Desert Fire (Legend and Lore Book 3) (7 page)

“Stop that! You’re disrupting the wound,” Kamoor snapped, but Brand did not listen to him, instead letting his eyes roam the woods—listening, smelling, seeing—

“Get down!” He shoved Kamoor to the ground, and lay down atop him, hoping to keep him down as the arrows whistled above them. “They’re here,” he whispered, “the men we are hunting... They’re hunting us.” Brand stared into Kamoor’s eyes as he spoke, noticing that they were such a deep brown that they almost appeared to be black. “But this I can deal with.”
 

He pushed to his feet and let his power run through his body. He knew his eyes had already changed colour and held his hands slightly up and in front of himself, palms up, and let a ball of flame light up above each of them. An arrow came flying and Brand dodged it at the same time as he threw both balls of flame towards the place it had come from.
 

A person screamed, and at the same time the high bushes hiding him from sight caught fire. Brand used his senses to find another, and when he could both hear him move restlessly and smell him, he let another ball of flame go. That man screamed too, and again the ground consisting of leaves and grass and twigs caught fire.
 

A loud battle cry came from behind him, and Brand turned in time to watch as one of the dragon killers came charging into the clearing. Kamoor was on him before Brand could do anything, steel clashing against steel, the fight not even lasting a minute before Kamoor sliced him with his sword. The rest of the men, at least seven of them, came charging after. Two going towards Kamoor, two towards Sarab, and the remaining three towards Brand.
 

Brand backed up, leading his three opponents a safe distance away from Kamoor and Sarab, then used his powers to carve a burning circle in the ground around them, effectively shutting them away from the rest of the fight. Brand was confident that both Kamoor and Sarab could handle the men they were fighting.
 

One of the men inside the flames with him seemed to be panicking as he watched the wall of flames that kept him prisoner. Brand had never used his powers to kill before, nor had he used them to such an extent, but he wanted to see how far he could push them, and he concentrated hard, gathering all his power, then he released it on the three men in front of him before they could charge him. He watched as the flames consumed them.
 

When they fell to the ground, dead, he used his powers to withdraw the fire. The circle of flame dimmed, then disappeared completely, leaving only the burned, charred evidence of it in the ground. Brand saw that Kamoor had killed both his opponents, and Sarab killed the last one as he turned his gaze towards him. Brand turned his attention to the fire he had created in the woods, but a sound caught his attention.

Someone was running away.

Chapter Four

Fire

Brand shifted immediately and sprinted after the man, jumping through the burning bush he had first set on fire. One dead man lay on the ground, his body badly burned, but the ground showed the footsteps of another, and he was loud in the woods as he ran away. Brand pursued, running after the sound of the man’s boots crunching on dried leaves and breaking fallen twigs, and as he came closer he also heard the man’s laboured breathing.
 

Brand was not letting one of them get away. His side ached, even in wolf-form, but he ran on, his focus solely on the pursuit.
 

The man came into sight, and Brand quickened his pace even more, pushing himself as far as he could go. When he got close enough he jumped, his paws digging into the man’s back, making him loose his balance and fall face first to the ground.
 

He groaned in pain but his hand searched for the sword at his side. Brand snarled and locked his jaw around the man’s lower arm, tearing the fabric and the flesh. He screamed.
 

“Brand!” Kamoor came running, his sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He strode towards them, jaw set and eyes focused, and Brand stepped away, letting Kamoor do the job of killing the man.
 

Brand stumbled, and as he shifted back he found himself on his knees. He touched his side gently and his hand came away covered in blood. Looking down, he saw the blood oozing from his wound, and back in human form, the pain came rushing back, making him dizzy and nauseous.
 

“You should’ve left those men to me,” Kamoor snapped, as he was suddenly at Brand’s side. “Sarab and I would’ve handled them just fine. Now you have gone and made your wound a hundred times worse.”
 

