Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords Book 3) (29 page)

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. “No doubt you stress the word beautiful because of the veil I wear.” A child begins to cry behind me. I wave an arm in the air as I sidestep so my back is to the benches instead of the women and children. If they shoot me, I don’t want to dodge the arrow only to have it hit one of the terrified Bruma behind me instead.

One member of the Elite stands several meters to my right.

“It may interest you to know I’ve discovered the reason for my mother’s imprisonment inside this.” I wave the material slightly. My time is up. If we have any chance at beating the Elite we need to know how many there are, and we need them to be off-guard. What better way than to shock them?

“Maybe you’d like me to share her secret with you?” I ask.

I
feel
their interest more than I hear or see it.

“I cannot blame you for your curiosity. It is a mystery,” I say. “I myself was most disappointed when I discovered the evidence of my mother’s,” I pause dramatically while searching for the right word, “indiscretion.”

“To accuse the Tatum is to die,” another of the Elite spits out.

“Temper, temper,” I say. “He must be new, Hare.” I rest back against the food bench. “And I hardly think it matters whether you kill me because you already have the orders, or if you kill me for slandering my mother.

“I would like you to see something before you execute me on behalf of my mother.” I reach for the veil, expecting to feel the paralyzing fear. It’s the first time I’ve shown a group of my own people, after all. Instead, I find a cold, calculating sort of vengeance there. Once the Elite have seen, it doesn’t matter if they kill everyone in this room. Because one of them will talk. Osolis is not like Glacium. If I die today, I’ve assured my mother’s ruin.

I ready myself for attack, but the soldiers are entirely still—more curious than I gave them credit for. Without fuss, I draw the veil from my head and watch as it falls to the ground. Then I glance up with a mocking smile at the gaping men I feared as a child.

I purse my lips. “Your reaction is more entertaining than anticipated.”

I hear gasps from the assembly to my side. The noise distracts me momentarily. I’d forgotten the Bruma were there.

“Frost?” someone says.

“It’s Frost!”

“Silence!” roars Hare. The Bruma instantly hush.

“My goodness, do find your decorum.” I look around with interest. “Fifteen of you,” I call in a strong voice. “I see Cassius thought Tatum Ronsin’s previous numbers lacked the appropriate force.” I nod at several of the Elite. “The four by the archway seem a little fresh to be in the Elite, though,” I say, wrinkling my nose.

“You’re a filthy half-breed!” the man to Hare’s left snarls. Brovek, if I recall correctly.

“Oh, are we still back there,” I ask. “Let’s not forget who actually did the filthy in the first place.” I smile at the signs of their anger. A shift to the other foot; a tightening grip on their weapon of choice.

“You
dare,”
Hare says.

“Hare,” I say. “Shut the fuck up.” I doubt he knows what the term means, but by the way his face twists I can tell he’s guessed it’s offensive. I grin, taunting him.

“As much as I’d looked forward to hearing your screams again, we have a job to do. Once we deal with you, we will signal the Tatum’s army to attack,” he says. I follow his line of sight. One of the Elite, a new one, holds a torch. It seems Cassius has added his own unique twist to Tatum Rosin’s strategy. They’re going to light a fire, but where?

Hare circles me, hands clasped behind his back. Fine lines wrinkle his face. If I let his age fool me I’ll be dead in a second. “I imagine the bodies of the pitiful soldiers we killed will light on fire rather nicely,” he says. “I wonder if the Bruma villagers will be able to smell the burning flesh from here.” That he’s divulged their mission shows how completely confident he is that his Solati force will succeed.

I know now the fate of the remaining fifty-one watchmen. It’s another sick twist in the Solatis’ plan.

“The Bruma savages will buckle and we will slaughter every last one of them. But first…” He leans in. “I will kill you. Then the Bruma spawn behind you. A nice little message for the Animal King if he should survive the battle.”

I let my shoulders sag, making myself small. Aquin would applaud me. “You could let me live and give a false account to Mother,” I plead as he takes a half-step forward. How many times have I waited for this moment? Simmering in fury, with my head bowed submissively in Mother’s torture room.

He throws his head back in laughter. I strike. I go for something simple. It’s more than he deserves.

