Knight Awakened (Circle of Seven #1) (20 page)

Halál sighed. Using the tip of his index finger, he stroked the grooves in the bones. Such a shame. He so enjoyed pitting one assassin against another. Particularly if they had any fondness for each other. The torment was highest then, a grand match where one must bleed the other to survive. Death. The pleasure of it came in so many interesting forms, but his amusement must end.

He’d received word.

Grand Master Stein of the Teutonic Knights would arrive soon. And all loose ends needed to be tied off. Stein disliked disorder as much as Halál enjoyed chaos. Not that the difference bothered him. Each to his own, and so long as the grand master
paid the coin to retain Al Pacii’s services, Halál would allow him to keep his preferences.

A bell tolled. Four counts, announcing the fight hour.

The ringing echoed, bouncing off the barren stone walls with a ripple that filled Halál with purpose. Reaching across the low table, he palmed the thin roll of parchment. Three inches wide and twice as long, the strip had been painted with a waxy film, giving it the necessary durability. He rubbed the corner between his thumb and forefinger, comparing the paper’s slippery quality to the alluring feel of Beauty’s scales.

He would visit her now, up on the roof while the sun warmed her and he assessed the new arrivals.

Slipping the parchment inside his robe pocket, he crossed to the circular staircase in the corner of the chamber. His gait smooth and unhurried, he climbed, soft eagerness guiding each step. Fresh blood. The Pit always hummed with more potency when the new ones were brought in. The more accomplished relished the chance to return the brutality they had received their first time around. The game would turn bloody, though not deadly.

At least not this day.

The purpose lay in the method. He needed to know which of the fledglings held the greatest potential for the academy and which the least. Al Pacii was only as strong as its weakest link. Perseverance in the Pit was key, as important as physical prowess. The ability to defend and deliver wrenching violence with cold efficiency were traits without equal. Something at which Xavian excelled.

The sunlight caressed Halál’s face as he came out onto the rooftop, the warmth doing little to assuage his disappointment. He imagined his former pupil in the Pit, blades raised, face
expressionless as he spilled fledgling blood. Such a pity. Such wasted potential. But then, had Xavian not deserted Al Pacii, Halál would never have entered the game he now played. And truth? He was enjoying himself more than he had in months...years, in fact. Nothing was better—or more satisfying—than a worthy opponent.

The smell of sweat and leather teased his senses before he heard the whisper of movement. A boot scraped against stone. Without turning, he said, “Shay. Why are you not in the Pit?”

“Master, I bring news.”

“What sort?” Halál stepped up to the cage. Thin metal bars, an inch apart, crisscrossed, keeping Beauty in even as they allowed her to see out. The viper raised her sleek head, uncoiled her length from around a sun-warmed rock, and hissed in greeting.

“Bodgan failed. He is dead.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.” Shay shuffled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “A carrier pigeon arrived with a note, written in Xavian’s hand.”

Halál smiled softly and, unlatching the lock, flipped the cage door open. Beauty rose on her belly, chin down, ready to strike. With sleight of hand, he distracted her, and she hesitated, giving him the second he needed to grab her by the throat. Fangs bared, she fought, black body bucking before settling enough for him to pull her from confinement.

He stroked the underside of the viper’s chin, murmuring just loud enough for her to hear, “Skilled, just like you. He makes me proud, Beauty. Indeed, he does.”

“Master?”

“Unleash The Three, Shay.” Silence met his pronouncement. Halál hummed, relishing the scent of his apprentice’s uncertainty. One brow raised, he pivoted, Beauty coiled around his forearm. “You question me?”

“Nay, master,” Shay said, chin low. “But they are mad...uncontrollable. How do I ensure their obedience?”

Withdrawing the rolled parchment and a key from his robes, Halál tossed both between Shay’s feet. “Give them this as you release them from the cave. They will obey and leave for the hunt.”

“Of course, master,” he said, bending to retrieve the paper.

Halál turned toward the lip of the roof as a scream echoed up from the Pit. The sound unfurled in his stomach like a soothing tonic as he reached the low wall of the roof’s edge. Three deep, his men ringed the fighting circle, watching the action at its center. Sharp metal flashed in the sunlight, the knife sure in the hands of one of his more accomplished killers. The fledgling’s blood flowed in rivulets of red, his movements clumsy, his steps uneven.

He shook his head. Weak. The newcomer was weak, without the innate skill needed to create a great assassin. He needed more like Xavian for Al Pacii to thrive. Why could he not find more?

Lowering his head, he brushed his mouth to the back of Beauty’s skull. She hissed. His apprentice shifted.

Halál glanced over his shoulder. “That is all.”

With a bow, Shay made for the stairs. Halál watched him go, aware it would be the last time he saw him alive.

Shadows lingered, clinging to crooked tree trunks along the dirt path Shay traveled. Thick canopies overhead turned down,
frowning at him, the leaves so dark their jagged edges appeared almost black in the dim light. Despite their disapproval, he walked on, reins of his warhorse wrapped around his fist, ignoring the rasp of Tia’s breath coming from behind him. She clung to the saddle horn, knuckles white as he led her farther into the gloom.

“How much farther?” she asked, the clicking sounds of her teeth interrupting the question.

“Almost there.”

“Alls I got to do is turn the key, right?”

“Aye.” He kept his voice low in the hopes of calming her.

“And the paper?” She shifted in the saddle, the movement as frayed as her nerves must be. “The paper will protect me?”

Shay nodded.

“Then I’m free, right? To go where I please.”