Brand could only laugh bitterly. “I have been hurt all my life,” he revealed, “this is no different than being beaten daily, or being whipped or attacked by a lindworm. Do not worry, Commander, I am perfectly used to this.” It was sad really, if he thought too much about it.
 

But it was true. His injuries were nothing compared to his father’s sadistic ways to break him. His father had not succeeded though, because Brand had picked himself up and gone after Garrick and that witch, and he had got to his old friend just in time to divert a lindworm from landing a fatal blow.
 

So being taken prisoner and beaten up was nothing unusual for him, though it always hurt, and being stabbed... he had never actually been stabbed before, and it was something else entirely than being whipped, but he could not make up his mind on what hurt the most, because both hurt greatly in their own ways.
 

Brand could take pain. He could take being beaten. But the pain of a knife cutting open his flesh... he was not good with that kind of pain.
 

“You should apologize to Khatlah,” he mumbled, slumping against Kamoor’s bigger, more muscular body. He knew he was going to pass out: he had lost too much blood. Whether he would wake again was another matter, so he had to have his say. “You should just apologize to him... and be happy together.”
 

Then everything went black.
 

Brand woke to the crackling of a fire and he blinked his eyes open. It was dark, with the stars clear in the sky. The events of the day came back to him, and he closed his eyes again. He had been stabbed, Kamoor had been forced to kill Sakoptari and Brand himself had killed over half of the dragon slayers. He had never killed anyone before.

Breathing next to him brought his eyes back open, and he turned his head a fraction. Kamoor was asleep on a pallet at his side, his chest rising and falling slowly.
 

“You really frightened him,” a quiet voice spoke up, and Brand turned his head to the other side to see Sarab crouching by the fire. “He has been by your bedside all day, watching, cleaning and wrapping your wound.”
 

“What have you been doing?” Brand asked, watching the tired lines on Sarab’s face.
 

“I’ve buried all those dead men in the woods,” Sarab replied, stoking the fire with a stick. “They deserve a proper burial, no matter what they have done, and the people of your country are buried in the soil, are they not?”
 

“Yeah. We bury our dead.” Brand bit his lip, both wanting to and not wanting to ask the question of Sakoptari. He needed to know the answer and at the same time he did not.
 

“Sakoptari will be transported back to the palace,” Sarab answered his unvoiced question. “We are just waiting on a transport. We cannot take him on a dragon. Not you either, with that wound. So someone will come with a transport to bring you both back home.”
 

“And what will happen once we get there?” Brand questioned, voice so low it was almost a whisper.
 

“Not anything good, I assure you. Kamoor killed the crown prince. There will be a hearing, at the least.” Sarab’s voice was neutral, but Brand caught the hint of uncertainty underneath it.
 

“He was not sane,” Brand commented. “He wanted me dead because I told Kamoor of his lies. Lies that had ruined everything between Kamoor and Khatlah. Who knows what else he has been up to?”
 

Sarab bowed his head. “He has been up to a lot. But it does not change the fact that the crown prince is dead, and that the Commander of the dragon riders delivered the killing blow. I shot the arrows—so I will most likely be taken upon my return as well.”
 

Sarab looked like he had direct knowledge of what else Sakoptari had been up too, but Brand did not want to pry into his personal business. “Taken where?” he asked instead.
 

Sarab smiled slightly. “To the dungeons.”
 

“I have probably earned myself another stay there as well,” Brand sighed, turning his head back to look at the stars.
 

“I would believe so, yeah.” Sarab subsided into silence, and he stared into the fire for several moments longer before he finally stood up and went over to his own bed pallet.
 

Brand looked at Kamoor again. Sarab had said he had been frightened... and that he had stayed by Brand the whole day. Why? Why would he do that? Brand was the only one standing between Kamoor and Khatlah. So why should Kamoor care about what happened to him?
 

“Brand?”
 

Brand stayed put, but turned his head to look towards where Kamoor’s voice came from. “Now you can talk to me?”
 

“Excuse me?” Kamoor sounded genuinely puzzled.
 

