Protector Of The Grove (Book 2) (39 page)

Justan’s emotions were gone, sucked away by Peace, allowing him to analyze the situation. “I would admit freely that my life was not worth Yntri’s. I did not ask him to die for me. He protected me of his own free will just as he protected you when someone sent a nightbeast after y-!”

Justan had to stop speaking in order to meet Xedrion’s next flurry of strikes. The man was fully enveloped in his rage, each of his attacks looking to kill or disable. He knew that Justan didn’t dare to strike back.

 Justan could think of nothing else but the strategic interplay required to parry and block Xedrion’s increasingly creative attacks. The protector’s staff was in a constant state of change, moving between blade to spear to blunt and back again. Justan could tell that the world had slowed down for Xedrion too and that the protector had fought against a lot of men with dual weapon styles over the years.

The battle went on with Justan in a constant state of retreat, circling around the fire. Perhaps a minute or two had passed since the beginning of the battle but in Justan’s slowed state it felt like hours. Xedrion was quickly learning Justan’s style and figuring out his capabilities, so Justan switched gears.

He jumped back and flipped his blades around so that their dull sides rested against the backs of his forearms. The dagger-length tips of the blades at the bottom of his swords now faced his enemy. In this state, he could defend against faster and close strikes better, but his offensive range was limited. He leaned forward into Xedrion’s next series of attacks having bought himself some time while the protector tried to figure him out again.

Justan, I see something strange
, Deathclaw said. He sent Justan a glimpse of what he had seen.

The raptoid had been watching their exchange intently from the side of the tent and had switched to spirit sight. As Xedrion had leapt forward, Deathclaw had seen a flash of gray at the protector’s foot. He had seen it again during a complex move Xedrion had made, this time distinctly making out a rope of gray spirit magic connecting the protector’s right foot to the ground.

Justan thought he understood.

“Stop!” Justan said, but Xedrion just growled and kept on, making his moves faster and more intricate as he began to understand Justan’s limitations. “Stop for a second!” Justan said, jumping back, but the protector lunged forward, keeping pace with him.

Deathclaw see if you can find the source of that magic
, he sent.
Jhonate, someone is using spirit magic on your father
!

Jhonate had been watching the battle with more and more anxiety. She had been very close to jumping in and joining Justan’s fight when she got the message. Quickly, she lifted her staff, commanding a hole to open up in the center. She peered through the hole, looking through the thin bubble of spirit that appeared, letting her see into the spirit realm. She looked for the magic.
I don’t see it
.

Whoever it is, they’re clever
. Justan sent.
They have sent the magic into the ground out of view. It’s attached to the bottom of his right foot.

Jhonate blinked. How was that possible? Her father had been among spirit magic users all his life. He had trained his mind until it had become an iron trap. The most powerful witches and sorcerers in the Roo-Dan had tried to use their spells on him and had failed.

She looked around. She knew everyone in the tent. They were family, most of them her siblings. The only one that was a spirit magic user was her mother. Jhonate gazed down at Jhandra. The pregnant woman had pushed herself up into a sitting position, her eyes wide on the fight and filled with anxiety.

Could it really be her? Was she sending a tendril of bewitching magic down into the ground from where she sat, attaching it to her father? Did Jhandra have a reason to want Justan dead? She bent down and whispered urgently in her mother’s ear.

Justan knew that he had to get through to Xedrion somehow, disrupt his rage. What he was doing wasn’t working. He had to go on the attack. With a shout, he lunged forward, bringing Rage up in sweeping strike, forcing Xedrion to block for the first time since the battle had begun. “Stop and listen, Protector!”

When Xedrion didn’t respond, Justan continued the attack, swinging his swords back around to their natural extended positions as his plan formed in his mind. Xedrion’s face was a rictus of rage. The protector let out a primal cry as he was forced onto the defensive.

Justan tried an old trick he had tried back in Training School. He sent out a bizarre series of nonsensical attacks, using the flats of his blades, sometimes deliberately attacking just the protector’s Jharro staff. Xedrion’s rage shifted briefly into confusion and Justan brought Rage up under the protector’s guard.

