The Way of the Blade (28 page)

Making circles with each hand, Tommy held them over his eyes and gave Malja a quizzical look.

“Owl? He was a good man — but violent like me. I don’t want that for you, either. See, that’s part of my problem. I know what you shouldn’t become, but I don’t know how to help you become a great and decent man. Other than Uncle Gregor, I’ve never known any, and I was too young to pay attention to him back then.”

Tommy held still as he thought over what she had said.

Malja’s eyes popped wider. “And I’m sorry for not teaching you better how to treat women. Fawbry knows nothing on that subject.”

Tommy smiled and nodded.

“Oh, you noticed that? Good. That much, I can fix.”

Rushing forward, Tommy wrapped his arms around her. She could feel his body shivering out breaths as he tried to control his emotions. The tear in her left eye fell.

When he started to pull away, she clasped him tighter. “This battle we’re going into is not going to be like anything you’ve been through before. This is more than a gang of survivors or a town full of people poisoned by magic or some wild beast protecting its young. This is a war. This is an army with a smart man leading them. It’ll be a lot tougher and a lot more dangerous.” She pushed him back and looked him straight in the eye. “You’re a man, now. I expect you to do your part in this battle, no matter how dangerous. But while the right thing for any warrior is to fight through the danger, I wish you could be a boy, too. You understand? I want you to live. That’s why it’s so hard for me. From now on, though, I promise I’ll keep that ‘boy’ stuff to myself. You are a man. You really are. And I accept that.”

Tommy patted his chest, smiled broadly, and puffed up.

Clearing her throat, she rubbed her cheek dry and said, “Come on. Let’s finish up here. The
Nittilo
should arrive any minute. Fawbry will be sure to make a spectacle.”

Chapter 30

Javery

All sense of time had left Javery. He knew that time had passed — crucial amounts of time that detained him from saving his people and worsened the danger they faced — but how much? Stuck in this hole, he could do little.

The wet, black stone walls of his prison rose high into the darkness . The floor waited at least twenty feet below. He hung in the middle of the air, his wrists bound in soft, pink silk. It wrapped around each wrist twice before stretching upward about two feet. There it pinned to emptiness. The binding was not painful, and other than the stiffness in his arms from maintaining the same position for so long, he endured little discomfort.

There was no need for such torture. He had believed the Witch when she said taking his magic would be painful. Why hurt him more? It would serve no purpose. Though the constant snorting from below, from a herd of yorqs, reminded him that oftentimes torturers found pleasure in inflicting unnecessary pain.

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.