The Storm Witch (45 page)

Xerwin blinked, and swallowed. “I would trust Dhulyn Wolfshead. I would trust you.” He turned toward her. “I believe you are neutral, all the more so now that your Partner is with you. What proof can
you
offer me besides the word of the White Twins that my sister still lives?”

Dhulyn’s mouth went suddenly dry. What proof indeed. She wished she had time to consult with Parno, but there was only one real answer. She must tell Xerwin she was Marked, regardless of what danger it might bring her. If she expected Xerwin to trust her, she must trust him.

“Your sister’s soul lives, Xerwin. I have Seen her myself.”

Xerwin’s eyes grew rounder, and his mouth softened.

“What does this mean?” This was his friend, Naxot again. “Why not tell us this before?”

He trusts me, I trust him,
Dhulyn reminded herself.

“You misunderstood me, Xar Naxot. I mean that I have
Seen
her myself. I do not rely on the word of the White Twins. I have Seen the Tara Xendra in a Vision of my own. I am a Seer.”

The murmurs that came from the other Marked present were so soft as to be hardly more than shallow intakes of breath. Naxot’s face was statue-still. Xerwin’s mouth had fallen open, but he recovered very quickly.

“I am convinced,” he said. “You would not say such a thing of yourself if it were not the truth. If you yourself are a Seer, and have Seen my sister’s soul, I believe she lives.”

“But does that mean Tara Xendra can be found and restored?” Naxot said. He put a steadying hand on his friend the Tar’s arm.

“Surely, we should at least attempt it,” Dhulyn said. She’d kept her eyes on the two nobles, knowing that all the time Parno would be watching the four guards, ready for any signal, or any untoward movement.

Naxot was nodding now, a slight frown drawing down his brows. “But does it follow that we should throw away the good that can come from the Storm Witch?” His tone was reasonable, as if he merely offered an alternative idea that had no importance to him personally. As perhaps he did, Dhulyn thought. For all she knew, Naxot functioned as Xerwin’s privy council, asking the questions Xerwin would not always ask himself.

“The Tara Xendra, your sister, is a sweet girl,” the young man continued. “But if she is safe, if her soul is safe in her present location, should we not consider the greater good?”

Oh, no, Dhulyn thought, all but shaking her head. As soon as some noble began talking about the greater good in terms of the sacrifice of an individual—they
never,
she’d noticed, offered to sacrifice themselves. Xerwin’s face had hardened, it seemed he was thinking along the same lines.

“No good can come of this evil,” she said. “The Storm Witch may be of some use, may even genuinely wish to help you, but if you sacrifice an innocent child . . .” This time she did shake her head. “This is not something the Slain God would look on with pleasure.”
And I should know,
she thought. “Is the Storm Witch somehow more entitled to your sister’s body than Xendra is herself?”

“Here’s a question I’ve heard no one ask,” Parno said. “What’s happened to the Witch’s own body? How did she come to lose it? For all we know, her own people cast her out. Since she can survive in these spheres she’s told you about, we do her no harm to return her there.”

Naxot’s parted lips indicated that he had an answer for that as well, but Xerwin forestalled him with a raised hand.

“Enough.” The Tar’s gesture silenced everyone, and made Dhulyn see for the first time what he would be like as Tarxin. “I have made my decision,” he said, and the firmness of his voice supported his words. “Evil or not, the Storm Witch misled me for purposes of her own. My sister is alive, and deserves to be restored to her body if it is possible. Dhulyn Wolfshead, please proceed.”

“No, I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

This time the interruption came not from the gate, but apparently from the air, somewhere to the left of where they were standing. Parno eyed a section of wall, examining its thickly ornamented stonework with suspicion. He’d wager he and Dhulyn were the only ones not surprised when that part of the wall opened, turning as if on a pivot, and the Tarxin Xalbalil stepped out, flanked by two guards carrying pikes, and six others with swords.

“Thank you, Naxot. It appears you were correct in your estimations. You will have your reward when my son the traitor has received his.”

“Naxot!” Xerwin’s hand, which had gone for his sword hilt when the wall moved, hung limply at his side.