“All the way back here you could not be bothered to talk to me,” Brand commented angrily. They had been seized immediately upon returning to the palace and placed in the dungeon. It had been a few hours, half a day at most. All three of them were in different cells, but Kamoor was in the one right next to Brand’s.
 

“Get over here.” Kamoor’s voice was sharp and brooked no argument.
 

Brand got up, with a little difficulty due to his injury. Unable to see in the pitch-black darkness inside the dungeon, he let a small flame flicker to life in front of him. Kamoor stood at the bars and Brand walked up to stand in front of him, a small grunt of surprise escaping him as Kamoor grabbed a hold of his tunic and hauled him close.
 

“You have a very low opinion of yourself,” he said, his voice low and intense. “But if you are used to being in pain, I understand why. You are an individual and each individual is special. I see what Khatlah sees in you. So you should raise that opinion you have, because you are special. No one here can shift to the form of the wolf-creature—and no one has the ability you have with fire.”
 

“I am not particularly special, more peculiar,” Brand told him snappishly, refusing to show how much Kamoor’s manhandling hurt his wound. “A shifter is supposed to bond to a witch, not become one! I am not really complaining, because I think I would make a very poor bonded, but I am strange all the same.”
 

“Stop it!” Kamoor hauled him in even closer, if that were possible. The cold iron bars dividing them cut into Brand’s torso. “You should not speak of yourself like that.”
 

“Why do you care?” Brand yelled, trying to fight Kamoor’s hold on him, but Kamoor was too strong; he did not stand a chance.
 

“Because Khatlah wants you back!” Kamoor snarled. “I killed my best friend for you, to get you back here so that you could be with Khatlah.”
 

“You should be with Khatlah,” Brand told him. “I have cleared things up between you, so that you are free to be together. He loves you.”
 

“He
loved
me,” Kamoor said, grimacing as if he were in pain. “But he
loves
you. I ruined my chance with him—you better not do the same. Because if you hurt him, I will hurt
you
.” Kamoor pushed him away, and Brand stumbled back, only barely managing to stay on his feet. It pulled on his wound, and he groaned as he reached down to curl his arm around his waist.
 

Brand opened his mouth to speak, or yell, he did not know which, but the creak of the dungeon doors brought his attention away from the infuriating man in the other cell.
 

It was Khatlah. He held a torch high, and looked at all three of them, then he approached Brand’s cell. “What happened out there?” he questioned, one hand reaching out to clutch at a bar. “Why is Sakoptari dead and you three held in the dungeon?” His eyes stared hard at Brand.
 

Brand bowed his head, not knowing what to say and not wanting to look into those intense eyes. Obviously Khatlah needed the truth—he had to know that it was his own brother who had been responsible for all the lies and deceit and hurt and anger. But he did not know how to tell him.
 

“Sakoptari tried to kill your lover, is what happened,” Kamoor spoke up brusquely. “So I killed him.”
 

Khatlah’s eyes cut to Kamoor. “You killed your best friend for the man you believe to be my lover?”
 

Kamoor’s face was as set in stone. “Yes, I did. Because he was not the friend I believed him to be. For years he’s been lying to me—and I trusted him instead of the person I really should’ve trusted.”
 

Khatlah eyes widened as realization struck. “You mean it was...”
 

Kamoor nodded.
 

“But why? Why would he do such a thing?” Khatlah was visibly upset, and Brand took several steps forward, wanting to comfort him, but knowing that he could not.
 

“Because he wanted Kamoor,” he told him quietly. “He wanted Kamoor so badly he wrecked your relationship and when I told Kamoor that he had been lied to... Then Sakoptari went for me. If Kamoor hadn’t killed him, I would be dead. He was not sane, Khatlah. He’s been hiding it well, but he was not sane.”
 

Khatlah listened to him in silence, then stood with his head bowed for a long time. When he raised it again he did not look at any of them. “I will speak to Father. He cannot let you stay down here, not considering you haven’t really done anything wrong.” And so he turned on his heel and stalked out, taking the light of the torch with him.