Shadow Of The Winter King (Book 1) (4 page)

Regel knew he had to help Ovelia, or they would be lost. “Get up, old man,” Regel said despite his heaving lungs. His body wouldn’t obey. “Get up.”

As if he’d heard, one of the Dusters broke from Ovelia and rushed Regel, sword high. Weariness giving way to the thrill of combat, Regel felt his limbs throw off the binding magic. He waited until she was two paces from him, than sprang forward in a roll. The Duster tripped and went down with a crash, and Regel hooked his falcat like a scythe under the Duster’s faceplate, beheading her as she fell.

A war cry alerted Regel, and he wrenched the blade free to parry another rushing Duster. He slammed his elbow into the back of the man’s neck and ran for Ovelia and her two foes, who had maneuvered to either side of her. He saw the truth of the duel in a heartbeat: Ovelia was a great swordswoman but she could not win. Her foes wore armor that she lacked, and though their inferior swords had chipped against Draca, the weapons yet held. Their plates would weaken her strikes, but the first blow they landed—her first mistake—would end the duel.

Regel charged, silent as looming death.

Sensing him, the nearest Duster began to turn—too late. Regel kicked off the ground, shattered the weaker sword with a vicious cross, stepped on the near alley wall, and slashed out the Duster’s throat with his second sword. The knight tumbled aside, blood sailing, as Regel spun and landed just behind his the last of their attackers, blades crossed and ready.

This one seemed more capable than the others, but the impossible move still took him by surprise. “Silver Fire!” he cried as he turned on Regel.

He slammed his sword wildly into Regel’s defenses, and though it was a poor blow, the dust magic exploded with enough force to send Regel back a step. The Duster spun back and managed to bat the Bloodsword wide and strike Ovelia in the chest with the pommel of his sword. She fell back, gasping, but before the Duster could launch a killing blow, he had to defend against Regel’s assault. The older man’s twin falcat spun around his hacking blade, kissing the steel but seemingly unable to stop it.

“You’re dead, traitors!” the Duster said. “You’re dead!”

Then Regel locked the off-balance Duster’s sword between his two weapons and held it wide. “Not likely,” he said.

The Duster’s eyes widened in realization of his mistake. Regel had lured him in, and now he couldn’t disengage. He might have managed to rip the sword free with a heartbeat’s effort, but Ovelia only needed that long to rise and put her sword through his back with a grunt. The point burst out his chest, parting the steel plate with ease. As the Duster choked on rising blood, Draca slid out of him as smoothly as a knife through water. Regel had known only one other sword so efficient and deadly, but the days of wielding it lay far behind him.

Dropping his blades to stab into the refuse-covered ground, Regel caught the dying Duster, covered his mouth, and lowered him to the cobblestones. The man stared up at him, confused and terrified, so Regel put a blade through his heart. Mercifully, the man’s gasps choked off. From his face, the Duster was little more than a boy—perhaps half Regel’s age—and northern-born by his pale skin and black hair. What a waste.

“Dust and shadow.” Regel murmured as much in mourning as in benediction.

Ovelia was staring at him, Regel realized. “Frostburn is gone, and yet you wield the falcat.” She gestured to Regel’s swords, hooked like a scythe and sharpened on the inside of the curve. It was an ancient design, hard to wield but deadly. “You are still a reaper of men.”

To that, he refused to respond.,

Ovelia wiped Draca on one of the gray cloaks. Blood steamed off the blade. “You never did tell me where you learned to move with such grace.”

“No.” Regel closed the Duster’s dead eyes. “I did not.”

He accepted Ovelia’s proffered hand to get to his feet, and it was only then he recognized the shape in the shadows flowing from Draca’s blade: a casterman.

There came the great
crack
of a caster firing and blood spattered Regel’s face. Ovelia’s fingers splayed out in shock, her hand just short of Regel’s own. Her face went white.

Regel’s eyes shot to the man who had risen behind them. It was the Duster Regel had merely stunned with a blow to the neck and—in his haste to defend Ovelia—forgotten entirely. Now he stood behind Ovelia, a caster in his hand.

Then blood bubbled out of the man’s helmet, and he toppled. A bolt had driven a hole through his middle. His caster—unfired—landed on the ground with a wet thud.

“Stand away from him!” A slim woman in dark leather and a cloak the color of fog appeared. She tossed one expended caster aside and pointed a second at Ovelia’s face. “Right burning
now
!”

