Oracle (Book 5) (36 page)

The dark shape of Colonel Belvedere loomed above Kendril. The buckskin-clad mercenary looked down at the wounded Ghostwalker with pure rage. “Seven men,” he seethed. “Seasoned mercenaries, all of them. And you killed them off like cattle!”

Kendril grasped weakly at his belt for some kind of weapon. Even though his mind was sluggish from pain, he knew there was nothing left to grab.

Belvedere kicked Kendril hard on his right side.

The world erupted into a pain that Kendril had forgotten could even exist. He almost passed out. In fact, for several seconds he probably
did
pass out, because he next heard Belvedere again in mid-sentence.

“—that way?” Belvedere was saying. He threw down the musket. “Well, I’m going to finish the job, Ghostwalker, and now it’s personal. I’m going to make your death slow and painful. You won’t even—” He reached for his belt, and froze. His hand clutched at the empty sheath for his knife. “What in blazes? Where—?”

The mercenary stiffened suddenly, grabbing at his back. He choked, eyes wide, then he collapsed to the ground, twitching and jerking.

Kendril was getting hazy from loss of blood. He tried to focus, to make out the dark figure where Belvedere had stood, the mercenary’s long knife in their hand.

“Well, well,” said a disturbingly familiar female voice. “He seemed
quite
surprised, didn’t he?”

Kendril put a hand to his bleeding hip, trying to stop the flow of blood. He couldn’t afford to pass out. Not now.

Bronwyn stepped over Belvedere’s body, her bright eyes fixed on Kendril. “Now it’s your turn, handsome.”

Chapter 21

Bronwyn turned the large knife over in her hand. “This is ridiculously huge, isn’t it? I’m amazed I managed to get it off the good Colonel here earlier without him noticing.” She gave the man’s body a rueful kick. “Just like most men. Always willing to underestimate a woman.”

Kendril pushed his hand down harder on his bleeding thigh. He couldn’t get up, and his swords were out of his reach. He glanced up at the mill.

Bronwyn knelt down in the grass by the bank. “You’re wondering about poor Tomas, I suppose?” She gave an evil smile. “I didn’t kill him, but I did conk him on the head before I came out after this lout.” She wiped the knife off in the grass. “He may still be worth something to the Jombards, if they can get him to talk.”

Kendril set his jaw against the pain that coursed relentlessly through his body. “And what about me?”

“You?” Bronwyn gave a laugh that was almost musical. “Why my dear Kendril, you are absolutely
useless
. Oh, come on now, don’t be offended. You’re simply a weapon, a soldier obeying orders.” She looked up at him with a sly smile. “Of course, you are a marvelous specimen, even with that burned face of yours.” She held up the knife, and let the blade glimmer in the low moonlight. “I mean, you took out eight mercenaries, all by yourself.
That’s
impressive.” She lowered her voice a notch. “Well, technically speaking I killed the last one for you, but that can be our little secret, eh?” She glanced back up at the path to the mill. “And you really dressed one of those poor blokes in your own cloak, so that he would get shot instead of you? Now that was clever.”

Kendril tried to move, but the pain was too great. He couldn’t even move his right leg anymore. He considered for a moment the odds of making it over the edge of the bank into the fast-moving stream, but realized that he would never stand a chance.

Bronwyn leaned in, the knife still in her hand. “So what happened to old Marley, Kendril? Is the poor old man dead?”

Kendril didn’t say anything. He kept as much pressure on his leg as he could.

Bronwyn sighed. “Death seems to follow you everywhere you go, doesn’t it?” She rested her chin on her free hand. “And you seem to follow
me
everywhere I go. I can barely turn around without seeing you behind me. First Balneth, then Vorten, and now here at the tail-end of civilization.” She tilted her head. “A girl starts to wonder, you know.”

“Eru in Pelos,” Kendril exploded, “you saw what the Seteru did in Vorten, Bronwyn. You’ve seen the carnage they’ve wrought across all of Rothland. Why are you helping them? They don’t care about any of us. We’re just sheep to them, animals to be slaughtered at their whim.”

Bronwyn’s face darkened. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Kendril grunted in pain. “I
don’t
understand. The Seteru may be powerful, but they’re not gods. They’re just using you, just like they use all the people who worship them blindly. You need—”

“Enough!” Bronwyn shrieked. She stood quickly, the knife held in front of her. “I will not listen to your blasphemy.”

