The Destroyer Book 4 (47 page)

“Kick him again.” Light blinded me and a flicker of shadows yanked me from my memory of Iolarathe and Entas. There was movement in front of me and the sucking sound of something moving through the air quickly.

I was lying on my side and couldn’t move away. I pulled my arms down to my chest and managed to partially block the boot kick to my ribs. My ribs and stomach ached.

“Wake up, fucker!” My jaw clenched and I caught the next boot that was aimed at my groin. I didn’t know the exact number of my attackers, but I knew one thing for certain: Someone would pay for disturbing my dream.

I was on my feet instantly, still holding the boot. Its owner was a man who reminded me of Iarin, tall and lean with chiseled good looks. He wore deer-leather pants and a shirt with the front opened to expose a wiry chest covered in bear tattoos and muscles.

Another man stood next to him. He was larger across and shorter in stature, with a shaved head, and similar tattoos scattered across his face. They both carried long, curved daggers on their belts and neither wore anything resembling armor.

The tall one seemed surprised that I was able to rise so quickly. I still cradled his boot in my hands and I realized that my arms were shackled together with thick steel manacles and a heavy chain. I yanked the man toward me by the leg, let my arms slide inside to his knee, and then yanked the chain while I spun away. The limb made a sharp cracking sound as it broke sideways at the knee and then there was a tearing shriek when his shin separated from the rest of his leg.

I smashed the clasped chain into the stout man’s nose with a satisfying crack of cartilage, teeth, and jawbone. His head snapped back and I took the opportunity to free the knife from his belt with a quick twist of the leather tie.

The tall man to my side began to scream with horror, but the screech only lasted half a second. Then I cleaved the long blade through his neck and separated his head from his shoulders. Before his body began to fall backward through the open flap of the tent I pivoted back to the man whose face I had just broken and drove the curved point of the dagger toward his eye socket.

Except my prey was somewhat skilled, and though he probably could not see, he was shrewd enough to close the small distance between us with a tackle. It was a clumsy attempt, but my grip was wet with blood and the weapon slipped from my hand when he hit me. I wrapped my chains around his neck while we fell together. I landed on my back and locked my legs around his torso to keep his hips under control. His arms were free, but instead of immediately trying to get a hand between the tightening chains and his neck, he wasted precious seconds trying to punch me in the face.

Perhaps his effort would have been effective against a less-experienced opponent, but I controlled his hips with my legs and his head with the chain around his neck. Each of his attacks was easily diverted by a combination of pushes, pulls, and a tightening of the choking chain. I felt his body begin to lose strength. He would faint in the next few seconds.

Shouts sounded outside and countless bodies poured into the tent. I made a last effort to pop the man’s head off of his neck, but strong hands grabbed the chains, my arms, and began to wrestle me away from my prey. I fought against them, but two warriors grabbed onto each of my arms, three latched onto each of my legs, and a giant of a man hammered my nose and face until I was forced to block his attacks to prevent my skull from shattering.

The man I had almost killed was pulled free, but the movement allowed one of my arms to untangle for a fraction of a second. I had little leverage with eight bodies on top of me, but my free hand closed around someone’s neck and I began to squeeze the life from their throat.

“Kaiyer!” a voice shouted above the screams of the warriors attacking me. I heard my name again and looked over through the throng of people and saw a woman standing backlit against the morning sun pouring into the tent. She had skin a few shades lighter than gray, pewter hair that fell loose down her shoulders like molten metal, and eyes that blazed a ruby red.

Vernine.

My memories came back in a flood of hits more powerful than the fists that pounded into my stomach. I remembered what I was doing in this tent and who these people were. The realization did not quell my anger, but instead of continuing to fight I relaxed my arms and legs.

“Stop!” I shouted over the mass of bodies wrestling me. “I surrender. I won’t fight!” A few more punches landed in my stomach and ribs and I grunted through the pain.

“He is surrendering!” Vernine echoed my words.

“Stop!” another voice commanded and everyone obeyed. My face was swollen and I turned my head to spit a mouthful of blood onto the straw mat they had given me for bedding.

“Get off of him,” the woman ordered again. I recognized Turnia's voice and the throng of bodies slowly disengaged from me, except for the massive man who had been pummeling me in the face. He still had his knee on my chest and his right arm raised to punch me again.

“He killed Bunitar and would have done the same to Goolirt had we not intervened.” There was a tense silence in the small tent.

“He also killed my brother. It is not our job to judge and punish. Leave that to the Council.” Turnia stood at the entrance to the tent next to Vernine. The man nodded at her words and rose from my chest.

I rolled over onto my knees, coughed out another mouthful of blood and then stood as slowly as I could. A bunch of ribs were broken, half of my teeth were loose, and my left shoulder was dislocated. By the time I was fully standing everything was healed, except for the shoulder, but I yanked on the chain with my right hand and ripped the socket back into place with a painful pop.

Almost every space in my tent was filled with O’Baarni. They stood around me and the look on their combined faces made it apparent that they all wished Turnia would allow them to continue to beat me.

“You’ve killed another of my brothers, Pretender.” I couldn’t see her face through the gathered warriors.

“I was having a nightmare and they kicked me awake. My instincts took over and I forgot I was in your care.” I wanted to tell her to go fuck herself with a curved sword, but my usual attitude would only decrease the likelihood that the clan leader of Two Bears would allow me to speak with the empress before they took me through the Radicle.

“Liar!” the stout man I had almost choked sputtered from the ground a few feet from me. I guessed his name was Goolirt from what the massive man had said a few seconds ago.

“Olarin, Perna, Jinicar, Goolirt, and the Elven Vernine, stay here. Everyone else, leave now.” After she spoke the command Turnia’s warriors moved out of the tent. When the last one had left, Turnia stepped a few feet into the tent. Vernine stayed behind at the entrance and quickly signed some form of communication to someone in the campsite.