His friend still wore that stone face he’d showed them earlier. “I had to be certain,” he said. “You had changed your mind about her once already. I could not side with you against the Holy Woman,” he said, crossing the floor to stand near the Tarxin.

“Xerwin, I’m disappointed in you.” The older man’s dry voice made Parno’s skin crawl. “To take the tool yourself and use it against me, that I expected, and even approved, in a way. You would not have succeeded, but at least it would show you were ready to succeed me in another sense. But to take such a weapon as the Storm Witch and to throw it away, to save a child whose only use is to warm the right man’s bed—” he shook his head, but his reptilian smile never changed. “I would suspect your mother of foisting another man’s child on me, if we did not look so much alike.”

These words seemed to stiffen Xerwin’s resolve, as his hand went once more to his sword hilt, and he looked much readier to fight than he had a moment before. Parno caught the small signal Dhulyn sent him and moved with her to flank the Tar, eyeing Xerwin’s four men as he moved. One was expressionless, except for the narrowing of his eyes. He looked like he’d stand neutral if he could manage it, until he saw who would gain the upper hand. Two were shocked, and clearly unsure what they should do, but they’d likely follow Xerwin out of habit if nothing else. The fourth was positioning himself to fight—and apparently on Xerwin’s side. Remm was inching himself into a better spot on Dhulyn’s far side.

Seven, perhaps eight of us, ten of them.
Parno eyed the two guards carrying pikes. They’d have to go first. That is, if the talking ever stopped.

“This is convenient, very convenient,” the Tarxin was saying. “All the pieces on the board at the same time.” He looked at Dhulyn in a way that made Parno tighten the grip on his sword—and then loosen it properly again. “Now I see how it is possible for a woman to be a Paledyn. You’ve had your master behind you all the while, directing your every move.”

It was all Parno could do not to laugh out loud. The man was a very poor judge of character if he could look at Dhulyn and think any such thing. But now the man was addressing him, and Parno tried to hang a serious expression on his face.

“So you are my real adversary here—and I can see from your pretty tunic that you are in league with the fish lovers. Your attack was a clearly a feint, allowing you to get more of your people into Ketxan City. Where have you hidden them all, I wonder?” he waved this away. “Never mind. I will be curious to see what else a search of the Sanctuary will reveal.”

“My lord Tarxin, Light of the Sun, you cannot.” Aghast was not too strong a word to describe the old Healer’s tone. “The Sanctuary is neutral ground, ours so long as we provide our services and abide by the terms and conditions of our treaties. Our privacy is not to be violated.”

“But you are in violation of your oaths and treaties,” the Tarxin said in his cold raspy voice. “You are obviously in league with the enemies of the Mortaxa, so your Sanctuary is lost.”

Xerwin was nodding, his expression sour, his mouth twisted to one side. “That is how we deal with everyone,” he said. “They bargain away everything to keep their freedom, and then they find themselves without the freedom to say no.”

“Never mind, Ellis,” Dhulyn said. “If he had not found this excuse, another would have served. He won’t live to hurt you.”

“You’re outnumbered, you silly woman. Do you think you can fight your way through my guards, even with my foolish son on your side?”

“Odds aren’t bad,” Parno put in, shrugging. “Counting Xerwin and his boys, only seventeen of them against eight of us.”

A soft whistling sound, a CLUNK, and one of the pikemen fell to his knees, his weapon clattering to the floor, Dhulyn’s dagger sticking out of his right eye.

“Sixteen,” she said.

While everyone was still standing around gawking, Dhulyn ran forward, sword in hand, Remm behind her and to her left, like a good sword servant.

Even as he was dashing forward himself to deal with the second pikeman, Parno noticed that Xerwin was not making the amateur’s mistake of going for Naxot, the man who’d betrayed him. No, Xerwin was heading straight for his father. Good. It would make things easier all around if he or Dhulyn didn’t have to kill him.

Then his first opponent was before him and the time for watching others was over. The Mortaxan blades were shorter, thicker, better for slashing and cutting than the longer sword Parno had. The man lifted his sword to cut down at Parno’s shoulder, and Parno ran in quickly and thrust his own sword through the man’s throat. As he went down, Parno slashed at the sword hand of another man, and dashed past him to where the man with the pike was holding Remm Shalyn at bay. Remm was already bleeding from a cut on his upper arm—luckily not his sword arm—when Parno came nearer.