Hare smacks to the ground, his head twisted so far around that his final view is of the beamed ceiling on the king’s hall, though the rest of his body faces the opposite way.

“A broken neck for a broken leg.” I shrug at the shocked faces of the Elite. I turn my attention to Brovek, the second in command.

“You—” he starts.

“Brother,” I call toward the stone archway, cutting Brovek off. It has the desired effect. The Elite halt in their tracks. They may not take orders from me, but it’s possible my brother may get through to them now that Hare is dead. Several in the back are still sharing stunned looks. I risk a quick glance at the women and children at the back. A few are in bad shape, but they’re alive.

I grin at Olandon as he strolls in and steps over Hare’s corpse to stand behind me and just to my right. A show of respect.

“Sister, you’ve been busy,” he remarks.

“You know me, Landon.” I tilt my head at the remaining Elite. “I’m just wondering how many more I’ll have to kill for the message to sink in.”

“How many
we’ll
have to kill, Tatuma Olina,” he corrects with a bow. “There are many here I’ve been looking forward to dealing with for quite some time.”

“Well, I want Brovek,” I say, crossing my arms.

“As my Tatuma commands,” he says. I almost laugh at his display until I catch him casting a covert look at the group of women and children. Who is he searching for?

“Commander Olandon,” Brovek says with a deep bow. “We have no orders concerning you. You are whole, not a half-breed. Stand aside and you will not come to harm.”

“Your Tatuma is not whole,” Olandon challenges. I watch as Brovek turns an unhealthy shade of purple.

“We may not have to kill him after all,” I stage-whisper to my brother. We share a grin and there’s no fear in his expression. Just as there is none in mine. Anticipation shivers down my spine. It’s been so long since I’ve had a good fight. If I’m going to go, I’m going to take as many with me as possible.

Brovek addresses the Elite. “Do not harm the Tatum’s son. Take him alive. Kill the half-breed.”

One of the Elite steps forward and I tense. His face is familiar and I try to recall his name. I stand ready for attack as the Solati kneels in front of me, head down.

“Tatuma Olina. There are those of us who do not agree with the Tatum’s rule. Your heritage is less than nothing compared to your mother’s crimes.”

Rian. The man’s name is Rian. He was merciful to me in the past. He let me escape the Torture Room when he could’ve barred my way.

He continues. “Allow me to fight by your side, to help right the wrongs I have done to you.”

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Rian, I remember you. You did what you could to ease my suffering.” He tips his dark head back to peer at me.

“You may stand and fight by me and regain your honor,” I declare.

He stands and moves to the other side of Olandon. There’s no way he’ll be fighting behind me.

One of the other younger Elite moves to join us. A sword appears through the front of her torso. The young woman looks down at the sword in horror before falling forward, sliding off the weapon. The soldier slits her throat to finish the job and steps back into line with a nod to Brovek.

“Anyone else?” Brovek asks the Elite. I feel the tension in the remaining Elite’s muscular frames. This is it. There was perhaps one other who might have joined us, but they won’t dare to after the death of their comrade. The Elite is now down to twelve. And with Rian, we number nine.

Olandon moves to my side. “Just like old times?” I ask.

“Just like it,” he replies.

I turn my head to the archway as Brovek draws one of his legs back to push off into a charge.

I shift onto the balls of my toes, legs shoulder-width apart, fists formed tightly and held palm up next to my waist.

“Now!” I scream.

My senses expand and contract at the same time, focusing on the Elite charging me, as the rest of my men explode through the doorway to join the fight.

The women and children push back against the wall down the far end of the food hall.

I crouch as the Elite near.

Malir’s sword swings high as he boulders toward battle in true Bruma fashion. The Solati before me freeze momentarily, but quickly regain their movement. They are sleek where the Bruma are mighty, and no less deadly.

Without a word, the Elite slide into more advantageous positioning. Brovek and three other fighters circle Olandon and me, while two more rush at Rian several meters behind me. The remaining six Elite face a wall of my men, who also number six. It’s a one-on-one battle for my friends. I think of what will happen if we don’t succeed and realize we
have
to win this.

The dance begins.

Olandon crosses over the front while I spin to his left. It is the start of a pattern drilled into us since we first were capable of remembering the chain of actions. A type of fighting not taught by anyone except our ex-Elite trainer, Aquin. The technique is a completely random, unpredictable chain of movements—learned by rote, unseen and unheard of by any other than Aquin, Olandon and myself. The Elite will have no idea what we’re doing.

