Chaosbound (15 page)

But the giant stood blinking his bloodshot eyes and peering at Rain and Draken as if judging them. At last he sauntered over and said to Rain, “I want to apologize for my harsh words yesterday. I . . . was distraught.”

Rain put her hands on her hips and gave him an appraising look. “Yesterday when you were a man, you insulted me. Today when you're a monster, you ask forgiveness. I think I like the monster better.”

Borenson guffawed and broke into a genuine smile. “Then you would be the first.”

A clumsy moment followed. Rain looked down at the ground, gathered her courage, and said, “You need to know something. I'm in love with your son, and he loves me. We didn't set out for it to happen. It just did. He was kind to my family, and I saw his goodness. . . . Anyway, I begged him to tell you, but he was afraid of what you would think. He was hoping that we might find some land nearby, get settled, and then introduce us. We have not done anything unseemly, except . . .”

Borenson's brow furrowed, as if he expected her to admit to some infidelity. “Except what?”

“Except that we hid on your land. My father and brother found some odd jobs with your neighbors. We didn't dare speak to you. We were ashamed that we had fallen too far. . . .”

Draken knew that his father was not a man to stand on station. He had been born a butcher's son, and had made himself the first knight of the realm.

Borenson finally reached down and hugged her briefly. “Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you,” she said. She pulled away, blinked a tear from her eye, and studied his face.

“Myrrima says that you're going back to Mystarria. She's invited all of us to come along.”

“Will you be joining us?” Borenson asked.

Rain frowned, looked to Draken, and let out a deep sigh. “I don't know. The family is against it. There is not much for us here, but if what you say is right, by going back to Mystarria we would be marching out of the rain to get into the storm. . . .”

Draken squeezed her hand, begging her to be discreet. He wanted to talk to his father at length before making a determination.

“You wouldn't have to go all the way to Mystarria,” Borenson suggested. “We'll make stops along the way. There is good land in Toom to be had.”

“There was ten years ago,” Rain objected, “but refugees took it. ‘There's plenty of good ground left,' they say, ‘if you'd like to grow rocks.' But since everyone in Toom has more than they want, rocks are awfully hard to sell.”

“I wouldn't recommend that you stay here in Landesfallen,” Borenson said. “There is food to be had, if you work hard enough. But the coastal cities are all gone, and with them went the smithies, the chandlers, the glassblowers, and so on. You'll find yourselves lacking for comfort.”

“My mother has considered that, and she says that while ‘We may find ourselves wanting for some necessities, there is one thing that we will have in abundance here—peace.' ”

“Perhaps,” Borenson agreed, “for a time. But who knows how long it
will last? The wyrmlings will come eventually, perhaps in an hour or a manner that you are not prepared for. I prefer to take matters into my own hands.”

Rain peered up at him, gauging his size. “Do you really think that there's blood metal to be had in Mystarria?”

“I've seen it with my own eyes.”

She nodded. “You'd make a fearsome lord.”

It was true, Draken thought. Borenson looked strong now, terrifying.

What's more, Draken realized, his father knew the secret fighting styles of the assassins from Indhopal, and had mastered the weapons of Inkarra. He'd been a strategist for kings.

Sir Borenson had gained fighting skills that the wyrmlings had never seen before. With his size, Draken imagined that his father would be a fearsome opponent.

Rain turned to Draken. “So, what all did you find on your trip?”

“Two casks of ale, four barrels of molasses, a barrel of rice, a barrel of lamp oil, and some crates. The crates were packed . . . with women's linen undergarments.”

Rain laughed. “Well, then we shan't want for underwear.”

Draken knelt on the ground and pulled out a small pouch, dropping some jewelry into his hand. “I also got this,” he whispered. There were two rings, one all of gold and one with a ruby. There was also a silver necklace and a couple of coins—steel eagles out of Rofehavan. “I got us wedding rings!”

Borenson bit his lower lip, peered down at the rings disparagingly. “Put them up, lad. No sense in letting the children see.”

The blood rose on the back of Draken's neck. He'd taken salvage from the dead, and now his father was embarrassed by it.

