Keir (21 page)

People screamed and tried to escape the square. Even the guards scattered as the dragon swooped low, terrifying the horses. It looped another circuit over the city and blasted the Merchants’ Quarter with white fire, causing an explosion that spread red-hot fragments of roof tiles as far as the city walls.

Rialto dropped to his knees and gazed upward at the hellish creature as it terrorized his city. At the sight of his dismay, Quin couldn’t quite suppress a warm glow of satisfaction that her dragon had worked so well. She directed a small jolt of telekinesis into her manacles and they snapped open. Her wrists were bleeding, but she ignored them as she ran to Keir and released him too.

“Still think it won’t work?” she yelled over the roar of her dragon and the screams of the crowds.

“We are not free yet!” he yelled back, grabbing her hand to pull her away.

Together they ran to Serena. The guards had abandoned any watch over their prisoner as they attempted to shoot down the monstrosity above. Kisella darted to them and placed a fleeting kiss on Keir’s cheek in farewell before the three escapees headed for the horses.

Keir pushed his mother to mount the nearest and Quin took possession of the chestnut mare she had led through the streets only the night before, calming the distraught animal.

“Let’s go,” she said to Keir, but he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder.

“You go,” he told her. “There is something I must do first.”

“No. Keir, what…?” She reached for his hand but he slapped the flanks of the mare, sending the animal skittering sideways in panic. Quin clutched at the horse’s mane as it reared up, her other hand fighting the reins for control as Keir dashed back across the square and was lost in the swarming crowds.

* * * *

Rialto greeted his son with a blank stare as Keir approached through the chaos, as if his mind had emptied itself of all thought, all feeling. But as Keir faced him, some emotion seemed to stir itself from within the depths of Rialto’s soul, and their eyes met in mutual hatred. Rialto rose to meet him.

“Why?” Keir demanded. “What harm did I ever cause you?”

For a long moment, it seemed that Rialto would not speak, that Keir would never know the answer. The dragon’s eerie ululations echoed across the plaza, drowning the screams of the scattering populace, a tumult of noise that seemed abruptly irrelevant.

“The night you were born,” the commander said, his voice almost lost in the snarling of the beast above, “should have been the proudest moment of my life. And then, I saw you.”

He uttered a harsh bark of sound, a laugh so full of bitterness and pain that Keir flinched.

“For twenty-five years,” Rialto continued, hate in his eyes, “I have carried the curse of your existence. I was the most powerful man in the city, and suddenly people were whispering behind my back, slandering my Family, our name and reputation blackened. They began avoiding us, shunning our company. No one would look me in the eye anymore. They were afraid the curse would fall on them.” He jabbed an accusing finger toward Keir. “My life ended the day yours began.”

“It was not my fault. I never asked to be born different.” Keir clenched his fists.

“Then you should have died!” Rialto yanked his sword free and swung with a roar.

Keir ducked and the blade skimmed over his head. In a frenzy, Rialto charged and he fell back, dodging each swoop of the weapon as the commander wielded it with terrifying speed.

Sudden clarity sharpened his perceptions and he realized that his father’s rage had driven him to strike wildly, no logic to his attack other than blind obsession. As Rialto’s last sweep sent the tip of his sword skittering across the cobbles, Keir kicked upward, his foot smacking the soldier hard in the side of the head. Rialto rocked and staggered back from the blow. He took another swing at Keir, who evaded it, before stabbing forward with the blade. Keir danced aside and came at his father again, landing two punches to the face he knew he would hate until his last breath.

Both men were breathing hard and fury seethed in Keir’s stomach, tempered by the sure knowledge that this time he was not the one who would be beaten. This time he faced Rialto on equal terms and the exhilaration of it sang in his blood.

In a moment of strange calm, Rialto lifted his sword as if in salute. Keir hesitated at the gesture, confused by it, then his father sprang at him, insanity lighting his gaze. The sword plunged toward him, aimed at his heart. Without conscious thought, Keir twisted and the blade slid past him. He threw himself into Rialto, the impact jarring every nerve. Furiously, he reached for the sword’s hilt, his nails gouging into the commander’s hands until he wrenched the weapon free. With a shout, he shoved Rialto aside and raised the weapon high.

Rialto lay panting at his feet, fear replacing the rage in his eyes as he gazed up. A conflict of desires paralyzed Keir. At that instant he wanted to strike the man down, kill him as he surely would have been killed. Even as the urge consumed him, something within him prevented it. Even now, at the height of his fury and loathing, the thought of taking a life repelled him too deeply. He lowered his weapon.

“Keir.” Quin materialized at his side, her horse’s reins wrapped around her hand as she grabbed his arm and tried to draw him away. “We need to go!”

He came woodenly, his steps jerky. He could not tear his eyes from those of his father, hypnotized by the depth of his abhorrence, a stream of dark energy that bound them irrevocably. Even in defeat, Rialto would not let go of his hatred. Had he truly earned that? Would that remain his inheritance too? The brief flush of triumph at his father’s defeat soured in that moment and left him sickened. He allowed Quin to guide him away, obeying her numbly as she placed reins in his hands and indicated that he mount with a shove.

A barrier seemed to fall between him and the chaos surrounding them, as if he now watched it from a distance. Beside him, Quin swung herself back onto the chestnut mare and kicked her into a canter as her dragon continued to threaten those unable to escape the square. In a flurry of hooves they rode from the plaza, dodging the frantic multitudes.

* * * *

Rialto knelt paralyzed for a moment, watching them ride away in stunned disbelief. Then he snarled, snatched up another crossbow and aimed wildly at the group. He fired, not caring who it hit and not seeing the dragon as it dived over him, turning his vision fiery crimson as it passed. Then they were gone, the dragon on their heels, leaving his city in shrieking disarray around him.