“Then
end
me,” Kendril said between clenched teeth. He looked up at the dark-haired woman. “What are you waiting for? You know I can’t stop you.”

Bronwyn’s eyes flashed. She sprang forward like a panther, straddling Kendril and pushing him back to the grass. The blade of her knife pressed against his throat.

Kendril bit back a cry of pain. Already the loss of blood had made him too weak to fight back.

“Is this what you want?” Bronwyn purred. She traced a finger down the scars on the burnt side of his face. “A quick end?”

Kendril didn’t say anything. He glared at the witch, determined not to lose consciousness despite his spinning head.

Bronwyn leaned in suddenly, her knife still tight against Kendril’s throat. She kissed him on his mouth, then pulled her head back with a smile. “The Great Fang is coming soon,” she whispered. “A week. Maybe two. All Redemption will burn, and then all Rothland.” She ran her finger along the bridge of Kendril’s nose. “I could kill you now. End your suffering before it has begun.” She gave him a playful kiss on the cheek. “But
he
wants to kill you himself.” Her golden eyes looked sadly at Kendril. “And truth be told, Kendril, I don’t think I
can
kill you. After all, we’ve been through so much together. We’re like old friends, you and I.” She gave a mischievous smile. “Old lovers, even.”

Kendril stayed still. He couldn’t respond.

Bronwyn got up as quickly as she had jumped on him. She brushed her tangled hair back and stood to her full height. “Goodbye, Kendril. I’ll see you again when Redemption is burning.” She turned and started to walk away.

Kendril exhaled. He tried to push himself up to a sitting position.

Bronwyn paused for a moment, as if contemplating something. She reached down and picked up one of Kendril’s fallen swords, then turned around. “On the other hand,” she said with a slow smile, “you’re such a terrible nuisance that I think killing you now might really be the best option.” She tossed the knife aside and stepped back towards Kendril, the sword pointed squarely at his chest. “The Great Fang will be disappointed. But really, why take the risk?”

Kendril glared up at her. Apparently he was not cursed after all.

Bronwyn drew back the sword to strike. “Goodbye, Kendril. Rest well.”

“Go to the Void, witch,” Kendril spat back.

Bronwyn gave an amiable shrug. “You first.” She started to lunge forward.

A shape hurtled out of the darkness from behind the woman and slammed into her svelte form.

With a startled cry Bronwyn pitched forward and hurtled over the edge of the bank. A moment later there came a loud splash and scream from below.

Tomas crashed into the ground beside Kendril, gasping for breath. His arms were still tied behind him. On his forehead was a large swelling bruise.

“About time you showed up,” Kendril said. He put his head back on the ground. “She was about to skewer me.”

“Well, forgive me for not rescuing you earlier,” Tomas said. He struggled back to his feet, looking down to the river.

Kendril stayed where he was, his hand still pressed against the wound in his thigh. “Can you see her?”

Tomas shook his head. “That water’s fast and deep, and the bank is high.”

“I know,” Kendril said. He closed his eyes. “I got a good look at it earlier.”

“What about Marley?” Tomas asked.

Kendril gave a slow, sad shake of his head. “Didn’t make it.”

“Poor blighter,” Tomas said somberly. He dropped down to the grass, fumbling for the fallen knife with his bound hands. “Give me a minute and I’ll be out of this.”

“Take your time,” Kendril said. “I’ll just lie here and bleed to death in the meantime.”

Tomas looked out at the roaring stream again. “Think she’s coming back?”

“With two of us here?” Kendril gave the barest shake of his head. “Not likely. She’ll pull herself out of that stream a mile or so downstream, then disappear.”

Tomas tilted the knife up in his hands, then began sawing furiously at the ropes around his wrists. “You say that like you think we won’t find her again.”

“We
won’t
find her again,” Kendril said. “We don’t need to.”

Tomas cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t need to? Wasn’t finding Bronwyn the whole reason why you convinced me to come to Redemption in the first place?”

“She told me what we need to know,” Kendril said. His voice was weak from loss of blood and fatigue. “The Jombards are coming. A week or two at most.” He looked up at Tomas. “And you can bet Bronwyn will be with them.”

