The Silent Tempest (Book 2) (7 page)

His mind saw a flash of aythar, and he stopped,
holding up a hand. “They are ahead of us.”

“How can you see? It’s pitch black.”

He tapped his temple. “Let me focus, they’re at the
limit of my range.” He concentrated, trying to count their numbers. After a
minute he spoke again, “You were right. There are more than ten. I count
twelve wardens and one of the She’Har. They have a girl and an older man as
well.”

“She’Har,” muttered Kate. “That’s what you told me
the forest-gods call themselves, right?”

He was impressed by her memory. That conversation had
occurred over ten years ago. “Yes. It means ‘the People’ in their language.”

“What does that make us?” she asked.

“Cattle.”

She frowned at that, but another thought came to her,
“If you can sense them, can they sense you?”

“Probably not. My range is longer than most, but they
will definitely know we are coming long before we reach them.”

“Then surprise isn’t possible…”

“There’s more than one sort of surprise,” he told her,
“but yes, I know of no way to keep them from sensing me at all. I could hide
myself up to a certain point, but not enough to get within striking range.” He
thought of the Prathion gift with a bit of envy, but there was no help for it.

Kate stared off into the darkness, thinking
carefully. “Would they negotiate with you?”

He smiled. “Now you’re getting closer. No, they
would not, but they would talk. They don’t see me as an enemy, to them I’m
more of a competitor.”

“So you’re planning to walk in amongst them
and—what?” She was beginning to suspect the nature of his answer, but she
wanted to hear him lay it out before she objected.

“Take what is mine,” he responded.

“There are thirteen of them…,” she began.

He held up his hand, “No, there’s only one that I’m
worried about, the Prathion.”

“Are you daft? You think you can walk in there and just
kill twelve or thirteen of them? They all have strange powers, like you. You
didn’t see them when they came into the house. There wasn’t a thing we could
do, we were helpless, Daniel. Helpless!” She stopped before her emotions got
the better of her. Taking a deep breath, she spoke in a more reasonable tone,
“And what about Brigid? What about your father? Do you think they won’t use
them against you?”

“Hostages are only useful against the just.”

Kate glared at him, her eyes speaking volumes.

“You should go home, Kate. I’m not the man you think
I am. I’m not any better than the ones I’m about to kill. They know it, and I
know it. They won’t bother trying to use Brigid as a hostage because she’s
just as valuable to them as she is to me. They won’t bother with Alan either,
because they don’t even understand the meaning of the word ‘father’.” He
looked away, unable to bear the accusation in her eyes. “All they know is
blood, and all they know of me is that I’ve spilled more of it than all of them
put together.”

“Brigid or your father could still get hurt during the
fight,” she insisted, ignoring his declaration.

“So?” His eyes were dead when he met her gaze, it was
an expression he had perfected during his years among the She’Har—complete
indifference.

She suppressed an involuntary shiver. Daniel was
changed. She had no doubt of that, but despite his improved acting skills, she
knew there was still something more hidden behind the mask.
But not very
much,
she suspected.

“A good man couldn’t win this fight, Cat,” he said,
calling her by her childhood nickname. “Me? I’m willing to roll the bones.”

Kate caught herself grinding her teeth and forced
herself to stop. “Fine,” she said at last. “What’s your plan then?”

The look on his face unsettled her when he spoke
again, “Did you get that bruise before or after they took Brigid?” He used his
hand to indicate the purpling around her eye and over one cheek.

“A—after,” she said, uncertainly.

“Perfect, a new slave always has a few marks.”

“Slave?” She gave him a hard stare.

“Get used to the word. It’s what you are now.”
Reaching out, he gave in to his impulse and pulled her forward, kissing her
roughly, then he added, “Just like me.”

She pulled away as soon as his hand relaxed.
Flustered, Kate searched for a response, “And what would you have done if I
hadn’t already been ‘marked’?”

“Marked you,” he said immediately, but even he didn’t
believe his words.

“Liar,” she spat back, finding her balance. “You’re a
liar, Daniel. I haven’t forgotten.”

Her accusation brought back painful memories. “Hand
me the crossbow,” he said, pushing the past from his mind. Pulling one of the
quarrels from the quiver she carried, he organized his thoughts.

The situation was hardly ideal for enchanting, but
Tyrion had spent years honing his focus. His finger was far too large, so he
used his imagination alone to envision the lines he wanted on the steel point.
Carefully he released his will, burning them into the metal, linking small
triangles and their interior runes one by one, until the head of the bolt was
covered in tight magical lines. When he was finished it was sheathed in an
impossibly sharp field of pure force, similar to the blades he often created
around his arms.