“What was the order you gave them?” Turnia turned her attention to the large man. I guessed this was Olarin.

“To bring the Pretender to you,” he said. His voice wasn’t as dark as Kannath’s, but this man was a few inches taller and broader.

“What happened when you entered this tent?” Turnia turned to Goolirt. The other two warriors who remained were women and the group focused their attention on the man struggling to push air through his smashed throat.

“We came inside.” His voice came out with a painful wheeze. “He attacked us.”

“You didn’t kick him?” She raised an eyebrow, just as the empress would have to question something she did not believe to be factual.

“No, Turnia.”

“I want the three of you to personally deal with the Pretender.” She turned to the two women and Olarin. I guessed that these were her generals. “Do not delegate the task to idiots.” She sighed and then turned back to Goolirt. “You’ve put me in a troubling position, fool. If we were on one of our own planets, I would just exile you. However, I can’t let you roam free on the Elven’s new world.”

“I have not lied, Turnia,” he sputtered the words.

“You lie again. Kill him.” The two women who flanked Turnia pulled out curved daggers and were on the man in a flash. He let out a wet scream as his throat was slit by one. Then the other drove her blade into his skull at the temple and the screech ended abruptly. Now there were two corpses in the tent. Blood turned the hard clay floor into red mud.

Turnia stared at Olarin while the other man was murdered. Something passed between them and I guessed that she was more than outraged that his report had lied to her a second time. The big man clenched his muscular jaw in frustration, and I could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Once the women had finished their work, Turnia turned to face me with anger in the ice-blue depths of her sharp eyes.

“Follow me,” she commanded. The tall woman exited the tent with Vernine and I moved to follow her into the bright sunlight of the morning.

The camp was a week’s journey southeast of Nia’s capital. We had not yet reached Brilla, but we were only a few days from its border. We moved slowly, I was not sure if this was because Turnia feared my escape, or because she had too many warriors to manage.

The camp was divided into two parts; Turnia’s clan was bunched up around my tent, and the Elvens were positioned a few hundred yards away in a neat grouping around Telaxthe’s elaborate pavilion. The line between the two races was rather cleanly drawn, but Vernine and a few other pewter-haired guards seemed to be able to move freely between the camps without creating any animosity.

“Move!” The women who had killed Goolirt walked behind me and one pushed roughly on my back. I had been occupied with studying the layout of the camp and I shuffled forward to maintain my balance. Vernine and Turnia must have heard but neither turned to acknowledge the order.

Turnia’s tent was fifty yards from Telaxthe’s and significantly smaller. I thought we were heading to the clan leader’s tent but she signaled to a few of her attendants and they began to tear it down. Then she made her way toward the empress’s pavilion.

Every time we stopped for the night Telaxthe’s workers re-dug the base foundation of the pavilion, lay down the elegant wood floor, and then raised the massive tent. The process took twenty workers over an hour to complete and seemed like a colossal waste of time, but the Elvens were passionate about the task. I often saw the pewter-haired guards contest each other for the right to be part of each night’s chore. Thousands of years and a lack of slaves had not changed the Elven predilection for comfort and luxury.

“Welcome, Turnia.” The empress rose from her plush silken pillow and exchanged a gentle finger touch with the hawk-featured woman. “Thank you for joining us for brunch.”

“Thank you for the invitation.” Turnia glanced over her shoulder at me. “I brought the Pretender. I have questions to ask him and wanted you to be present.”

“As you wish.” The empress smiled easily and gave me a slight nod. She wore a light, moss-colored gown with yellow embroidery of snakes and lizards. Her hair was braided down the left side of her head and the tail fell across her chest. Dissonti was seated on a pillow next to her, and her strange emerald eyes blinked when I looked at her. Instead of Fehalda’s army as an escort, the empress had brought the jade woman and a few hundred of her brown-armored warriors, and Vernine’s command of gray guards.

“Perhaps Dissonti may be of assistance?” There were a few extra pillows arranged in a circle in the center of the tent and Turnia selected one close to Telaxthe.

“What do you mean?” the empress asked.

“The woman is skilled at discerning the truth. It is a talent I like to think I possess, but I don’t believe there is any magic in what I do.” Turnia smiled and gestured for her two warrior women to sit next to her. “I’m just good at smelling bullshit when it seeps out of foolish mouths.” Turnia’s smile broadened and it was clear the muscles involved were unused to exercise.

“That is another trait we have in common.” Telaxthe matched the tall woman’s smile but the empress’s looked much more natural and pleasant. “I would prefer for your captive to sit.” She gestured to me and Turnia nodded in agreement.

“What food will we eat for brunch?” Turnia’s sandy blonde hair was long and even braided behind her back it brushed the floor when she sat down.

“A selection of seasonal vegetables, fresh boar meat, eggs, and fruits,” a servant said when the empress waved to him. I recognized him as the Elven who had served me dinner when I first dined with Telaxthe and her generals.

“That sounds appealing. The Pretender will not be eating.”

“Very well.” Telaxthe nodded to the servant and he moved silently behind the curtain the separated the back part of the tent from where we sat.

I didn’t mind skipping the meal. They had fed me very little in the last week, just a small bowl of porridge once a day. I was losing weight rapidly, but I was used to hunger, and if starving meant that Turnia would be more likely to let me speak to the empress before she pushed me through the Radicle, I could endure the discomfort.

A group of Elven servants quickly emerged from behind the curtain and placed small bowls of fruit and cups of tea in front of the empress, Dissonti, Turnia, and the two O’Baarni women. Vernine took her usual spot standing behind the empress, but she avoided eye contact with me. The women began to eat their food and there was no conversation for a few minutes.