But at that moment, Baron Walkin came into the camp and dumped the contents of his own coin purse onto the ground, spilling out dozens of rings and coins.

“Have a look at this!” he called to his wife and children. “Look what the men brought home. There's enough gold and coin here to buy a small farm!”

Walkin's brother Bane stood precariously above the loot on his injured ankle, beaming, like a boy who has just brought his first stag home from the hunt.

Borenson peered at the baron in surprise, then glanced back at Draken. He suddenly saw the way of it. He'd sent Draken out to search for food and supplies, but the Walkins had spent the night looting dead bodies. Draken didn't tell what had happened; Borenson simply saw the shame burning in his face.

What's more, the Walkins had made a race of it—looting the bodies before Draken could reach them.

An unholy rage suddenly welled up in Borenson, his face flushing. He strode forward and stepped on the Walkins' loot. “This isn't yours,” he said. “The people of Mystarria—that you once swore to serve—need it. In the name of the king, I lay hold of it.”

Walkin's fist clenched in anger, and he squatted with back bent, but tried to restrain himself.

“You have no right to speak for the king,” Owen Walkin growled. “Nor for Mystarria. There is no king in Mystarria anymore. There is no Mystarria—just a rotting carcass being carved up by scavengers.”

“Fallion Orden still lives,” Sir Borenson countered. “He's the rightful king. He has returned to Mystarria. I'm sailing back to serve him.”

Baron Walkin peered up at Borenson, eyes gleaming with anger. Draken suddenly realized that his father had challenged a desperate man. The baron had lost everything in the world, and so he had nothing to lose.

Instinctively, Draken pulled Rain back away from the two men.

“I've been meaning to talk to you about that,” Baron Walkin said dangerously. “My brother and I risked our lives for that salvage, and my brother almost lost a foot. It's half ours—at the very least. And I have a right, too. My family is starving. whatever loot me and the boys find, we intend to keep.”

Borenson growled deep in his throat, a warning sound that Draken had only heard from dogs.

Sir Walkin needed no translator. He reached down and drew a dagger from his boot, backed up a step, and took a fighting stance.

Draken studied him. Walkin might have been a fighting man once, but he wasn't practiced at it.

Borenson gave a fey laugh. “I had almost forgotten how much trouble the in-laws can be. . . .”

Baron Walkin grinned, began to circle to his right, his eyes glittering with bloodlust.

“I give you fair warning, little man,” Borenson said. “You can't win this fight.”

Walkin grinned, a surprisingly fey smile. “That's what they all say.”

“I could cut you down faster than you know.”

“You make that sound easy,” Walkin warned.

Walkin feinted, trying to draw Borenson in, searching for an opening.

Borenson laughed grimly. “You can have the crates of linen. Those alone are worth a small fortune.”

The baron shook his head no, eyes glimmering dangerously.

At first Draken had thought that the baron was only posing, that he wouldn't dare attack.

But now Draken could see Walkin thinking. There was a ship to win, and treasure—enough booty to secure his future in this wilderness. This might be his last chance to make such a boon for himself. If he didn't take the loot now, he might have to watch his children starve this coming winter.

There were riches worth dying for—or killing for. Walkin imagined that he had no choice but to fight.

What was it that Baron Walkin had said earlier? Draken wondered. “Sometimes killing can be an act of love”? Suddenly Draken realized that the baron was talking from experience. He'd killed to provide for his family before.

“I'm sailing that ship to Mystarria,” Borenson warned. “Any trade goods we find will go to pay for supplies and safe passage through Internook's waters. If you want, you can have your share
after
the voyage is done.”

“That's a fool's plan,” Walkin said. “I'm not going back to Mystarria. Warlord Bairn has a price on my head.”

So Walkin had decided. He wanted to take it all.

The women in Walkin's camp stood with open mouths, stunned at this sudden turn.

Myrrima shouted at the baron and Borenson, “Stop it! Both of you stop it right now.” She stepped between them.

But she hadn't properly gauged the situation. She still hoped that this was some petty squabble. She didn't realize yet that Walkin had just decided to kill them all. That would be his only choice—to get rid of any witnesses who might tell what he'd done. It wouldn't be hard to dispose of the bodies. Nearly everyone in Landesfallen was floating up on one beach or another.

