The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) (14 page)

C
orin had already decided not to fight, and he held to that. He sprang aside from Kellen’s charge, rolling as he hit the ground, and came up with the scholar positioned between them. It only bought him a moment, and though Corin’s hands itched to draw his blades, if only in defense, he didn’t touch them. Instead, he raised his voice.

“I am not a pirate anymore. I’m Oberon’s chosen emissary. I beg you for an audience.”

Kellen started right, and Corin shifted to keep Tesyn between them, but the elf anticipated that. He’d feinted right and came back left faster than even Corin would have guessed. His blade licked out, passing within a hair of Tesyn. The scholar let out a terrified scream, though it was Corin who took the wound. The blade’s tip took a long, shallow gouge from Corin’s forearm.

He spun away, gaining distance, and tried to ignore the searing pain of the injury. “I’ve seen Gesoelig underneath the
mountain
,” Corin cried. “I know what happened there. I know Oberon named you mayor for your valor in fighting Ephitel and tasked you with protecting the survivors.”

“You know too much by far,” the elf snarled. He came forward again, slashing hard, and Corin chose to try his luck. He stood his ground, unarmed and defenseless, and stared the charging warrior in the eye.

“I want justice for the traitor Ephitel. I need your help!”

That last came out a squeak, despite Corin’s best efforts, as the warrior’s blade slashed straight and true toward his neck.

It stopped against his flesh. It didn’t cut, but the blade lay cold and sharp beneath his jaw.

For a long moment, the elf only stood there breathing. Corin held his gaze.

Tesyn came forward, shaking his head. “You cannot possibly believe him.”

“Gods’ blood,” Corin snarled. “Hold your tongue or I’ll have it out!”

The blade’s pressure at his throat increased, and Corin clicked his teeth shut. Still he didn’t yield.

That seemed to earn some measure of respect from the elf. “You will make no more threats upon this manling while you’re on my soil. Do you understand?”

Corin didn’t dare nod, so he answered, “Aye.”

The elf turned his head to answer Tesyn. “I am afraid I do believe him, until he convinces me otherwise. He knows too much of things he shouldn’t know.”

“He’s a scoundrel!” Tesyn snapped. “He knows his way around a library, but he is
not
to be trusted. String him up or send him away. It’s me you’ll want to talk to.”

Corin didn’t answer. He held Kellen’s gaze, and after a moment the warrior nodded to him and removed his blade.

“I’ll hear your tale, pirate.”

“What?” Tesyn cried. “No! At least hear mine first. He’s going to trick you.”

“No easy feat,” the elf said, dismissive.

“Please,” Tesyn cried. “I cannot tell you how many great projects he has ruined! But now I have this chance—”

He cut off sharp as the elf’s sword swung his way. Kellen stared the scholar down. “You’ll hold your tongue or lose it. I keep my own counsel when it comes to prisoners. I don’t need your advice.”

Tesyn nodded mutely, then shrank away from the sword’s point. In truth, Corin admired the scholar’s steady nerve as he withdrew three paces, then took his seat upon the trunk of a fallen tree.

Corin turned back to Kellen and found the old warrior waiting. “You have your audience,” Kellen said coldly. “Now plead your case.”

Corin told him everything. He started with the excavation into Jepta and the buried wall filled with ancient carvings they’d uncovered. He told how he and his old crew had found Gesoelig’s tomb, how his men had betrayed him and put the city to the torch, and how Oberon himself had plucked Corin out of the midst of that inferno and dragged him back to relive the tragic history.

Kellen listened patiently. He asked no questions and offered no responses. Corin told Kellen how they’d met within the dream, and everything he’d seen of Kellen’s transformation during those dark hours. He spoke of Avery as well, and Maurelle his sister, and named the druids he had met. His voice caught when he named Aemilia, but the elf showed no sign he’d noticed. Still, at each of these names Kellen nodded once in recognition, and Corin took that for confirmation of his tale.

Then at the end, he told how Oberon had cast him from the dream, sending him back to his own time with all the secret knowledge that he’d gained. And also with a sword, stolen from the dream, that had the power to strike down immortal Ephitel.

“I have the sword
Godslayer
,” he repeated, emphasizing the name. “And I intend to use it. But I will need your help, and the help of all the loyal elves. Will you aid me, Kellen Strong? Will you right an ancient wrong and help pull down the fiend who killed your rightful liege? Will you gather all your brothers to aid me in my war?”