“As free as a bird, Tia,” he said, tempting her with the one thing he knew she couldn’t resist. A whore to the men of Al Pacii, she was well used, willing or not. It was sad and also the reason he never slept with any of the women brought into the fold. He refused to take from them what had been taken from him—the right to choose their own path. “You may even take the horse.”

He didn’t add—if she survived.

He hoped she would; had taken pains to research The Three and their preferences. Women were not among them. The book of history locked away in the master’s study had told him that much. Aye, they might feed on human flesh, but Halál kept them well fed and always with the blood of men.

Stopping half a league from the cave, he released Curio’s reins and turned to look up at the girl. Her brown eyes were huge in her pale face as he palmed her waist and lifted her down. She stiffened, hands fluttering against his biceps, and guilt hit him hard.
She didn’t like his touch, and he didn’t blame her. The rough sport Al Pacii played with their female captives wasn’t pleasant.

As soon as her feet touched the ground, he let go and stepped back. “This way. It isn’t far now.”

She nodded.

With a hand gesture, he instructed Curio to stay. He liked his warhorse too much to risk him; didn’t want him anywhere near the cave when the beasts took flight. Turning on the little-used trail, he listened to Tia’s light footsteps behind him as he tracked north toward The Three’s prison. The climb grew more difficult the farther they went, but he didn’t turn to help the girl. She would no doubt refuse his hand, not wanting to endure his touch again.

They reached the entrance just as twilight fell, the sun nothing but a soft glow in the western sky. His back to Tia, Shay stood on the lip of the cave, staring into the black hole, knowing Halál had meant to serve him up as The Three’s next meal. The bastard. No wonder Xavian had left Al Pacii. The old man’s depravity knew no bounds...disloyal to the core.

Unclenching his hand, he lifted the flap on the satchel slung across his shoulder and dug out the small piece of parchment and a skeleton key. The dark grey metal sucked at the shadows, the grime in the nicks at its throat as pronounced as the demons feeding on Shay’s soul.

He was about to deliver a young girl—an abused one—into the jaws of death. All to save his own skin. What kind of man did that make him?

Not a very good one.

Killing the sudden surge of conscience, he pivoted to face Tia. She was as pale as ever, but a determined light had replaced the frightened one in her dark eyes.

He held out the key and slim piece of paper. “Toss the parchment to the floor inside the bars, unlock the gate, and put your back to the wall. Stay low, stay silent. Understood?”

Her chin dipped as she took his offerings. “Thank you for choosing me, Master Shay.”

Shay closed his eyes.
Shit.
Gratitude. He hadn’t expected that, and for a moment—a rare one colored by honor—he almost called her back. But his voice failed, and instead of stopping her he watched her slim silhouette disappear into the black. When he couldn’t see her anymore, he found a foothold in the cliff face and climbed to the ledge high above the cave’s entrance. There, hidden by shadow and rock, he waited.

The girl screamed.

The terrible sound of feeding ensued, drifting up to surround him.

Shay hung his head and watched three winged shapes fly from the cave’s mouth. Contrary to the book and its predictions, the beasts enjoyed female blood as much as any man’s.

God forgive him.

Xavian wiped the sweat from his eyes as they crested the last rise. The sting blurred his vision, but he could see enough. His destination lay just beyond the circle of standing stones guarding the cave’s entrance. He needed to reach it. Full night was almost upon them, and Afina would be vulnerable without him to protect her.

For some reason, her welfare was more important than his own. Foolishness, no doubt, but he couldn’t fight it. His reaction was more primal than rational. Even in his weakened state, he knew it. He just didn’t care.

Feeling himself sway, Xavian stopped at the mouth of the cavern and slid from the saddle. He dragged Afina after him.

The wolves would be here soon. He heard them baying in the distance, forewarning in each howl. The beasts would pick up their scent and come, but he refused to give them the advantage. A fire needed to be built in the circle of stones. It would shield the entrance and keep predators away with the added benefit of keeping Afina warm through the night.

But first he needed to start the damn thing.

“Afina.” He gripped her shoulder, using her to steady himself. “Get the horses inside.”

“After. Let me tend you first.” She wrapped an arm around his back, trying to steer him toward the cave.

He tightened his grip and, using precious strength, shrugged out of her hold. “Get moving. We’ve not much time.”

With a push, he shoved her toward Mayhem. Her bad ankle gave out, and she stumbled before regaining her balance. Xavian shrugged aside his regret. He didn’t have time to feel bad. She would understand once the wolves started circling.

He sank to his knees beside a fire pit. Thank God for foresight. He often stopped here, maintaining the underground passage that led to his mountain home. The woodpile sat just as he had left it, the dry tinder and long logs all he required to keep a blaze going for days.

Double vision struck.

Xavian shook his head and set the firewood before reaching into the pouch at his waist. Almost blind now, he found the flint by touch and struck a spark. And then another until a small flame took hold. He smelled the smoke and felt the heat an instant before his legs gave out. Pressure banding around his chest, he crumpled, coming to rest on his back against cold earth.

Cool hands touched his forehead. Xavian cracked his eyelids open. Hazel eyes full of concern, she flipped the strap of her healing satchel over her head and settled beside him.

“At dawn,” he whispered, taking a sip from the vial she brought to his mouth. Sweet mint combined with something bitter flowed over his tongue. He swallowed and took a shallow breath. “Take the...underground...passage...at the back of the cave. Leave me...and go.”

She forced more liquid down his throat. “No.”

“Mayhem...knows the way.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

He gripped her hand, trying to make her understand. She couldn’t stay here. It wasn’t safe. “Afina.”

“Be quiet and drink.”

Too weak to fight, Xavian obeyed. His vision went wavy. He struggled to find focus, tried to memorize her face before the light winked out, and he fell headlong into the darkness.