Song (The Manhunters Book 1) Page 9

  Whip wrapped around the neck of one of the fleeing men while the dagger struck the other in the back of the head. He dropped like a stone, his looting and pillaging ended by a flick of Konnon’s wrist.

  The whip jerked the other off his feet, and Konnon stepped forward enough to stomp down on his throat. He would not be screaming.

  Konnon let loose of the whip and backed up to the carriage door in time to see the merchant throw the door open and stick his head out. Konnon yelled but the man could only scream at the arrow that hit his hand, nailing him to the door, and the other that thudded into the man’s belly. Konnon cursed and screamed at the merchant to get back in the wagon, but he could not escape. He loosed a warbling scream, and Konnon spun to see four men coming.

  More death over the fog of screams, over the sounds of traps being sprung and horses dying. More chopping and thrusting, and more and more the bandits came. Konnon saw a familiar face through the smoke of burning bodies and the moonlit road. The face of the man from the bar, the man hired to guard this caravan, came to him. The murderer who had skipped out on his job, and had been watching them through the window of a pub in Fir-Lak, showed himself in the macabre spectacle. Konnon gritted his teeth and stepped over dead men to reach him, but in a blink, the man hit his knee, screaming. He came down hard on a dagger sticking out of his knee. The dagger was slowly becoming drenched in blood, but the perfect toss, coupled with the etching on the blade, made Konnon laugh.

  Glyss hated traitors, too.

  The fighting went on for a short amount of time. Battle always skipped by so fast, like a rock on a river. It jumped and flipped and sprayed and dropped into wet, the whole of the ordeal taking seconds. When the battle was over, the merchant was dead. Chat was dead. The Harp brothers had been hanged, and Ella was missing.

  That meant rape. That meant flaying.

  That meant Konnon and Glyss were going in after her. The remaining five soldiers were rallied, the teamsters given their orders, and Konnon took the key to the coin wagon off the merchant.

  Glyss commanded the caravan get moving. He told them to wrap the dead in a bit of silk, and Konnon knew Glyss would suffer for it. He told them to ride as fast as they could.

  Konnon took his mare, and Glyss his stallion. They picked their way through the traps and into the forest. They had more death to bring to the forest of the Brothers of Blood. Now they were hunting. Now they were the hidden threat. Konnon liked it this way. This way seemed more fitting.

  The Council of the Spawned

  Rayph pushed his way through the city streets reeking of refuse and dung. The clothes he had stashed so long ago were right where he had left them. The rags still stunk something awful and, with the spells cast upon his face and body, no one could recognize him, not even Archialore. He plotted his course carefully, crossing his path over and again to shake off anyone who might be following him. He entered an alleyway and the shadows there. The city bustled around him, and he waited.

  He sat for hours until the night made its move to usurp the day. They battled above him as he moved out again, shouldering his way through the crowd until he reached abandoned back streets. He found the broken down building and stared at its fallen door, its crumbled face, and rotted bricks. It looked about to collapse. He hurried inside before any wandering eye could see him. He was forced to crawl under a partially tumbled wall shortly upon entering the room, but there was nothing for it. No magic could be cast in here.

  In fact, the spells that had shifted his face and his race fell away. He reached the far walkway and grabbed a dusty lamp. He poured in oil stashed in a fold in the rags and lit the flame. Shadows pressed in tight, beaten back by the weak shard of light. Rayph made his way into the gut of the building until he found a massive hole in the floor. Around its edge a staircase wound into the black depths beyond. He looked up at the roof partially caved in and the quickly darkening sky above it. Rayph dropped a rope from his rags and tied it to the base of a shattered pillar. In seconds, he swung out into the hole and descended into the mouth of darkness.