When the sword touched the underside of Xedrion’s staff, Justan gathered Rage’s energy and released it in a focused point against the Jharro wood. The staff was blasted in two, throwing Xedrion’s arms out wide long enough for Justan to lay the flat of Peace’s blade against the protector’s cheek.

Xedrion’s thoughts flashed through Justan’s mind. He saw the protector’s deep and abiding love for the grove and his people. He saw Xedrion’s fear over the disappearance of his oldest son and his mourning over the death of his friend and mentor. He also saw a father’s righteous anger over his daughter deserting his side and falling in love with a complete stranger.

Above those innermost feelings, enhancing them, overriding them, was a bewitching-fueled gray haze of anger. The anger had been focused until it was all pointing towards Justan, pushing Xedrion into finding ways to blame Justan for all of his problems.

Xedrion’s eyes went wide with shock and he froze as all those emotions left him, sucked away by the power of the sword. “What kind of magic trick is this?” he asked.

“You didn’t send the basilisk,” Justan said in sudden understanding, keeping his sword pressed against Xedrion’s cheek.

“I would never use such foul means,” he replied without emotion. “You must remove your sword now if you do not wish to die, Sir Edge.”

Justan looked down and saw that a blade of wood had formed in the center of Xedrion’s breast plate and was directed at his heart. He shook his head. “I can’t do that, Protector. The moment I remove my sword from your face, your anger will return. Someone in this tent is manipulating you with bewitching magic, trying to get you to kill me.”

“Impossible. I would never allow such a thing,” Xedrion said. But he sensed a bit of truth in what Justan had said. With emotion taken out of the situation, the decisions he had been making did not make sense. He called on his training and turned his mind’s eye inward. Then he saw it. The intrusion was a small thing. A tiny connection, but it had been funneling hatred and anger for a long time. “Remove your blade. I see it now.”

Hesitantly, Justan removed Peace from the warrior’s cheek and stepped back. The anger indeed reappeared on Xedrion’s face, but it was no longer directed at Justan. He turned and looked to the women clustered around the gray chair. “Jhandra, did you do this to me?”

The pregnant woman was no longer reclining on the ground, but stood behind Alexis, Xedrion’s fourth wife. Jhandra’s Jharro circlet was no longer on her brow, but had turned into a dagger that she had pressed against Alexis’ throat. Jhonate stood next to them looking confused.

“No, darling Xedrion,” Jhandra said. “Never would I use anything but my wiles on you. Alexis, however, has been hiding her little talent from all of us.”

The auburn-haired woman scowled. “Don’t talk nonsense, witch! We all know you’re the only one of us with that kind of power. You’ve been using your magic on Xedrion for years. Admit it! That’s why you’re his favorite. That’s why he wears your ribbon!”

“Can you trace the source of the magic influencing you, Protector?” Justan asked.

“It vanished before I had the chance to discover its source,” Xedrion said. As he walked towards his wives, he lifted the two broken pieces of his Jharro staff and pressed them together, commanding them to meld back as one. “Put your dagger down, Jhandra.”

With a nod of acquiescence, the pregnant woman let go of Alexis and stepped aside. The dagger in her hand turned back into the circlet and she placed it on her head. “When Jhonate told me what was happening I knew what to look for. Alexis had sent a trail of bewitching magic under the ground extending from her feet to yours. An old Roo-Dan trick, I’ve heard. As much as I despise the woman, I’ve never thought to look for that.”

“Is this true, Alexis?” Xedrion asked.

“Of course not,” she snapped sternly. “You know who the witch is.”

“Shall I call in a listener, then?” Xedrion said. “You have been avoiding listeners of late now that I think of it.”

Her defiant look slid away and she placed her hands on her hips. “Oh very well. I do have a bit of talent. A small bit, but you have never bothered keeping your guard up around me.”

“This is a foul crime, Alexis,” said Herlda bin Shun, Xedrion’s first wife. “You tried to bewitch the Protector of the Grove.”