Heart hammering, he stood waiting for Kellen’s answer. At last the old elf tipped his head and wet his lips. And then he answered, “No.”

“No?”

The elf nodded. “I have seen too much of that war. My people are no more. Those who haven’t left this world are scattered to the winds, and there is nothing left of Oberon but memory. I can no longer even feel joy at the once dear names you’ve mentioned. You’re speaking of a dream that is no more.”

“Joy?” Corin snapped. “That’s not what I expect of you. I feel no joy at them. I feel pain and anger and a vicious thirst for blood. Those of them that Ephitel has not yet killed, he’s driven into hiding. I’ll make him pay for what he’s done.”

“You’ll try,” Kellen said, his voice infuriatingly calm. “And you will fail. Ephitel has secured his throne. It will take more than some magic sword to end him.”

“Aye! That’s why I’ve come to you. You were the most loyal of all Oberon’s guards, even when Ephitel was your commander. You made yourself a hero, and in honor of that day, Oberon tasked you with overseeing the rest of his loyal followers. Now is the time to rise to that honor. Summon them to war, and we will avenge your fallen king.”

Kellen only shook his head. “I’ve lost too much to Ephitel. I’m sorry, pirate. You’ll have no aid from me.”

He turned his back and started for the circle’s edge, for the distant darkness beyond the cold blue flames. Somehow Corin knew that if the elf disappeared into that darkness, Corin would never find him again.

“I remember a time when you were wrongly called Kellen the Coward, but somewhere through the ages you have rightly earned the title.”

That cut too close to home. In a blink the elf’s sword was clear of its scabbard and hovering at Corin’s collarbone again. Corin didn’t flinch this time; he sneered.

“You’ll spill my blood, but not the blood of honest villains? I’ll say it again: You’ve made yourself a coward.”

“I cannot so casually throw away the lives of men.”

“On the day you first made that choice, Ephitel won his war.”

“You’re a fool. He won that war the day we started it. Aren’t you listening? For how many hundred years did we fight him? It didn’t matter. He won every engagement.”

“And yet he had no victory. As long as you challenged him, he was a vile usurper. It didn’t matter how many of your men he killed, he couldn’t win. But the moment you stopped fighting, his victory became complete.”

Kellen shook his head. “Sometimes you have to choose your battles.”

“Is there a more important contest in all this broken dream than thwarting Ephitel? To the last breath, I’ll fight him. If the price for challenging his tyranny is the blood of men, I’ll pay in full and never regret a drop.”

Kellen scoffed. “The lives of other men may not weigh heavy on your soul—”

Corin shook his head in sharp denial. “Not just other men. I placed my own life in the balance long ago. From the moment I saw old Gesoelig all in flames by Ephitel’s actions. I’ll pay with my life and any other lives I can claim, if it means bringing down that traitor.”

Kellen considered him a moment, then turned away. “Then go ahead. May Fortune grant you long enough a life to see how bad a choice you’re making. I made the same for three hundred years, and now I have regretted it for twice as long. Go in peace, noble pirate, and trouble me no more.”

“Kellen, listen to me. The tide has turned in our favor. Oberon himself granted me a gift that changes everything. This time—”

“You will have to fight your war without me,” Kellen said again. “I will not leave these shores again until I return to Faerie.”

Corin couldn’t quite conceal a sneer. “Why not go on now? What could possibly keep you here? It can’t be hope. It can’t be a thirst for vengeance. Because I have brought you both upon a platter.”

Kellen almost didn’t answer. Perhaps it was Corin’s clear contempt that moved him. In the end he stalked across the clearing to jab a vicious finger at Corin’s chest.

“I have watched the death of hope and nearly drowned in my own thirst for vengeance. Everyone I loved, every name I ever knew, all burned to ash centuries ago in this mad war you are so hungry for. One friend still remains. I only wait for him to see what I have seen.” He turned away, staring south and east toward the mainland, and after a moment he heaved a weary sigh. “Perhaps I cannot wait for him much longer.”

Corin frowned. It could be anyone, but some spark of desperate hope whispered that this friend might prove a better opportunity even than Kellen himself. He cocked his head. “This friend—”

“He has no more patience for your war than I do,” Kellen said. “He distracts himself with foolish games, and he courts death in the very shadow of our enemy. All for a pair of pretty eyes. The fool.”