Two

D
raca’s shadows never lied,
but they were not always clear. Ovelia had sensed the danger, but she had thought it would come from the last Duster, so she had shifted her weight to dodge an attack from that direction. Thus, Regel’s squire had a perfect shot lined up at her head, and there was not a burning thing she could do about it. Keeping her right hand on the hilt of Draca, she raised her left hand peaceably.

“Don’t even move, traitor,” Serris said. “I will put this bolt in your throat. I’m a remarkable shot.”

Ovelia believed her.

“Serris,” Regel said warily, his blue-black eyes burning.

“Shut up, by the bleeding Narfire! And you shut your mouth, too, old man.” Serris inclined her head to Regel. “You blind as well as stupid? This woman has led you into two traps this night, graybeard—and I’m rescuing you.
Again
.”

Ovelia’s heart raced. She focused on the sword’s shadows, preparing her body for an attack. She would have to be fast. She doubted she could draw Draca in time, let alone move fast enough to block a casterbolt, even if she knew exactly how Serris would aim. That was Regel’s skill, and she had never known another who could do it. Still, she had to try. She could not fail now.

“Stand down, Squire,” Regel said.

“Can’t do that, Master.” The scar on Serris’s cheek glowed red in the moonlight with a fury to match that of her eyes. “This is for you and me both.”

Keep her talking, Regel.
The shadows flowed uncertainly. Ovelia studied Serris’s stance, trying to predict which way she should leap to dodge the woman’s cast. If she picked wrong...

“You saw her slay men of the Ravalis,” Regel said. “She is their enemy.”

“She is
our
enemy.” Serris tightened her finger on the caster’s trigger. “The Ravalis have been following her all along. Either she’s one of them, or she’s dangerously stupid. Either way.” She adjusted her aim at Ovelia. “We’ve a contract to kill her, whoever she is.”

“Except that she’s the one who gave us the contract,” Regel said.

Serris blinked. “What?”

Ovelia bit her lip. Regel was playing a dangerous game, but perhaps it would serve and they could talk Serris down after all. After she’d taken so much from Regel in her life, Ovelia would hate to have to kill his squire without cause.

“He speaks true,” Ovelia said, speaking for the first time. “Through the heart—the one she—”

“Swore to another,” Serris said. She looked to Regel, eyes narrow. “M’lord? This true?”

He nodded.

“Old Gods!” Serris lowered the caster. “That’s the greatest idiocy I’ve ever heard.”

“Thanks?” Ovelia relaxed, removing her hand from the hilt of her sword.

“Misjudged you, m’lady,” Serris said.

“How—?” Ovelia gasped as Serris slammed a foot into her belly. She sank to one knee, clutching herself.

“Didn’t expect such a ninny,” Serris said. “Lowering your guard—
honestly
.” She put the caster anew to Ovelia’s temple. “Can I kill her now, Master?”

Regel waved. “Put it away, Squire,” he said.

It was no use—Serris’s hand was true. Ovelia saw death coming and made a choice.

“Do it.” She leaned her head against the caster. “I deserve it, after all I’ve done.”

“What you’ve—wait. Who is she?” Serris’s eyes widened at Ovelia. “Who are you?”

Ovelia was confused. Did Serris not know her?

“No one.” Regel rose slowly, making no threatening moves. “She’s no one of consequence.”

That said much. Regel must have hidden her true identity when the contract arrived, but why? Was it to preserve her life? Few would hesitate to slay the great Bloodbreaker of Denerre. But more importantly,
why?
Regel hated her. He had almost killed her before he knew of their quest. And now?

Ovelia glanced at Regel, took a deep breath, and looked Serris straight in the face. “If I am to die, I’ll die in honor, not deception. I am Ovelia Dracaris, First Shield to Orbrin Denerre the Winter King.”

“The Bloodbreaker!” Serris grasped the caster in both hands. “I thought you
dead
.”

“Thank you,” Ovelia murmured with a bitter smile. “I give myself to your justice, if that is what you will give me. Do it. Cast.”

Serris was overwhelmed, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Death waited only heartbeats away, but in truth Ovelia watched the master, not the squire. Regel’s was the judgment she sought, not that of Serris, and his face might have been carved of stone. Had Ovelia erred in her hope?

Finally, Regel put his hand on Serris’s arm. “Stand down,” he said. “She is no threat to me, and we have made a bargain. I am honor bound to protect her.”