  The lamp flickered above him, and he longed for its light, but carrying it while he climbed was impossible. He passed crumbled, impassable stairs and great holes cut into the walls. When he found the floor, he opened his third eye and peered into the black. Without light, sight was nearly impossible, but his trimerian sight showed him the currents of air moving around him, and he followed these, groping blindly in the blackness for any breaks in the wall or recent cave-ins of the ceiling. When he found the stairs, he sighed and touched the wall, slowly descending. He reached the room and found small eddies of air moving about, but nothing beyond this place. He felt around for the center of the room until he found the ancient stone bowl, and he poured a second vial of oil within. With the spark of steel and flint, the oil caught fire and the room was thrown into light.

  Small and insignificant, the room appeared to lead to nothing at all. Divining the purpose of such a room would have been impossible had he not been here years before. He remembered the first time he had trod this hall and the wonder he had felt upon looking at its humble stones. The plaster reliefs had long ago cracked and fallen away, the remnants of dust and grime the last of the carvings of Pax and his mighty twelve. The bowl holding the fire held the relief of a dragon, though any details in the carving were long since gone. The smoke from the flaming bowl gathered in a cloud to loom over Rayph like a rolling storm. It soon took on a face, and its mouth opened.

  “The Spawned Council has not summoned you, wizard. Why do you disturb my slumber?”

  “I come to summon the council. A time of strife has arisen. I am in need of leadership,” Rayph said, lowering his head.

  The wall before him crumbled, betraying a hall, and he stepped through. He soon stood in a massive room crested by a domed ceiling held up by twelve mighty pillars. The marble floor gleamed bright as polished steel. The thirteen thrones lined in a semicircle before him gleamed golden accented in black. Thirteen doors stood along the walls of the room, and from four of these doors stepped figures in golden robes with black hoods.

  They took seats around the semicircle, and Rayph took to his knee and lowered his head. Rayph looked to the great throne in the center, the seat of Pax Nardoc, and he thought of Thomas. “One day I will set that boy upon that throne,” he whispered to himself.

  He waited for the four to be seated.

  The rapping of a staff on stone reported through the room, and Rayph stood.

  “My humblest apologies for disturbing your lives. I know you are busy men and women and need not my—”

  “Ivoryfist,” a man spoke. Rayph looked to Latamore Dorf, knowing the face, though it was cloaked in shadow. “We long not for your apologies. Nor do we require them. Need drives you to the Spawned Council. Never has there been any other occasion when you have called us together. We will hear your problem now.”

  “Thank you, mighty Spawned. I will not take much of your time. I wish only your permission to act in service of our nation,” he said. He swallowed hard. Being in the company of such age and tradition always humbled Rayph, and he chose his words carefully. “We are in danger. Darkness boils within our borders and beyond. I would fight it, though I have not the post that would allow action.”

  “Your post is always open to you, Ivoryfist. Seek it and we will flex our power and return it to you,” Medey said. His voice boomed in the massive room, filling every cranny and crevasse.

  “I cannot. I hope you understand.”

  Silence.

  Rayph continued. “I seek permission to gather a group for the purpose of defense from this evil. I seek this permission from the only authority I acknowledge in this nation, your own.

  “We will take a headquarters within the nation that I will not disclose,” Rayph said. “We will act free of any authority other than my own device. We will wield our power to the benefit of the nation, I assure you completely, but we will recognize no command other than my own. I cannot be
questioned as to whom I gather to my side. I cannot be ordered to include anyone this council choses to recommend. I cannot be guided by any hand other than the few I turn to for assistance. My men must be above the law at all times, answering to no one but myself. I will be responsible for any action they commit that falls short of my command. They are to remain secret. They are to remain hidden. And I must be able to add or subtract from their number at any time. Never can we be known by any other than those in our ranks. And I must be free to pick from any man or woman within this nation, even if they be tied to service by a higher authority.

  “A darkness comes to destroy our peace. It has its boot on our neck and its blade poised at our breast. Give me the tools to defeat it.” He curled his fist and sought their eyes in shadowed hoods.

  Silence reigned.