“Avery,” Corin said. “Avery of House Violets. Fortune favor, you know where I can find him.”

Kellen’s eyes narrowed. “You speak well and listen poorly. I have no interest in aiding you, and certainly none in setting you upon a friend.”

“But if I can find him,” Corin cried, “if I can convince him to join me in my fight, surely you would fight beside him.”

Another man might have missed the hesitation, the wounded wince that glanced across the elf’s expression, but Corin caught it. It happened in half a heartbeat, and then the elf mastered himself. He tilted back his head and fixed a frigid stare on Corin. “I have said all I mean to say to you. Go in peace, and may Ephitel forget your name forever.”

Corin was still searching for some answer, some new approach, when a footstep from the forest drew his attention. He turned in place, prepared to chastise Tesyn for the interruption.

But the scholar still lurked at the far edge of the clearing. By the look of things, he’d spent the whole interview crouched on the fallen log, scribbling in his precious book.

But now the book lay open on the ground, his inkwell spilled in dark black splotches on the bark of the fallen tree. Tesyn was standing with a stranger’s arm across his throat and a meaty hand clapped over his mouth.

A dozen other bruisers like the one who held Tesyn stood around the clearing, spread out to make a neat perimeter. And at their head came the golden-haired justicar who had stalked Corin across two nations. She glowed with a divine light despite the failing dusk. Trusting her men to guard the trap, she alone came forward, empty-handed, to challenge Kellen and Cor
in both.

“I am afraid he cannot simply go in peace,” she said. “And I’ll make sure Ephitel knows both your names by heart.”

R
un, Corin!” Kellen shouted. “She’s a justicar.
Run!
”

He shoved Corin hard to get him started, then raised his sword and threw a cut toward her neck. She moved faster than a mortal should have been capable of. Corin breathed a curse as he watched her duck the expert slash, withdraw half a step, and draw her own blade fast enough to meet his on the counterswing.

The justicar’s heavy blade tolled like a bell from the force of the elven warrior’s blow, but neither arm yielded and neither blade would break. She rolled her point around his rapier twice and then beat once at his blade and chopped toward his head.

Kellen had no choice but to withdraw himself. He yielded a single step, but that bought her all the time she needed.

Corin had not been idle, but the whole exchange had taken mere moments. He had his dagger drawn and slashed at her back, but as Kellen retreated, the justicar spun in place, twisting her wrists, and the heavy blade lashed out toward his knees. He had to fling himself aside in an awkward leap to avoid the strike, and that left her time enough to catch her breath.

She used it to shout an order. “Kill the elf!” Corin felt a flash of sadness as the dozen soldiers charged the clearing, but his own fear drove it from his mind as the justicar came charging after him.

Her heavy armor should have slowed her. That monstrous blade should have cost her speed and accuracy. It didn’t, as far as he could tell. She lunged at him while he was still falling, and he barely dodged the stabbing point. He crashed down on the ground and threw himself into a roll just in time to escape her. The blade whispered as it cut the air behind him.

His roll slammed him hard against the same fallen trunk the scholar had used for a seat. The impact bruised his shoulder blades and drove the air from his lungs, but he didn’t dare hesitate for a heartbeat. Gasping for breath, he dove forward off his knees, narrowly dodging another strike. As he landed, he closed his fist around the fallen inkwell. He rolled onto his back and hurled the bottle with practiced precision straight at her eyes.

A snake could not strike as fast as that woman moved. She flicked the heavy broadsword like it was a courtier’s fan and intercepted his projectile in its flight.

She had not anticipated that it was made of glass. Tough though the little bottle was, it shattered beneath the force of her sword’s cut, and the sharp-edged shards continued in their flight. She had to flinch away, to close her eyes against the tiny splinters, and one of the large pieces carved a gash along her left cheekbone as it passed by.

More importantly, it distracted her for half a heartbeat. Time enough, at least for Corin to find his feet and draw his little blades. He wasn’t sure how much success he could hope for against that mighty sword, but he could do more standing than scurrying in the dirt.

She blinked twice and then took her guard. Heedless of the wound that fanned bright red blood down her pale cheek, she advanced on Corin once again. He retreated slowly, careful of his footing, staying just outside the reach of her deadly blade.