“But she’s the Bloodbreaker.” Serris’s teeth clenched and she stood trembling. “She’s the enemy of Tar Vangr...
your
enemy, most of all! You
hate
her.”

“Stand down,” Regel said again, his voice deeper.

“But—” Her eyes burned at Ovelia. “Master, what you’ve told me of this... this
creature
.”

“I know what I’ve told you.”

Ovelia was curious, but she knew when to stay silent.

“She used you—lied to you,” Serris argued. “Betrayed you and everything she swore to protect. She’s an oathbreaker, Lord of Tears! Worse than—”

“Worse than I?” he interrupted. “Has she broken more oaths than I have?”

Lightning crackled, but the rain had abated and the skies were clearing. Ovelia drew in a breath, not trusting herself to speak.

Serris’s eyes narrowed. “She broke your heart, master.”

Ovelia could see in Regel’s eyes that she’d broken far more than that.

“Put the caster away,” he said.

Serris hesitated, then withdrew the weapon.

The tension passed, and all breathed easier. Without the caster threatening her, Ovelia could rise unhindered. Her middle hurt, and she put a hand to rub at the ache.

Serris saw the gesture and frowned. “Not sorry for that.”

“I am,” Ovelia murmured. “She’s clearly your student, Regel.”

“Indeed.” Regel drew Serris around. “You’ve my thanks for following us.”

Serris brightened. “You bring Ruin to my tavern and expect me
not
to follow?”

“I think you mean
my
tavern.”

“As you say. Seems to me I’ve been the one running it these past two years, and you aren’t in the city a day before a proscription letter arrives. Knew it was a trap.”

She wound her arms around Regel’s neck in an intimate, even amorous gesture. Ovelia was startled at the girl’s forwardness. A squire and master grew close, sometimes even closer than blood, but that was not the look of a daughter embracing a father.

“Meant to throttle you until you choked out the silver for repairs, Master.” Serris looked to Ovelia. “Your fortune we happened upon these corpses when we did, Bloodbreaker. Had my fill of blood tonight.” She knelt over one of the Dusters and swore a quiet oath. “Winterborn. Damn Ravalis.” She offered a prayer to the Old Gods to honor the dead knight.

“We have to move,” Regel said. “This safehouse is known to the Ravalis.”

“True enough.” Serris nodded. “Help you hide the corpses?” Watch horns sounded from nearby in the rainy night. “Too late anyway.”

They headed back up the Aleisaar away from the exposed safehouse and took refuge beneath the overhang of a long-abandoned smithy. Half a dozen Dusters and a Lancer searching the spot they had left, and shouts rose as they inspected the bodies. Ovelia knew they had to move quickly.

“Need a good hiding place,” Serris said. “The Doxy Dive, or under the boards at the wharf—”

“We’re leaving Tar Vangr tonight,” Regel said.

“But...” Serris paled slightly. “You just returned. We haven’t had time to talk—”

“Serris.” Regel touched her arm to make her focus. “Is the Rat Cellar clean?”

“Should be,” Serris said. “But why do you have to go so quickly?”

Ovelia knew they had no time for this. “We need supplies—weapons, food, clothes. Preferably something richly made or at least modest.”

The young woman’s vulnerable voice transmuted into cold steel at Ovelia’s voice, as though she just remembered she and Regel were not alone. “Your pet Bloodbreaker looks a fright, Master. Few clothes for a woman at the Cellar, but some of my things are still there from last time. Should fit her well enough.” She looked anxious. “Let’s move.”

“No. Ovelia and I have business—solitary business.” He took her by the shoulders. “You will shed the Tears. Whisper promises, spill blood, share beds. Find out what words will be spoken this night of the attack on our home. Find a name for our betrayer.”

Serris’s eyes narrowed. “Beware, Master,” she said. “I spared her at your will, but I’ll be burned before I trust the Bloodbreaker. You should do the same.”

“Disobedience ill suits you, squire.”

“Nor foolishness you, Master.” She leaned close, but Ovelia could still hear her faintly. “She’s a danger. You know this.”

“Tonight,” he reiterated. “Yours is the command in my absence.”

Serris cast Ovelia a suspicious glance. “Master—”

“You’ve heard my will.”

Serris sighed. “You’re well?” She put her hand on Regel’s chest. “For certain?”