  Tamara Soother, Lady of the fiefdom of Soother, spoke with a strong, clarion voice. “Your request is monumental. Never has one wielded the type of power you describe who has not worn Pax’s crown.” She looked to the others around her and shook her head.

  “Our council is weak, Rayph. How do you expect us to grant you such power when our ranks no longer include the king himself?” Medey asked.

  “Your council dates back to the days of Pax. The half-dragon king sat that throne,” Rayph said, pointing at the great throne in the center. “And when he did, he commanded his generals aid him in leading the land. Only four families remain. There is no authority I hold higher than The Spawned Council. Long has it kept a steady course when the crown has faltered.” Rayph looked to his feet and shook his head.

  “I cannot stand by and do nothing,” Rayph said. “I cannot wait and hope for the best. I cannot sit idle until Phomax has fallen. And I see no other way than what I have laid out. Grant me the power to fight this enemy.

  “You know my deeds. Your council has long watched as I served the crown of this country. After two thousand years of service you presented yourself to me, and I have kept your secret. I served another eight after. Have you seen my path deviate from your will? Have you, at any time in my service, seen anything that lends itself to a display in my character that warrants alarm?”

  “You walked away from your post,” Fir-Lak said. “We never thought you capable of doing that. How do we know your mind after such a display of unpredictability? Have the years displaced your heart? Or are you still the man we betrayed ourselves to?”

  Rayph felt his impotence rising. His gut bunched up, and he fought to control his temper.

  “What has taken up your time since you departed your station?” Dorf asked.

  “Wanderings and musings. I have been traveling this nation seeking out its character and its heart.”

  “And what have you found on your journey?”

  “Trepidation,” Rayph said. “I have felt a great deal of unease among the people. I have seen fear in the eyes and flight on the mind.”

  “What makes our people so uneasy, Rayph?”

  “One king after another with no direction, one king after the next with displays of unruliness and childish nature. We have spoken often of the growing recklessness of the crown. We have spoken many times of the need for a pure leader, a man of Pax, to lead this nation back to balance and tranquility. What have we done about it? Nothing. I have walked the nation and seen the growing fear of the ruler festering within our people. They beg for heroes. Let me give them some.”

  “You begged us permission to address the problem of the rot within the royal family, did you not? How has that progressed?”

  “Thomas is a fearless boy, clear-headed and brilliant. I have tutored him since he was three. He knows my mind, and I his. I can say with no reservations that, if he continues to grow in this fashion, he will be a great man, worthy of his seat in this council.”

  Medey scoffed but said nothing.

  “You all know him. I invite you to watch him grow, see what he is becoming. I reveal my intentions now of one day bringing the motion to this council to accept him as your leader.”

  “No king has known of us since Granous Nardoc died while his child was still young. We have deemed none worthy. We were forgotten long ago by our nation and our king,” Lady Soother said.

  “And I vowed to you thousands of years ago to put a worthy ruler on Pax’s seat. Thomas will be that man.”

  “We stray from our purpose. We will vote now on your request for an impeccable group of warriors within our nation.” Dorf lifted his staff and rapped it once on the flagstones.

  “Will you ask me to leave while you deliberate?” Rayph asked.

  “Need we discuss before we vote?” Dorf asked.

  “I have nothing to say here that I wish to keep from Rayph. I think this group he suggests is dangerous. I think power, like the one he asks for, leads to tyranny and corruption. There is no man I would trust with that level of power. I respectfully deny my permission, but will submit to any judgment handed down by my peers,” Lady Soother said.

  “Rayph commands my complete confidence, always has. I see no issue with rendering this power to him on this one condition. Every five years, he must come before us and answer for his actions. Every five years, we will vote again for the existence of this band,” Medey said.

  “What happens if in five years he refuses to submit his power?” Lady Soother asked.

  “In that case, we wake The Rider to cow Ivoryfist and bring him to justice.”