To his surprise, she spoke. “I have a great deal of
authority
,” she said. Her voice came even, unstrained by all her exertion, and it showed no hint of the emotion that had driven her to execute him. “I do not have to kill you here, you understand. For the first time in centuries, I have been asked to eliminate a threat to my master. Killing you would probably suffice, but I would prefer to secure that sword. Give it to me, and I will let you live.”

Corin leaped back to avoid a vicious cut, then narrowly parried another with the edge of his dagger. Even in passing, the shock of her swing slammed up his arm and left it numb below the elbow.

He suppressed a curse and even forced a weak smile. “I had not heard of justicars being so forgiving.”

“You have proven yourself a nuisance, and without the sword you’re harmless.” She seemed to think a moment, and then she shrugged. “Dead you’re harmless too.”

She came on with a renewed vigor then, and it was everything he could do to retreat. She knocked the dagger from his grip when he tried to parry another blow, and smashed the knife from his left hand with her counterstroke. She clipped his thigh, and hot blood washed down his leg, slicking his pants to his skin. Another strike caught him just above the knee, and though the cut was shallower, it hurt like thunder. Both injuries slowed him too. She had every advantage over him. He couldn’t beat her. He could barely keep his feet, and with every slash of her sword she came closer to gutting him.

Even as that crossed his mind, she lunged forward, feinted high, then chopped low faster than he could react. She turned the blade so it caught him with the flat, but it crashed into the side of his left knee with all her force behind it. The knee buckled instantly, and Corin spilled onto his back. She brought the sword around to rest its heavy tip against his breastbone. The weight of it was a threat. All she had to do was relax and the blade would pin him to the earth.

She watched until she saw that understanding in his eyes. Then she nodded to herself. “I’ll only ask you once,” she said. “Give me the anomalous sword. Now.”

She thought he had it here? Corin’s mind raced while he tried to put the pieces together. Jeff had said that Jessamine could find anomalies. Wasn’t that how Ephitel had found the cottage in the woods? And this justicar was Ephitel’s bloodhound. Was she somehow in communication with him now? Was he passing along the druid’s information so that this creature could track him even here, far beyond the Godlands’ boundaries?

And then an inspiration struck him, and he was astonished it hadn’t occurred to him before. He blinked up at her and cocked his head. “Oh! You’re Jessamine.”

She showed her teeth. “Charmed, I’m sure. Now, where’s the sword?”

He licked his lips, searching for some way to at least gain more information. But he was badly hurt and fading fast, and she was something from a nightmare. He couldn’t touch her. He would have to disappear through dream again. It meant leaving Tesyn and Kellen in the justicar’s power. It meant all the effort Corin had spent to come here was wasted. But he would gain nothing dying here upon her blade, and he could see no way to overcome her. He cursed inside his head and tried to think of somewhere worth escaping to.

She seemed to know he wasn’t going to answer her. She tipped her head in something like a shrug and shifted her grip upon the heavy sword, tensing to drive it home.

And then a rock the size of Corin’s fist slammed into the side of her head. She staggered sideways, dragging the sword limply across Corin’s chest. It took her just a moment before she came to herself and raised the sword, but that was long enough to leave a searing, jagged furrow in his flesh.

Even as she raised her weapon, Kellen met her in combat. His rapier rang against her blade and then dipped to cut beneath it. She retreated. He feinted, again and again, then drove forward in a sudden lunge that sent her reeling backward out of reach. As fast as she had been, the elf was faster. Now that he had his feet beneath him, he was the better swordsman.

Corin had no time to glory in the thought. Even as it struck him, he picked up other tiny details. The elf’s dark clothes stuck to him in half a dozen places, slick with blood. His eyes were tight around the corners, pinched with pain. His left foot dragged a bit as he repositioned. He was fast and furious as a winter windstorm, but he was also almost spent.

Corin glanced toward the clearing, and he was unsurprised to see all twelve of Jessamine’s soldiers on the ground. The elf had overwhelmed them all, but he had paid a price for it. And now, weakened, he went against the justicar alone.

Corin climbed to his knees. His wounds burned fiercely. His bones ached. If Kellen was weakened, Corin was very nearly undone. But he had to find some way to help his ally.

He was searching for his fallen blades when Kellen stopped beside him. “I thought I told you to run.” He wore sweat like a mask across his face.

Corin flashed him a smile. “I could hardly leave you here.”