“Leave him to me,” he said. Remm grinned and moved out of the way before Parno could trample him.

Parno fell automatically into the Striking Snake
Shora,
avoiding, and occasionally parrying the pike’s blade, watching the man’s shoulders and neck muscles, looking for the telltale shifting that would signal a feint, or a true blow. The pike’s sharp blade was clearly intended to slash as well as stab, and the man wielding it knew his job. Parno’s single advantage, he knew, was that he had faced this weapon, or its cultural variation, many times before, and unlike the opponents the man was used to, was not afraid of it. In fact, it was likely that Parno had faced it in earnest, on the battlefield, more often than this man had used it. It was a tenet of the Common Rule, that drilling was one thing, and killing another.

Parno saw his opening, trusted in his Crayx armor, and stepped into the shaft, parrying and bearing down on it with the strength of his blade. He kept applying pressure, down and outward, as he slid his blade up along the shaft until he had closed to within striking range. Before the man could reverse the end of the shaft to strike him, Parno had skewered him through the heart. He had moved too quickly for the man to even think about dropping the shaft and defending himself in some other way.

The pole arm dealt with, Parno turned back to the others in time to slash at the raised sword arm of one of the Tarxin’s men, just as he was swinging at Remm Shalyn, who had fallen to one knee, having slipped in someone’s blood. Parno hauled Remm back to his feet and took stock. Xerwin and two of his men were engaged with three men in front of the Tarxin, who had at least drawn his knife. Dhulyn had picked up a second sword, and had maneuvered herself between everyone and the still open passage through the wall, preventing escape from that direction. One of Xerwin’s men was down, as was the noble Naxot.

Eleven enemies dead, six still on their feet. Seven if you counted the Tarxin.

“Help the other guard,” Parno told Remm as he headed toward Xerwin. As he reached the group around the Tarxin, the guard on Xerwin’s left went down. Parno stepped over him and cut the throat of the man who’d killed him, reached under Xerwin’s arm, and put his sword through the lung and heart of the Tar’s opponent.

Parno looked over in time to see Dhulyn stepping over the bodies of her two opponents; Xerwin’s remaining guard was bent over, hands on his knees, taking deep breaths. Remm was standing with his hand on the man’s shoulder.

Parno turned back. Xerwin had stepped over the bodies around him and knocked the dagger out of his father’s hand.

“The field is ours, Xerwin,” Parno called. “Whatever you’re planning to do, do it now.”

And the Tar stood still, his blade up in the middle stance, like a man giving a demonstration of swordplay, and did not move.

“Come, boy,” the Tarxin said, his voice, if possible, even colder than it had been before. “If you want the throne, this is the only way. This is what it takes to be Tarxin.”

Dhulyn laid her hand on Parno’s arm, and he shot a glance at her. She had her tongue pressed to her upper lip, and he knew what she was thinking, just as if the Crayx had given him her thoughts. She thought it possible that Xerwin would back away, that at the last minute he would refuse to strike the final blow, rather than admit he wanted the throne, that he was that much like his father. Just as she was thinking about stepping forward to do it herself, Xerwin, shaking his head, lifted his blade and brought it slicing down through his father’s neck.

“I
’VE KILLED MY FATHER.” Xerwin rubbed at his upper lip. “You’ve killed the Tarxin, which at the moment is rather more important.” Dhulyn looked around. Remm Shalyn and the other remaining guards, four of whom had come here with the dead Tarxin, were on their knees, holding their fingertips to their foreheads. The Healer was busy over one man, but even as she watched, he straightened, shaking his head. Parno, half-smiling, waggled his eyebrows at her.

“Tar Xerwin?” Dhulyn touched the younger man on the arm and he finally turned away from his father’s body, blinking with some confusion at the kneeling men. Then he took a deep breath that shuddered on the way in, and touched his own forehead. The men lowered their hands and stood.

“At your service, Tarxin, Light of the Sun,” Remm Shalyn said. Dhulyn saw a gleam—could it be of humor?—in the man’s eyes. “Shall we take care of the slain, Light of the Sun, and see that your father’s body is prepared for transport to his—to
your
private apartments?”