Kate stared at it when he handed it back, noting the
fine engravings, but the magical blade that capped it was impossible for her to
see. “What will this do?” she asked.

“Penetrate a mage shield,” he replied.
Even a
spellwoven one,
he added mentally.

“There’s only one,” she noted.

“You’ll only have time for one shot.”

“There are thirteen of them.”

“I only need you to shoot the Prathion,” he answered.

Kate frowned, “The Prathion?”

“The forest-god.”

“Oh,” she said, holding the weapon in her hands.
“Won’t they be suspicious if I’m carrying a loaded crossbow?”

He snorted, “They won’t even see it as a threat.
Besides, I’ll be carrying it. You’re my prisoner, remember? When the time
comes I’ll hand it to you. Take careful aim, and put the bolt through the
Prathion’s chest.”

“And what will you be doing?”

“Killing. Stay as far away from me as you can after
you take the shot. If you get a chance, grab Brigid and run. If that isn’t
possible, just run,” he said.

“And if I miss?”

“The Prathions can make themselves invisible. The
She’Har will probably escape. If that happens we’ve lost, whether I kill the
others or not,” he told her.

“And you think you can handle all the others by
yourself?” Kate didn’t bother trying to hide the doubt in her voice.

In fact he wasn’t sure of that at all. Killing them
wasn’t the issue, preventing them from escaping once they realized what he was
capable of, that would be the real problem. Taking out the She’Har first would
simplify things since he thought he could keep any Prathion wardens from
escaping, but if the group included Mordan wardens he had no way to keep them
from teleporting home. The chance of that was fairly small, but he knew from
past experience that the Prathion Grove had several Mordan slaves. He could
only hope none of them had been included in the party they were facing.

“I can kill them,” he assured her.

Kate reached down, gathering her skirt and drawing it
up. She pushed the excess material between her thighs before spreading it
behind her and then pulling it around on either side of her hips. She tied the
two ends in front of her.

Puzzled, Tyrion asked her, “What are you doing?”

She gave him a wry smile, “Girding my loins. You said
to run after I shoot the forest-god.”

“I haven’t seen that before,” he admitted.

“That’s because you don’t wear dresses,” she told
him. “If you have to wade a creek or run, this is a lifesaver.”

He eyed her attire, “Technically, She’Har slaves are
supposed to be naked, but I guess since you’re newly captured they won’t expect
that. You’ll have to give up your clothing once we reach the Grove.”

She gaped at him, “They let
you
wear clothes.”

“We can discuss that later,” he added. “There’s
plenty that can go wrong in the next hour that would make this a moot point.”

“I’ll take that into consideration when I decide who
to shoot,” she said pointedly.

All eyes were on the two of them as they stepped into
the small clearing. The fire in the center cast strange shadows of the cruel
men and women who had arrayed themselves around it. The wardens all wore their
usual leathers, swords made of
Eilen’tyral at their
sides. Tyrion recognized all of them but one, including the She’Har who stood
apart.

“Good evening,” Tyrion greeted them in
Erollith, dipping his head in deference to Branlyinti.

The Prathion She’Har accepted his gesture
but watched him carefully as he replied, “Tyrion, I am surprised to see you so
far from your mistress.”

“I am here on her behalf.”

None of the wardens had shields up, in
deference to the presence of the She’Har trainer. Tyrion had made certain to
follow their example as well, otherwise he and Kate would not have been allowed
to approach. Brigid sat on the ground in front of the ebon skinned Prathion,
her head bowed. Alan Tennick lay on the other side of the fire.

Tyrion’s father was a miserable sight,
stripped of his clothing, his body was a patchwork of bruises and small burns.
The wardens had been using him for their amusement, since a human without any
gift was worse than useless in their eyes. Alan Tennick wasn’t even considered
fit to be one of the nameless. Barely conscious, he watched his son with one
eye, for the other was too swollen to see.

“Lyralliantha sent you?” said Branlyinti
with some interest. Unlike his wardens, the She’Har was fully protected by a
spellweaving, a defense that would be impenetrable to anything a human mage
could produce. “Does this mean the Illeniel Grove has abandoned their long
standing principles?”

“The Mordan discovery has forced them to
reevaluate their priorities,” answered Tyrion.

“And so they send you here alone,” noted
the She’Har. “How sad, or perhaps simply foolish.”

“I am worth at least five of these,” said
Tyrion, lifting his chin with visible pride.

The She’Har’s face became more animated,
“Do not overestimate your worth, baratt. If I take offense, you will suffer
the consequences.”

“Forgive me,” said Tyrion obsequiously,
bowing his head. “I did not mean to be rude. I meant only that my abilities
will be more than sufficient to deal with any resistance from the baratti. I
do not mean to engender conflict between Prathion and Illeniel.” His statement
both reinforced his subservience to the She’Har and served to remind Branlyinti
that any action against him might create problems with the Illeniel Grove.

