etched into the lacquered wood. His uncle had never permitted him to even touch the lute, claiming that he needed to first understand magic before attempting to charm it with song. Sachihiro had dreamed of the day he would be allowed to use the treasured instrument, but now it only reminded him of losing the very man that wielded it so deftly. Handling it now brought with it a twinge of guilt, and for a moment, he regretting taking it.

Before he could think on it further, his thick fingers found the strings and he began to play. Even in the moment, he knew it seemed foolish. He knew Tannyl was cursing him and Jaydan was certain to be rolling his eyes and grumbling. With demons of shadow swirling about and his home in ruin, the musician did the one thing he knew how to do: play. The runes carved along the neck and etched into the base of the beautiful instrument began to glow warmly as he flowed into “Gregor’s Cry,” a ballad of battle and triumph. The world changed. Time slowed to a crawl and all other sounds faded away as he focused on the jarring notes and smooth refrain.

As he played, a familiar energy swept over him and then a less familiar charge swept
through
him. The first pulse of energy startled him and his fingers slipped from the fret, but he recovered quickly and continued. The second shook the lute from his grip completely, and the third deafened him.

Tannyl reached for the small quiver at his belt and cursed as he felt only the stitched leather. His eyes never left her. Standing tall, wielding her staff like a cudgel, he could not have been more proud. Or more horrified. He knew in that moment that no matter his path, he would never find peace. Death would follow him for all of time.

He turned his eyes to the others, quickly assessing their condition. Sachihiro had fallen to his knees at Fae’Na’s side. Weariness hung plain on Jaydan’s face. Though foreign to magic himself, Tannyl knew the toll it took on the mind and body of those that used it. In another moment, Jaydan would collapse.
If
he was lucky.

Tannyl unstrung his bow and stuffed it in the empty quiver, drawing his hunting knife in the same motion. He despised leaving the shelter of the forest and always preferred a bow to the knife, but now…

Before he could move, music played across the Square. Tannyl started and stared as Sachihiro began strumming a disjointed tune on his lute amid the chaos. The elf Hunter swore and bolted for Fae’Na. Clearly, the musician had lost his mind. If Sachihiro survived this, Tannyl would kill him. Jaydan fell to a knee as Tannyl raced past, tendrils of smoke drifting up from his body. But Tannyl’s eyes never left her. She was all that mattered, and he was all that was left to protect her.

A brief pulse of light played between her and the musician. Then quickly, a second flash of blinding light. It seemed to emanate from Sachihiro, but that couldn’t be. Tannyl knew him to have command over a few simple charms, but nothing more. The third pulse of light brought with it a dull
whump
and a wave of pressure that sent Tannyl sprawling to the dirt, launched fifteen feet back the way he had come.

It was the second time in the same night that his senses had been culled. He recovered far faster this time, and was on his feet in an instant, charging again.

“What an amusing display of magic,” the woman holding Fae’Na said, her voice hiding a dangerous edge. “You’re even more interesting than I had thought.”

Sachihiro nearly collided with Tannyl as he scrambled away from the newcomer. Tannyl felt Jaydan at his back shoulder. The Healer was breathing heavily. Alive, for now. That was good.

The jeweled dagger at Fae’Na’s throat held firm, a thin line of blood wetting its edge. Tannyl made to move again, knife at the ready, but Fae’Na’s eyes told him to stop. She was one of a few that he heeded without question, and though it burned at him, he complied. It was growing increasingly difficult to suppress the emotions that threatened to tear through him.

“Let her go,” he hissed through clenched teeth, blade still held high.

The woman tossed back a strand of dark hair as she laughed. Her eyes were pits of fog and her mouth was wet with anticipation. His body and mind warred with one another. The shadowy winged serpents continued to swirl around the two women. The gnashing of spectral fangs sounded like laughter.

“That’s her,” Sachihiro whispered.

Tannyl heard Jaydan curse under his breath. He was certain the Healer was channeling again, though he knew without looking that Jaydan wouldn’t be able to complete the act without killing himself.

“Go,” Fae’Na managed to say.

He shook his head. His eyes burned.
Never
, he said within. “Let. Her. Go.”

“Oh, Tannyl, that is not what you truly wish of me, now is it?”

Tannyl’s eyes flicked from the woman’s to Fae’Na’s. There was little he missed. But now it felt as if he stared through a fog. He felt as if he were underwater. The weight was oppressive. He jabbed at the air.

“Hurt her and I
will
kill you where you stand,” he said. “Last chance.”

The woman’s eyes softened and she shook her head with a laugh. “No, Tannyl, you won’t. Though, unfortunately, I cannot yet kill you or your friends either. And trust me, no one is more perturbed by that fact than me, but it’s true all the same. We’re at a bit of an impasse, it would seem.”

She looked at the gaping maw in the center of the Square. It spewed black vapor and promised death. When she looked back at Tannyl, their eyes locked and she smiled a perfect smile. He wanted nothing more than to cave it in.

“
However,
I have been allowed to take from you,” she continued, her voice like poisoned syrup. “Everything you care for. The others can attest to this, and now you, dear, sweet Tannyl. I will take from you.”