  Rayph felt his blood run cold and his bladder threaten to loosen. He fought against the chill that shot up his spine, but he could not hold it back.

  “I grant him my permission under those conditions,” said Fir-Lak.

  Soother nodded. “If he will answer to The Rider, then I give my assent.” With two more votes, the permission was granted. Rayph thanked them and turned away, knowing images of The Rider would haunt his dreams for five years until he returned to answer for his deeds.

  Ella the Swift

  A foul wind rose up like an angry viper and struck the trees and brush of the forest as Konnon and Glyss picked their way through the trap-infested wood, approaching the lair of the Brothers of Blood. The wind brought the trees to hissing and spitting. The branches groaned and complained, and Konnon could see through the canopy above them that rumbling clouds were winning the day. He grunted at Glyss.

  “Yeah, gonna get ugly,” Glyss said.

  They reached a tight bunch of trees and heard the wild whinny of horses. They dismounted and bound their mounts to trees without a word to one another. They were in the grip now, the hand that made them deadly. They were both held by the same force, two weapons under the direction of one mind. Here they did not need words or plans. They needed only the love they held for one another and the trust they had in the instincts of each other. They did not even look at one another, no count or motion to be followed.

  They split, Glyss going west, Konnon going east. This was how they always moved. East was Konnon, just as he took south, the directions he was built for. He moved around the corral the bandits had built for their four sickly horses, the eighteen they had just stolen, and their three goats. They would have three, maybe four men here, grumpy and sullen over being left out of the fighting.

  He knew they would be seeking the limp shelter afforded to them, and Konnon was not surprised when he saw the sagging lean-to they all crowded under.

  Konnon went to the side of the shelter and pulled his whip. With a flick of his wrist, he wrapped the upper support of the lean-to and jerked it one hard time with both hands. The entire structure crumbled and popped, collapsing on the four men and breaking their world into chaos. Konnon rushed in. Four sword swings from him, and two perfectly thrown daggers from Glyss, and Konnon and Glyss stood in the midst of four dead bodies.

  Konnon took a tarp from one of the men and tossed it over his head. He went up the path that headed into higher ground and Glyss flanked him in the trees. Soon, he heard a call and he stopped. Konnon did not know the call that would be expected in return, so he
froze. He pondered what to do, before dropping to the ground, as if wounded, as the first of the rain splattered in thick drops around him.

  A group of men came to the road a breath later and Konnon stayed still until all of them fell dead. He stood quickly and pulled the daggers from their bodies. He tossed them into the woods and knew Glyss would find them or catch them. He replaced the tarp and kept moving.

  Rain came in loud, blinding sheets punctuated by bright flashes from the raging lightning. Konnon kept moving, slowing his pace a bit so Glyss could follow easily. He came to a great rise that looked down upon a ravine, wide and deep. Here shacks and lean-tos stood in every manner of a chaotic sprawl clouded by the gray rain. Konnon looked over the site, deciding how Glyss would approach it before finding a set of crude stairs that led to the ravine floor.

  Konnon came to the first shack and waited for lightning, now reaching out often to ravage the forest. When it came, he waited a beat before the thunder and he kicked in the door.

  Sudden surging of action. Blood and death and muted screams that did little to reach the world beyond the shack. Konnon killed quickly, unexpectedly, and within a few breaths he had a building full of dead men.

  He stuck his head out of the shack and looked out into the blinding rain. He stepped out to find two men staring at him. One was taken in the throat with an arrow. The other, the heart. Konnon looked around him for any sign of Glyss, but knew he wouldn’t find him. The shots had been perfect, and Konnon wondered how Glyss had seen to fire them at all.

  Konnon did not spend long questioning it.

  Surprise, thunder, sudden action, and honed reflexes brought Konnon more and more wins. More Brothers of Blood fell, and he kept moving on. He did an entire circuit of the ravine before the rain started to fade.