“What is your purpose in coming to our
camp?” asked the Prathion.

Kate spoke softly at almost the same time,
“Daniel I can’t under…”

“Silence, slave!” barked Tyrion. Lashing
out suddenly he backhanded her, knocking her from her feet. The other wardens
laughed as she fell. Shocked, she stared up at him from the ground, blood
dripping from a split lip.

Damnitt,
cursed Tyrion mentally.
She can’t shoot from the ground.
Reaching
down he gripped her by the hair and hauled her roughly to her feet, ignoring
her cries of pain. “You stand in the presence of your betters, bitch. When I
want you prone, you’ll know it.” Turning back to Branlyinti, he apologized,
“Please forgive the interruption. I thought I might share the fire with your
servants. I will make my own way in the morning, without seeking to interfere
in your mission.”

The Prathion watched him for several long
seconds before speaking, “Very well. You may spend the night with us, so long
as you respect my authority and the Prathion claim on the wildling.” He
gestured at Brigid.

“Of course,” said Tyrion. “May I talk
with your wardens?”

Branlyinti nodded, waving his hand in
dismissal and then returned to the spellwoven chair he had apparently been
sitting in before Tyrion’s arrival.

Tyrion pulled at Kate’s arm, dragging her
along as he went to stand beside one of the wardens who was particularly well
known to him. “Garlin,” he said by way of greeting.

“Tyrion,” responded the older man using
the human tongue, Barion. “You’ve chosen a strange prize.” His eyes indicated
Kate.

Tyrion smiled, answering in the same
language, “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

“She isn’t even fit to be one of the
nameless,” noted the other warden, referring to Kate’s complete lack of magical
ability.

“That’s not what I want her for.”

“You think Lyralliantha will permit you
such a toy?” said Garlin with some wonderment.

Tyrion shrugged, “She has proven to be
very unusual for one of the She’Har.”

Garlin glanced in the direction of his own
master to make sure he hadn’t taken an interest in listening. Reassured, he
replied, “You are lucky in many ways.”

Another warden leaned in, a woman with a
face marked by a long scar that ran from one eye to her chin on the opposite
side, “Are you suggesting his wins were nothing but luck?” She gave Tyrion a
smile that was so poorly executed it came off as more of a lopsided leer.

“I think everyone knows better than that,
Braya,” said Garlin, glancing at her in annoyance. “No one defeats five at
once with luck alone, and no one will ever forget his last fight.”

Tyrion was making a mental list as he
looked from face to face. Braya was a Prathion, as were most of the others,
except for Garlin who had the Mordan gift, and one of the others, a tall man
named Laori whose talent came from the Gaelyn Grove. There was one final
warden he didn’t recognize at all, a woman with blonde hair and skin with deep
pockmarks.

“Did you really defeat one of the Krytek,
wildling?” asked the stranger.

“I’m standing here,” he answered.
What
gift does she have?
If she was Mordan his plan might fail. She would have
to die second, unless he could discover her origin.

“They say a freak storm stunned your
opponent; that you would have lost otherwise,” she added in a challenging tone.

Kate listened with interest, questions on
her tongue, but she dared not ask them.

Garlin spoke up then, “That’s what they
say
,
Trina, but most of us believe that storm was no mere chance.”

Tyrion looked at the woman, “Where are you
from, Trina?” It was an unusual question to be asked among the slaves of the
She’Har.

Garlin had known him longest. He was one
of the first wardens Tyrion had met, and the only one to ever call him friend,
though that was something they kept secret. He looked at Tyrion with sudden
interest, “Why would you ask that?”

“Just curious,” said Tyrion, keeping his
face smooth. “You’ve known me long enough to know I’m a little different than
those who grew up among the She’Har.”

Garlin’s eyes moved rapidly, studying his face,
shoulders, and legs. Tyrion feigned being at ease, but his body was taut with
hidden tension. Garlin had been on the wrong side of Tyrion’s anger a few
times in the past, when he had had to guard the man he now called friend.
Returning his gaze to Tyrion’s face, he spoke calmly, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry, Garlin,” said Tyrion, his tone
somber. He shifted the crossbow he still carried and he could almost feel the
other warden’s attention being drawn to the enchantment on the tip of the bolt
it was still loaded with.

“Just relax, old friend. It isn’t as bad
as you think,” added Tyrion.

The older warden’s eyes stared into his
for a second, “I should have known it would come to this…”

Trina had latched onto Tyrion’s last
statement with shock, “Did he just say the two of you were
friends
?!”
Her question ended in rising laughter. Among the slaves of the She’Har, the
term ‘friends’ generally meant sex partners. It was also a thing no warden
would reveal, being synonymous with foolishness.