I keep low and the air shifts mere finger-widths from my head as a blow whispers past. Brovek is one of the several Elite surrounding us. He recovers from my brother’s kick, but isn’t prepared for my upper-cut.

One step back. High kick.

I face one of the less-experienced Elite and risk a glance at my friends. They’re all standing, though Sanjay has been struck already and is flagging.

“Cover Sanjay!” I yell to the others.

Olandon and I reverse the pattern for three moves. I grin evilly at the shock on my opponents’ faces. I bet they’ve never experienced anything like this before. Aquin was one of the best Solati fighters ever seen. He is a genius.

I place my foot on Olandon’s bent knee and push up against it, delivering a spinning kick to Brovek’s face. Blizzard’s yell of pain distracts me and I reel back from a hit, but my body continues the chain of movements. Olandon sniggers even as he head-butts a muscled woman in the face. No doubt he’s remembering Aquin disciplining us until the sequence became automatic. My robes hid many of his bruises in my childhood. I’ve never been more thankful for the lessons as I glide from one form to the next.

Not only were we holding the four Elite off, but we were gaining on them.

“Soon,” Olandon grunts.

“Soon,” I agree. Nearly time to draw weapons. One of Rian’s fighters spins too close and I swing his legs out from under him. My eyes meet Rian’s for part of a second before he shoves his sword in, underneath his opponent’s arm.

I assess the state of our group as I fake left, feeling Olandon shift at exactly the same time.

“Now!” I order. I slide my two short swords free.

There’s no sadness for the Solati surrounding me. It’s me and my family, or them. They are hardened warriors, and they had a choice. They just made the wrong one. They’re the face of my mother’s poison and must be ripped from the heart of Osolis.

The woman soldier screams as I slice through the back of her knee. I grimace at the underhanded injury I’ve dealt. I suppose it doesn’t matter. She’ll be dead soon. Olandon groans behind me, hit, and loses the pattern. I wait and then whirl, plunging my sword into the opponent’s right shoulder. If I’m lucky it’s put a hole in his lungs. At worst, he’ll be slowed.

We regain our sequence, one sword less.

A scream pierces the air. Not one of my men. Olandon finishes off the woman I disabled before. I quickly look around.

All six of my men face off against the remaining three Elite fighters. The other three are dead on the ground at their feet. Kaura and Leo stand in front of the huddled women and children, teeth bared and hackles raised.

I jerk back as Brovek nearly catches me with a crushing blow to the head which likely would’ve knocked me out. I assess what I just saw as I continue to move. Every one of my men is slowing down, but Blizzard and Sanjay are both injured. I come to a quick decision.

“Sanjay! Get the women and children out,” I order.

I can’t see if he’s heard me, but one of the barracks “yips” to let me know he’s going. I smile anew, putting extra energy into my thrusts.

I barely feel a cut in my side. It could be small, but it could be large. My body dismisses it as being non-life threatening. Blood splashes over me as I drag my sword against the second, less-experienced Elite’s throat. It’s the one I’d hoped to offer amnesty to. The young man topples, clutching his gushing neck. I blink to rid myself of his expression. He knows he’s about to die. He’s afraid.

Aquin is in my mind, demanding I deliver a follow-up blow. I ignore the voice and move to the next one. Only two of our four opponents remain: Brovek and an unknown middle-aged Solati. There’s a groan behind me. Another Elite has Rian in a chokehold. Rian claws uselessly at the man’s arm.

“Break,” I say. Olandon alters his stance to hold off both of the remaining fighters. He’ll use large, slashing movements. It’s only a temporary measure.

I approach Rian’s opponent from behind and slide my sword into the base of his skull. Instant death. Rian rolls to his knees and a quick glance assures me he’ll be okay once he catches his breath.

I wait behind Olandon for his signal.

The smallest spark of hope flares within me. Five Elite left in total. Only two remain between Olandon, Rian, and myself. Three against the others. There are triumphant shouts as Rhone takes down another of the Elite. But he’s exposed himself. His opponent sinks a dagger into his side. Shard leaps in with a feral roar and engages the single soldier in ferocious combat.