Walkin grabbed Myrrima, pulled her in front of him as a shield, expertly shoved a blade against her throat, and warned Borenson, “Drop your weapon!”

Rain screamed, “Father, what are you doing? Let her go!”

Draken released his grip on Rain's bicep, drawing his own blade. The time for talking was coming to an end, and he knew how to fight. He wasn't going to try to use the woman that he loved as a shield, so Draken stepped back, lest one of the Walkin men tried to circle behind him.

Borenson smiled grimly. “You see, son, how he repays your hospitality? This man is every bit the brigand I thought that he was.”

“Honor is a luxury that only the rich can easily afford,” Baron Walkin said.

“Father—” Rain tried to argue.

“Stay out of our way!” Walkin growled, but Rain stepped between the two men. It was a courageous thing to do. Or maybe it was foolish.

Borenson still hadn't drawn his own knife.

Myrrima grabbed the baron's knife wrist and tried to break away. There was a time when Myrrima had enough endowments to snap the man's arm, but she'd lost them all years ago, when the warlords of Internook overthrew Mystarria.

Rain lunged, grabbed her father's wrist, and tried to free Myrrima. In the scuffle the baron's knife caught Rain on the forearm. Blood gushed.

Some children cried out in alarm while Rain staggered back, put her hand over the gash, and tried to staunch the blood.

Sudden resolution shone in Baron Walkin's eyes. He decided to kill Myrrima. He grabbed her chin and pulled her head back, exposing her throat.

At the sight, Sir Borenson's eyes lost focus. His face darkened and contorted in feral rage.

With a snarl the giant lunged so quickly that Draken's eyes could hardly register the attack. Big men weren't supposed to be able to move that fast.

No, Draken realized,
human beings
can't move that fast!

Borenson grabbed Walkin's knife wrist. He twisted, as if to disarm the man, but perhaps misjudged his own strength. Walkin's wrist snapped like a tree limb, a horrifying sound.

Borenson gripped Sir Walkin by the left shoulder and lifted him into the air. He shook the man like a rag doll, whipping him about so hard that it looked as if Walkin's head might come off. For a full ten seconds Borenson roared, a deep terrifying sound more befitting a lion than a man.

The scene was totally riveting, and time seemed to slow. Borenson roared and roared, staring beyond the baron, while women shouted for him to stop.

The baron shrieked in pain and terror. His eyes grew impossibly wide. Borenson seemed beyond hearing, beyond all restraint. He dug his enormous thumbs into the Baron's shoulders, plunging them through soft flesh like daggers, gripping the poor man so hard that blood blossomed red on the baron's tunic.

Then Borenson bellowed and pulled his hands apart, ripping the baron in two.

Blood spattered everywhere, glittering like rubies in the sunlight, and Draken saw the blue-white bones of the baron's ribs. Half a lung and some intestine spilled from the baron's ribcage.

Borenson continued to roar as he shook the man, raising him overhead, and at last he hurled Baron Walkin sixty feet—over the cliff.

Walkin hit some rocks with a cracking sound; a second later he splashed into the water.

Borenson whirled on the rest of the Walkin clan, muscles straining, as he roared another challenge.

No one dared move. Borenson stood huffing and panting.

The giant had taken leave of his senses. He glared at the crowd, as if searching for another enemy to rend in two. Gore dripped from his hands.

Instinctively, Bane backed away, as did the other Walkins.

The children shrieked in terror and cringed, gibbering in fear. Rain just stood in shock—both at what her father had done and at Borenson's response.

Even Draken feared what Borenson would do next.

Then, slowly, Borenson began to come to. He stood peering about at the crowd, his eyes jerking and refusing to focus. He raised his hands, peered at the gore dripping down his arms, and moaned.

Draken could not quite believe it. He could look back now and recognize the instant that his father had lost control. And Draken knew that his father had regained it. But in between, his father had been . . . gone, acting on pure instinct. He wasn't even a spectator in the battle.