Garlin was probably the only human raised
in the slave pens who truly understood the meaning of the word. He was the
only friend Tyrion had, other than Lyralliantha. Blinking, he responded
quickly, “Yes, Trina, Tyrion and I have been friends for years now, but then that’s
something someone from the Centyr Grove probably wouldn’t understand.”

Tyrion knew the last part of his friend’s
statement had been a gift. He wished there was another way, but his path was
already set. He knew Garlin would understand that as well.
Centyr will be
last, for she is the least likely to evade me,
he thought to himself. The
other wardens were laughing amongst themselves now, finding the new revelation
to be humorous.

“Thank you, Tyrion, for the music,” said
Garlin.

He ignored the mockery of the wardens
around them. “I wish I could play for you again, my friend, but I have only
one trick left to show you.” Over Garlin’s shoulder he could see that
Branlyinti was approaching, drawn by the raucous laughter around them. The
She’Har stared at them, wondering what had his slaves so worked up. Tyrion
handed the crossbow to Kate.

She lifted the weapon, fitting it against
her shoulder smoothly and without hesitation, sighting along it to line it up
with the Prathion She’Har’s chest.

Everything happened quickly after that,
although the moment seemed to draw out into a long timeless second. The
She’Har stared at her in amusement, for he knew such a weapon offered him no
real threat, and then his attention shifted as Garlin’s head exploded.

They all stared in shock at Tyrion, who
had slain his oldest friend without warning. Reflexively, the other wardens
raised their shields, while the harsh crack of the crossbow firing rang out.
Branlyinti looked in shock at the quarrel standing out from his chest before
collapsing silently to the ground.

“No one move!” shouted Tyrion.

The air was tense with uncertainty. “You
won’t leave here alive,” said Laori Gaelyn.

“Hear me out and you might,” responded
Tyrion.

“He doesn’t even have his shield up yet,”
noted Trina. “He can’t win. There’re twelve of us.” Then she remembered
Garlin, “Well, eleven…”

Kate stood warily beside him, the empty
crossbow feeling heavy and useless in her hands. Brigid and Alan Tennick stared
at her from across the fire.

Tyrion’s voice was resonant, “Listen to
me, and I will let you live.” Meanwhile, his heart was whispering to the wind,
and a sense of chaotic detachment fell over him.

“Without a shield you’ll die if we all
attack at once,” suggested Laori.

“I will kill the first one who tries to
use his aythar before they can do a thing,” he responded with dead eyes.

“You’ll still be dead,” said Trina.

The sky rumbled and then a flash lit the
night. A second later, a cracking boom rolled over them from a lightning
strike in the distance.

“Looks like there’s a freak storm
tonight,” said Tyrion, looking into Trina’s eyes. “I’m feeling lucky.”

“Wait,” said Laori. “Tell us what you
want.”

“Let the prisoners go,” he told them.

“They’ll kill us if we do that,” said one
of the men.

“Not necessarily,” said Tyrion.

“The collars will force us to return.
There’s no other option,” reminded Laori.

“I can remove them.”

They glared at him, disbelief warring with
fear and hope in their features. “Human magic can’t affect a spellweaving,”
said Trina.

“It can’t pierce a spellwoven shield
either, or kill one of the Krytek,” replied Tyrion confidently.

“I don’t believe you,” she responded.

He smiled, “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

“Most of us are Prathions,” noted one of
the others. “Even if you tried, you couldn’t catch us all.”

“I could get most of you,” said Tyrion
with resignation. Focusing on the one who had spoken, he added, “I’ll make
sure you’re one of them.”

“Alright,” said Laori commandingly. “Let
them go.”

The others stood silent, none of them
arguing the decision. Tyrion nodded at Kate, and she moved to help Alan
Tennick to his feet before taking Brigid by the hand.

“Take them to Colne,” said Tyrion. “I’ll
meet you there when I’m finished here.”

“How do we know you’ll keep your promise?”
asked Trina as their former prisoners began to walk away.

“Because if I don’t, you’ll kill me,”
answered Tyrion. He motioned for Kate, Brigid, and Alan to keep moving.

“Take them off now,” challenged Trina.
“If you fail, those of us who survive will hunt them down.”

“Fair enough,” said Tyrion, “but let me
take care of the storm first.”

“Then the rumors are true?” said Laori.
“You can control the sky?”

Tyrion walked to the edge of the camp and
extending one finger he sent a thin beam of force into the ground, etching a
line there. He made his way around the fire in a wide circle that was at least
fifteen yards across, surrounding them in its circumference.