A glance behind them to the archway tells me Sanjay hasn’t been able to take out the women and children. I quickly see his predicament: the other fight is too close to the archway. He stands ready, in case one of the enemy breaks away from their match and the way opens. The vulnerable Bruma are closer to the action than I’d like.

Olandon sees me and shifts into position. I slip back in, but my strike meets with thin air as Brovek, seeing their fate unraveling before him, spins out of the group, leaving his comrade alone to face the three of us.

I huff, painfully. “Rian, take my place here.”

Rian steps beside my brother as I move away. It’s a risk leaving Olandon with someone I don’t trust, but I know Brovek’s up to something and the pair will be able to deal with the lone Elite.

I run after Brovek as he heads toward the other fight. Is he hoping to join the two others and band together? My parched mouth dries further when he completely bypasses the area where two of his force still combat five of my men. Brovek leaps around the large fight near the arch, slashing his sword at the women and children who shriek in terror. My half-hearted jog turns into a sprint. Sanjay begins toward him, his own sword raised. But Brovek spins on his heel and disappears through the archway.

I rush into the hall, not far behind him, and look left to right. A flash of movement catches my attention. Brovek reaches up and lifts a flaming torch free from the wall, then disappears up the stairs to the second floor.

I feel sick as I realize what he’s doing. He’s going to light the signal!

But where is he going?

Rhone told me the other stairway has been blocked, so Brovek isn’t trying to lose me. He’ll go to the place a signal fire will be most visible, where the bodies must be piled; the roof! Mother’s men either had time to scope the layout, or have it memorized. But I’ve lived in this castle for a long time now. I know I’ll catch him, especially without a torch to slow me.

Horror fills me though, as I round the corner and face the solid presence of a door. I shove my entire body weight against it to no avail. The door doesn’t budge! I hear Brovek’s laughter on the other side as I slam my shoulder against the door repeatedly. This can’t be happening!

“Your mother’s glory will continue on.” The words are muffled, but every one of them strikes a chord deep in my soul.

A scream rips from me as I push both hands on the door. This stairway is the only way to the roof. Rhone said the other way was already blocked off. Brovek will already have lit the fire by the time we force our way through. And, of course, my Soar is back in the First Sector because it only would’ve slowed me on the run here.

My mind churns. People I loved were going to die. All the Bruma I left to fight in the First Sector; Jovan, the advisors, Adnan, and Sole. I place the back of my hand against my mouth as bile burns my insides. Once Cassius was finished with the Bruma, he’d turn the army’s efforts to the Ire, eliminating the peaceful folk I’d developed a fierce desire to protect. I bet Cassius had already killed Jimmy.

The red-haired boy’s name shifts the block in my mind.

Jimmy didn’t use the stairs!

I fly back down the hall and dodge Blizzard’s swinging sword. Only two Elite remain there.

“Olina, what?” someone yells. I don’t answer, looking at the walls in panic. There are only a few tapestries which cover the entire distance from floor to ceiling beams. I hope Fiona was right when she told me how strongly they’re attached to the stone of the wall. I guess I’ll soon find out.

I try to bunch the coarse, heavy material in my hands, but it won’t give me a firm enough hold to climb to the ceiling. If I die reaching the roof, the others won’t have time to stop the signal being lit. Brovek must be half way there by now. I run to the outer edge of the carpet artwork. It will be easier to hold on to the edge. I begin my climb, scrambling up the wall, with only my tenuous hold on Jovan’s mother’s tapestry to save me from falling. The beamed ceilings of the food hall are high, five times the height of Avalanche.

I’m suddenly grateful for my smaller frame. Who knows how much weight the fabric could take before tearing off the rod holding it in place? But true to Fiona’s word, the material stays secure against the stone, not budging at all. I’m nearly there. My arms burn with the effort of pulling my body weight upwards, no different to the burn of climbing a rope for hours in Aquin’s training shed.

I can’t get the thought of Jovan facing a deathly army of Solati by himself out of my mind. I can’t let him down.

I reach the top and I look over my shoulder at the beam as I grip the tapestry with tight hands. The distance between the wall and the beam looks larger from up here. But I’m a meter or so above the beam’s position. I’ve faced worse odds.

I push off the wall.