* * * *

They rode under the crimson glow of the dragon. Quin cantered ahead of him, her red hair flaring out like a banner, leading the way. As they reached the city gates, the dragon dissipated overhead and they picked up pace on the open road. Blood and anger pounded in his head like the hooves of his horse as they galloped from Adalucien. Injustice burned his gut.

He had done nothing to deserve his father’s wrath or condemnation, nor that of his own people. He had inherited his blue skin just as much as his father’s blue eyes and black hair. Since Kisella was also gifted, Rialto himself must be to blame. Rialto was the cause.

He shook himself. Would he let his father’s hatred continue to poison his life? To taint the future that might lie before him once he finally left Adalucien behind? Or could he follow Quin and Kisella in their quest to turn the Sentiac’s curse into a blessing?

He had a choice now. Whatever lay in his blood, he had seen both sides of it. Rulk and his father on one side. Quin and Kisella on the other. It was up to him.

The possibilities hammered through his brain, churned through his mind like the mud and leaves stirred up by his mount. What talents might he have aside from opening gateways? Would he be able to heal? To move things by thought alone? Kill?

He shivered at the last. Even with a weapon in his hand and the desire in his heart, he had been unable to do so. That was no assurance he never would.

Quin slowed her horse ahead. The open road had petered out to a muddy track that sucked at the horses’ hooves. The exultant grin she turned on him as he drew up eased some of the ache, some of the anger, and he found himself smiling back. She took such joy in life. He envied her that, and yet it gave him hope that the future could be as bright.

He turned to his mother and that fleeting moment of hope shattered and drove its broken fragments through Keir’s heart. Serena arrived slumped in the saddle, the dark shaft of a crossbow bolt protruding from her back.

“No. No!”
He threw himself from his horse and ran to her, panic spearing through him. No, this could not have happened. This could not be true. “Gods, help me!”

He wrapped his arms around, holding her tight against himself as he pulled her from the saddle. Her limp weight dropped him to his knees. Her head fell onto his shoulder, her body cold.

Her voice came in a whisper, a dying sigh. “Keir...”

“No.” He felt her shudder. Pain squeezed all the air from his chest. “Please, no.”

Quin dropped to her knees in front of him and clutched his shoulder. “Keir.”

Together they laid Serena back, and he held her clear of the ground. All the color had drained from her face. Her breaths came in faint, shallow gasps as if it was too much effort to take more. She stared up at him, sweat beading her brow from the pain consuming her. Keir tried to reach for her mind, tried to draw the threads of energy that had come so easily to make the gateway, that had strengthened Quin, but nothing came. He did not have Kisella’s ability to restore life, and he felt his mother’s presence diminishing even as he groped for something that would work, something that would stop this. He could not even find the way to take her pain as Quin had done for him.

Despair clawed at his throat. “Quin, please…”

She sat opposite him, holding Serena’s hand. Her expression was grave. “I’ll try,” she promised, understanding his request even though he could not voice the words.
 

She closed her eyes, bent low over his mother and brushed her forehead, resting her hand there. After a moment, her body twitched and a deep frown etched her face. Serena gave a faint sigh, and the quaking in her body eased.

Quin drew back, her gaze meeting Keir’s.
“That’s all I can do, Keir. It doesn’t work that well on a non-telepath. I’m so sorry.”

Tears blurred his eyes. “There must be more you can do. Please…”

Quin shook her head.

“Keir…” His mother struggled to speak, the life pulsing out of her body with each passing second, her skin clammy wherever it touched him.

“Please stay with me. Do not die. Not now, just as I have found you again.”
He begged with every fiber of faith in his being. He would give anything, even his life, to save hers. All those lost years he needed to make up for. He needed more time.

Serena finally found the strength to utter the words she wanted so badly to say. “Go,” she whispered, her voice no more than a faint breeze of sound. “Be…safe…”

He shook his head. “Stay…”

A faint smile touched her lips. Her eyes flickered and closed, her head falling back as her last breath came as a sigh.

The world stopped. He drew in a breath, then another. An eerie hum filled his ears.
No, you cannot die…
He pulled her tight against himself, as if he could hold her to life, but her body came limp and lifeless. “No…”

Far away, someone was speaking. “I’m sorry, she’s gone.” The voice sounded tinny. The words made no sense.

This could not be. He laid his cheek against his mother’s, the chill of it seeping into his skin, into his consciousness.
No!

Something built inside him. Something like a scream of rage and sorrow, and with it something stronger. A feeling of power, raw energy in silver strands and blue flame.

His breathing quickened as the pressure built. Pain stung his skin. He began to shake as the turbulence inside him rose to a peak, threatening to burst free, to flame outward. He could not hold this. Thunder crashed in his head.

“Keir?”

He lifted his head, fire boiling in his veins.

White-hot pain coursed through him in a blaze of fury and grief that consumed every fragment of his mind and soul. He could not put a name to the woman who knelt before him, could only see her as if from a distance, through a veil of mist. The world was silent, surreal, edged in blue flames that burned as fiercely as the fire that had sought to take his life only moments ago. It scoured his veins, seared his skin, demanding release.

Allowing it to rage through him, he raised a hand.

She will try to stop me,
he thought, as his pulse beat in his head.
I cannot permit that.

Fire poured into his hand, white flickers between his fingers. He gestured as if brushing off a stray hair. Power jolted from his palm and struck the woman hard in the chest. The blow lifted her into the air and across the clearing. Her body hit a tree with a resounding thump. In a tumble of loose limbs and red hair, she dropped to the ground and lay still.

Another woman stood by, eyes wide in shock, purple hair hanging across her face. She crouched as if braced for combat, fangs showing at the corners of her mouth in a warning snarl. As he lifted his hand again, blue–white fire twining around his wrist, she leaped out of range.