Regel nodded. Something that Ovelia could not name passed between them. It made her feel like an unwelcome spectator.

“Return soon.” Serris smiled awkwardly. “Something I need to talk to you about.”

“Soon,” Regel agreed without meeting her eye.

The woman disappeared into the night. Freed of her threat, Ovelia slapped at the mud on her trousers. “Deadly lass,” she said. “Shame about the scar.”

Regel’s face darkened slightly. “She has earned better than your judgment.”

“Granted.” He was very protective of his squire. Ovelia waved that away. “You finally took a squire, then. I never would have expected it of you.”

“We grow older, if not wiser.”

“True.” Regel’s face was certainly older—the lines around his eyes darker, the crags on his cheeks deeper—but his eyes held as much darkness as ever. Unnerving but also magnetic. Ovelia looked after Serris, who had vanished into the hazy street. “She obviously cares for you deeply.”

“She is my squire,” Regel said.

“Nothing more?”

“Once.”

Ovelia waited, but Regel did not continue. He never wasted three words when one would do. How she had once loathed his terse manner, and missed it in the years since.

The relation he invoked between master and squire was an ancient tradition of Tar Vangr. In most cases, a master was closer to a squire than even a father or a mother. Ovelia had known two masters in her time, one who actually
was
her father. But both of them were long gone now.

Ovelia sighed. “My thanks for talking her down. She might have slain me.”

“It wasn’t for you,” Regel turned and started up the street in the direction Serris had gone.

“It was for Lenalin,” Ovelia said. “Wasn’t it? That’s why you agreed to this. For her sake.”

Regel hesitated.

“She is dead, Regel,” Ovelia said.

His eyes might have stabbed her in that moment. Then he nodded and they walked on.

* * *

Shivering in the cold night, Serris almost wished the acidic rain would return in force to suit her mood. “Silver Fire!” she muttered. “That woman!”

But—as ever—Regel surely knew what he was about and she would have to trust him.

“Haven’t failed me yet, Lord of Tears,” she said, and took comfort in it.

Rain dripped from an eave above, and she recoiled beneath shelter. Magic had long ago scoured the sky, leading to this rain of fire. She knew little about magic, and it certainly wasn’t her place to do anything about the rain or the smog. She wished someone would, though. Her eyes watered, and she told herself it was the fumes stinging her eyes, as they always had.

She gazed up into the night sky, up the mountain crowned with the palace of Tar Vangr. Lights burned on the great height to mark the residences of the rich and powerful, and great skyships moved in the night to carry those who could afford freedom. Meanwhile, down here in the slums, the poor fought and shed blood in the muddy streets. The sight never failed to anger her, even more so when Ovelia Dracaris—the Ruin-burned Bloodbreaker herself—had descended like a raven of death to pull her master back into that world. A sour feeling twisted her gut, but she had to trust in the Lord of Tears. He had saved her five years ago, and she had never known him to make a mistake. Serris, on the other hand, had made enough mistakes for the both of them.

Why hadn’t she told him? She could have just blurted it out, but with that woman there—the damned Bloodbreaker, of all people!—somehow she’d been unable to speak of it, and now she did not know when she would get another chance. If ever.

“Damn.” Serris turned to head back to the Burned Man when something struck the back of her head and the world shattered in a burst of white light. Vision swimming, Serris staggered back, grasped at her face with one hand, and tried to pull her blade with the other. Steel kissed her throat, and she froze.

“Now now, Serris, First of the Circle of Tears,” a barely human voice said in her ear. “Why do you weep, I wonder? Is it for your master?”

Why hadn’t she heard him approach? Had she been so stupid as to let her doubts distract her, at the cost of her life? She gazed into where her attacker’s face should be and saw only a mask of interlaced bones over boiled black leather. The eyes were different colors: one vivid blue and the other bare white—blind, she thought, until she saw it scanning her features. Her stomach gave a wrench, and she felt her gorge rise into her throat.

“Who are you?” she asked through the shaking fear. Perhaps she could reach her dagger—

“A friend, if you will make it so.” The mask mostly hid the speaker’s lips, but sharp teeth glinted in the moonlight. “You saw how easily I could take you unawares, and now you are under my knife. If you want the Lord of Tears to live, listen and do as I say.”

“That’s your play, threatening my master?” Serris smiled crookedly, her fears easing a bit. “You might catch me, but you think you’re a threat to him? You, a man afraid to show his face? I hope you try.