James West - Shadow and Steel

Leitos danced back, his concern growing.

“Cease this madness,” he said, wasting precious breath.

Damoc answered with another thrust, his blade shrieking down Leitos’s, until it collided with the cross-guard.

Leitos pressed in hard, twisting his blade in a tight circle around Damoc’s. When the elder’s sword swung high, Leitos drove his boot into the man’s chest. Damoc floundered back and crashed against the wall. Leitos rapped the flat of his blade against the man’s wrist, and Damoc cried out and the sword flew from his numbed fingers. Before the blade struck the floor, he had drawn his dagger, and stabbed it at Leitos’s throat. Had Leitos not expected the tactic, he would have died.

“You cannot win this,” Leitos warned, giving Damoc room enough to realize that he did not mean to kill him.

Damoc refused to accept the chance to reconsider, and came on in a rush. He lunged and slashed, parried and thrust, always seeking to bury his blade in a part of Leitos that would mean certain death.

Leitos avoided the strikes, ceaselessly looking for an opening to put the man down without taking his life. He scored a few blows-a fist to the temple, one to the nose, and a chopping blow to the man’s neck-but Damoc, bloody and dazed, failed to yield.

Sensing that he was growing too weary to take any more chances, Leitos reversed the momentum of the struggle and went on the attack.

Belina had come to her feet, and Nola stood at her side. “Father, stop!”

“Stand away, girl,” Damoc answered, narrowly missing an opportunity to sever Leitos’s neck.

Leitos scampered back. “One chance more I give you,” he snarled, as much for himself as for Damoc.

The elder laughed. “I will gut you where you stand!”

“Your daughter made the same threat,” Leitos said, feinting a thrust at Damoc’s unprotected middle.

The elder’s dagger swept down, blocking a strike that never came. Before he could right himself, Leitos abruptly whirled his blade down and around. What had been a thrust toward the belly, became an overhand attack against a bowed and undefended neck.

“No!” Belina screamed.

Somehow Leitos checked his strike, but could not avoid crashing against Damoc, one of his knees crunching against the elder’s cheekbone. With a stunned grunt, Damoc collapsed to his back, his dagger skittering across the opal floor. Leitos came up at once and, chest heaving, poked the tip of his sword against the elder’s throat.

The rest of the Yatoans, who had shaken off the horror of the Mahk’lar, stood ready to attack. Belina jumped between her people and Leitos, beckoning for calm with upraised hands. Neither Leitos nor the Yatoans relented, and the rising tension became oppressive.

“Should an arrow pierce me,” Leitos warned, “I will end your leader-I do not wish it, but I will.”

“Lower your weapons,” Belina ordered, her voice cracking.

Damoc blinked, clearing the glazed look in his eyes. “Do as she says.”

One by one, the archers lowered their bows, but all seemed ready to raise them again at a moment’s notice.

“Throw them aside,” Leitos commanded.

Only after Damoc nodded did they acquiesce, if reluctantly.

Feeling somewhat safer, Leitos withdrew his sword, thought about how many times mercy had gotten him into trouble, then offered Damoc a hand. “If I had wanted to kill you, I would have. But-and I hope you finally believe me-that was never my intention.”

Damoc gazed at the proffered hand, covered with dried blood and angry welts from the biting worms, and grudgingly accepted. Leitos hauled him up, but took the precaution of putting a few feet between them.

“He … he could have left me,” Nola said, her previous fury replaced by bemused wonder. “Had our positions been reversed, I would have left him. But even after I tried to cut him down, he carried me from that awful place and … and away from the Faceless One and his hordes.”

Leitos held his breath a moment, certain she would mention that the only way he had been able to take her away from danger had been to strike her. Even knowing there had been no other way, it troubled him to have struck the girl who looked like Zera.

She is not Zera , he told himself forcefully, still finding it difficult to separate the image of the woman he had loved, from the girl who now stood in his defense.

“I cannot trust you, not yet,” Damoc said slowly, “but I do trust my daughters. On their word alone, I grant you peace. But know this, outlander, it is not finished between us.”

“It is over,” Belina said with a exasperated snort, “or there is no reason not to let you two start chopping at one another again.” She eyed Leitos. “He may be young, but you are a fool if you believe he could not have killed you a dozen times over-had he wished to.”

That seemed to sting Damoc’s pride, but he abruptly laughed it off. “As well, I could have gutted him where he stood, more than once.”

Belina favored Leitos with an imploring look. After brief consideration, he decided no good could come from humiliating Damoc in front of his daughters and his clan.

Leitos fingered the cut in his robes, and put on a humble grin. “This one did come very close.” It was the best he could offer, and that seemed enough. The Yatoans began chuckling, as if they found brushes with death amusing-in that, they reminded him of the Brothers.

While the others were distracted, Damoc’s wry mirth fell away, and he leaned close to Leitos. “This trust you have earned is thin. Betray it, and I will dip your naked shanks in waters brimming with fangfish.”

Now I know where Belina learned her manners , Leitos thought, holding back a weary grin. “Just so.”

After a time, the elder asked, “What did you see beyond the corridor?” His tone spoke of an interest in something other than the Faceless One, and considering what Belina had told him about stealing women to breed changelings, Leitos thought he knew the deeper question.

“I saw nothing of humankind,” he said.

Damoc considered that in brooding silence, then turned to his people. “Mahk’lar do not idly wander these islands, for there is nothing here for them to seek. Let us find where so many went with such haste. In knowing that, we may learn why they have abandoned the Throat.”

The Fauthian guard returned, his gaze devoid of emotion. Of the captives only Adham, Ba’Sel, and Halan remained kneeling amongst the hall’s central pillars. After looking between the trio, the guard dragged Halan to his feet. Adu’lin seemed to take a perverse pleasure in allowing Adham to watch the Brothers being led to their doom.

The guard walked Halan into the other chamber, from which screams would soon echo for a short time, before a heavy silence fell. The big man did not protest, as some of the others had, nor did he fight, as fewer had. He walked with his blindfolded head hanging, resigned to whatever fate awaited him.

Adu’lin met the guard at the doorway. “We are nearly finished,” he called to Adham, and ushered Halan out of sight.

Like a sheep to the slaughter , Adham thought, his churning insides sour.

As the guard took his place beside the doorway, Adham looked to Ba’Sel, whose eyes were blindfolded, and hands bound behind his back. Sweat coated his skin, and an occasional tremor shook his limbs.

What is he thinking? Why does he not dispute the poor treatment of his men? The temptation to despise the man for his weaknesses fell over Adham, but he resisted.

“Can you guess what they are doing?” Adham asked in a low voice.

“I barely know where I am,” he admitted, sounding tired, out of breath. “The last clear memory I have is the first morning after coming to Armala. After that, all is as dreams seen through smoke.”