One of the ropes on Tomas’ wrist snapped. He kept up his furious cutting. “Sounds like we need to get back to Rothland. Alert Olan and the other Ghostwalkers. If the Seteru are really planning a strike here on Redemption, they’ll need reinforcements here.”

Kendril sighed. “As much as I hate the idea of seeing Olan again in my life, I agree that staying here doesn’t do as much good anymore.”

Tomas cut through the last of the ropes around his wrists, then shook the strands off his arms. “Finally. I thought I was a dead man back in there. Those mercenaries were after
you
, you know. They kept mentioning that a Lord Blackstone had sent them.”

Kendril looked away.

Tomas bent down over Kendril, rubbing the circulation back into his arms. “You didn’t exactly tell me you had enemies in this town.”

“I didn’t know I did,” Kendril said curtly.

Tomas unwrapped the cloth from Kendril’s knee, then used it to bandage the bleeding wound in his thigh. “Looks nasty,” he commented.

“I think the musket ball went clean through,” Kendril grunted. “As long as we can stop the bleeding I should be fine.”

“Just a little gunshot wound, eh?” said Tomas with a sardonic grin. “Where’s Callen when I need him? It seems like all I’m doing here is patching up your injuries.”

Kendril closed his eyes. He winced as Tomas tightened the cloth. “There may be more thugs coming. We need to get out of here as soon as we can. Find somewhere to lie low until we can get a ship back to New Marlin or Archangel.”

Tomas nodded back towards the mill. “We can’t stay here. Or the manor. Someone will come looking for these men eventually.”

“Agreed. We might be able to find a cheap place on the waterfront or along the log run.”

Tomas leaned back. He touched the swollen bruise on his head gingerly. “Can you walk?”

Kendril made a face from the pain. “I can hobble. I’ll lean on Simon.”

Tomas nodded. “Guess it will have to do.” He gave Kendril a hard look. “Anything else you think you should tell me about this blasted place and your mysterious past? You know, before another band of mercenaries comes storming out of the woods after us?”

Kendril gave him a frosty look. “I already told you everything.” He stuck out an arm. “Now help me up.”

The rain rattled against the wax paper that covered the window of the small shack. Outside the bells of the dockside and the cries of gulls filled the morning air.

Inside the shack was dark, dingy, and smelled like rotting garbage.

Kendril wrinkled his nose. He shifted himself painfully on what passed for a bed, groaning as he adjusted his injured leg.

Tomas came inside the tiny shack, letting in a gust of wind and rain. He shut the rickety door behind him, and reached for one of the logs by the small fire pit in the middle of the floor. “How are you feeling?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Fine,” Kendril lied. He shifted again, grinding his teeth. “Did you get a ship?”

Tomas nodded. “One leaving tomorrow for Archangel.”

Kendril nodded. “Good.” He pushed himself slowly up to a sitting position, then grabbed for the makeshift crutch that leaned against the wall by the bed.

Tomas put the log on the fire, then glanced up at Kendril in surprise. “Where are you going?”

“Outside.” Kendril grabbed the crutch, then pushed himself up to a wobbly standing position. “Going for a walk.”

Tomas stood up. “A walk? Are you crazy? It’s raining out there.”

“I need to get this leg moving a little. Get some fresh air,” Kendril said firmly.

Tomas gave the numerous cracks in the walls of the shack a skeptical glance. “I should think you’re getting enough fresh air in here.”

Kendril limped heavily to the door. He leaned on the solid crutch for support. “Just once around the docks. I’ll go crazy if I don’t get out of this flea-hole.”

“Someone might recognize you,” Tomas protested. “You want that Blackstone sending more men after us?”

Kendril reached back and pulled his hood over his head. “There. Happy?”

Tomas rolled his eyes. “I’m sure no one will see through such a compelling disguise.”

“One time,” Kendril said again. “Then I’ll come back. Promise.”

Tomas sighed heavily. “Hold on. I’ll come with you.” He pulled his own hood over his face. “Wouldn’t want you falling into the harbor or anything.”

Kendril gave him a scathing look.

The two men pushed outside into the steady rain.

The docks and beach were a mess. People, dripping with rain and holding screaming children, were pushing along old carts and tired-looking old horses laden with goods. Several men were arguing and shouting with what looked to be some of the sailors. The murmur of discontent from the mass of people rippled up and down the waterfront.

Kendril frowned at the sight. “What’s going on?”