“Go!” Kellen shouted, unamused. “I’ll hold her off.”

Corin spotted his dagger three paces away and scrambled forward, but Kellen kicked him in the side hard enough to knock him over. “I said go!”

“You can’t take her alone.”

Jessamine sneered. “You both belong to Ephitel. No one’s leaving unless it’s on my leash.”

As she said the words, the gentle light that hung around her began to pulse. It grew sharper, brighter, until it was almost
painful
to behold. Shining like the sun, she charged for Kellen.

The ancient warrior cursed beneath his breath and then closed his eyes. Something hard as steel smashed into Corin and drove him back. That familiar gray mist came washing in, but it was not the thin cloud Corin had seen so often, nor the wildly questing tendrils. It was a flood. It poured past Corin and welled up around Kellen and Jessamine just as the two clashed in battle once again.

Corin scrambled to his feet. He snatched his knife up off the ground and dashed into the mist. It didn’t yield. He slammed against empty air that had become solid as a wall of stone, and Corin crumpled to the ground again. No light penetrated the roiling fog, but he could hear the distant ringing sound of steel. He pounded the knife’s hilt against the fog, but it refused to yield. The distant sounds grew more intense, almost frenzied, and someone cried in pain.

Desperate, Corin closed his eyes and fixed his mind on the area within that dome. He focused on the ink-stained trunk and stepped through dream.

His mind slammed against the barrier as surely as his body had. Lights flashed behind his eyes, and he groaned at the sudden pain. Kellen was in there, dying.

He’d done all of this for Corin. After everything he’d said, all his fierce refusals, he’d chosen to sacrifice his life so Corin could escape. It was just what Corin would have expected of the man he met in Oberon’s strange dream.

And he had called the man a coward. He staggered to his feet and tried one more time to go to Kellen’s aid. He pressed a hand against the wall of mist.

And now it yielded. Corin grunted in surprise and threw his weight against the wall. It held for half a heartbeat; then it melted around him, and he stumbled forward into the dome.

Corin raised his knife, ready to throw, but even as he scanned the empty clearing, all the mist dissolved. The ground showed the clear signs of Kellen’s struggle with Jessamine, but elf and justicar alike were gone.

Her guards still littered the ground, unmoving. Corin noticed with some small distaste that Tesyn was still there as well, crouched against the tree where he’d been held. Blood in great quantity stained the shoulder of his fine white shirt, but it was not his own. One glance showed Corin that the guard who had held him prisoner now lay behind him on the ground, pierced through the heart by Kellen’s rapier. It had probably been done before the fight with Jessamine, and all this time the scholar had cowered there, watching.

Corin fell to one knee. For a long time he only knelt there, gasping for breath. Fortune favor, what had happened here? He stared down at the forest floor, searching for some hint in the damage made by boots and blades. He saw no blood but his own.

The scratch across his chest no longer seared. It throbbed now, slow and hot, like a forge fire beneath the bellows. He knew that for a bad sign, but he could scarcely attend to it now. A step through dream might take him to the druids, but he could not guess what welcome he might find there. Surely they wouldn’t let him die. But they would not allow him any liberty either.

The Nimble Fingers might have the skills to save him. They would certainly provide a place to hide. And while he convalesced, he could make use of their spy network. He was not yet sure
how
that might lead him to Ephitel, but it was the last resource remaining to him.

Something tugged at his memory. Something about the Nimble Fingers? Something Kellen had been saying? But his thoughts seemed heavy for some reason. Sluggish. He frowned and tried to trace the thread of memory, but it slipped from his grasp.

Something about Kellen? No. He’d lost it. The Nimble Fingers, though. They could help him. Corin closed his eyes and fixed his mind upon a bustling common room richly dressed in pure black velvet, but before he could step through the dream, someone spoke his name.

“Corin? You’re alive?” The scholar’s voice rang with surprise and just a touch of disappointment. “I’d thought for sure I watched her stab you. Isn’t that what set the elf in such a fury?”

Corin almost left. He’d come to hate the bright-eyed nobleman for more than just his social class. But Corin had made a promise to Auric, and he might still need the farmboy’s special talents. Repeating that within his head, he exhaled heavily and opened his eyes.

The scholar was just now rising. He looked more than a little unsteady on his feet as he brushed himself down, but he showed no signs of injury. That same old curious sparkle danced in his eyes despite everything that had happened here.