“It was no crime, Herlda,” Alexis snapped. “It was a chickoree.”

Jhandra laughed. “An obsolete old custom. From the days before the Troll Queen.”

“It is part of our heritage! We are Roo. How quickly you all forget. If one witch wife sees another witch wife using magic on their husband, she is allowed to counter it with magic of her own!”

“I told you a million times! I never use my magic on our husband!” Jhandra retorted, reaching for her circlet again.

“Stop your foolishness!” Xedrion commanded. He was breathing heavily and his fingers trembled as he pointed at Alexis. “You were the one always pushing the old customs on me. You wanted us to be more like the Roo of old. How long have you been manipulating me?”

“From the moment you allowed your precious Jhonate to join that dry foot school,” she said. “It was a necessity, Xedrion! You were slowly throwing our heritage away. Yes, we need to protect the grove as our ancestors promised. But we also need to protect ourselves.” Her eyes were alight with conviction. “How long until we start letting them in? How long until dry foot settlements populate Malaroo. Our children will soon forget who they are!”

“You sent the Roo-Dan to the border after us, didn’t you?” Jhonate asked.

“Oh, very well, I suppose you shall get some listener to pull it all out of me anyway,” Alexis growled. “Yes, I got a message to the Roo-Dan the moment Listener Beth told us you were coming. Better to kill you all before this disaster of a contract goes into effect.”

“Treason,” Xedrion said, pointing his restored staff at her. He advanced slowly. “You know the rules better than anyone. You know what you are forcing me to do.”

“I committed no treason,” she snapped. “The Roo-Dan are Roo just like we are. Just because they don’t wish to guard the grove doesn’t mean they are no longer our people.”

“You are forcing me to have you executed!” Xedrion shouted.

“You will not do that,” she said, giving him a simmering smile. “Jhandra is not the only one with wiles.”

“Do not be stupid,” Herlda said. “He does not feel that way about you.”

“Perhaps not, but he is still my husband. He has always come to me when I requested it.” She chuckled. “More often of late. I suppose it is time to announce that I too am carrying a child again, Xedrion. Can you execute your own unborn offspring?”

“Take her out of here!” Xedrion cried. “I do not wish to see her conniving face!”

“Wait, father,” Jhonate said. “Can you first command her to call off the nightbeast?”

“That,” Alexis said, her glare returning. “Was not me. I would never associate with such darkness. The basilisks have always been at odds with the Roo.”

Justan’s shoulders slumped. If she didn’t hire the nightbeast, who did?

Three of Jhonate’s siblings led Alexis from the tent. The woman followed them as if it were her idea, a smug look of satisfaction on her face.

Wearily, Xedrion walked to the gray chair and sat in it. The plates of Jharro wood that had rested on the seat formed around his legs, becoming more pieces of armor. He put his hands in his face.

Jhonate walked over and grasped Justan’s hand. “Father,” she said hesitantly. “About our betrothal.”

He looked up at them, frowning. “What I said before was . . . incorrect. You followed the rules of our traditions even if you did use a bit of trickery with Sir Hilt. Your betrothal is not nullified.”

“Then we have your blessing?” Jhonate asked.

He raised a finger. “I am not yet prepared to do that. I need time to sort through how I really feel about this. So many decisions I have made lately seem questionable. Please, Sir Edge, come to Roo-Tan’lan. See our city. Know our people. You have impressed me today, but I do not give up my daughter so easily.”

Justan nodded. That was a much better response than he had expected. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

Justan, we come
, Gwyrtha said.

There was a sudden commotion at the front of the tent and several Roo-Tan men entered the tent. Some of them carried heavy bundles of cloth over their shoulders. Gwyrtha and Hilt followed in behind them, the rogue horse having shrunk to her smaller, faster size.

“Hubrin, son! You have returned!” Xedrion stood, his expression hopeful. One of them, a dark-haired muscular man carrying a Jharro sword and bow strode forward. His ribbon was black. Justan recognized that meant that he was Xedrion’s second born and son of Herlda.