A World Without Heroes - Brandon Mull [122]
“I do not know your name,” Jasher said, brushing some of his long hair out of his face, “though I am far too familiar with your kind.” A good portion of his hair was caught up in a roll at the nape of his neck. To either side it hung more than halfway down his torso. He wore loose brown robes, and his feet were bound in animal hides with leather thongs. A leather baldric held a sheath across his back.
“I am Turbish.”
“Are you ready to die, Turbish?” Jasher walked toward him, his chain held casually. He made no move to retrieve his sword.
“What makes you think you can best me?” Turbish snarled. Jasher laughed lightheartedly.
The chain suddenly unfurled to its full length, snapping like a whip. Turbish’s head jerked back, and one hand flew to cover his nose and mouth. When Turbish removed his hand, his nose lay broken sideways across his face. A second adroitly aimed lashing left Turbish cradling his remaining eye, his sword falling from his hands.
Jasher doubled the chain again, and a harsh blow to the jaw sent Turbish’s head bouncing across the ground. The headless body lunged at Jasher, who sprang nimbly aside and tripped it.
Jasher retrieved Turbish’s longsword, approached the displacer’s head, and finished him. He promptly withdrew the sword and put the horse with the missing foreleg out of its misery. Leaving the longsword planted in the horse, he retrieved his own blade.
Weapons in hand, Jasher trotted past Jason and Rachel without a glance, over to where the manglers had exploded. He inspected the mangler bodies, thrusting his sword into one. The creature shrieked at a pitch almost too high to apprehend.
Jasher leaned over Stanus, who had been crushed when his horse fell. The injured horse was breathing, so Jasher dispatched it. “All dead,” Jasher said, turning to Jason and Rachel. He spoke with a different accent than Jason had heard.
Jason gawked at their rescuer, still marveling at how thoroughly he had annihilated the enemy soldiers. “I’m Jason. This is Rachel.”
“Jasher, exile of the Amar Kabal.” He touched two fingers to his chest and briefly inclined his head.
Jason stood.
“That was an excellent throw with the orantium,” Jasher said. “Galloran informed me you had one of his spheres.” He spoke with the precise enunciation of a man using a second language he has mastered.
“You know Galloran?” Jason asked.
“He is a dear friend. He got word to me of your quest and bade me lend a hand. I almost reached the crossroads in time to prevent your meeting with the displacer. Once he was in your company, I chose to follow you, watching from afar. Now seemed the appropriate moment to intervene.”
“I thought we were doomed,” Rachel said.
“You were. Where are you going now?”
“Are you coming with us?” Jason asked hopefully.
“Of course, Lord Jason of Caberton. I will strive to keep you alive while you complete the Word.”
“We’re going to the Sunken Lands,” Rachel said. “We need to find the Pythoness.”
“A hard journey,” Jasher said. “I have a horse, and fortunately two of your enemies’ warhorses survived. We will ride part of the way.”
Jasher retrieved the two warhorses. Both seemed unaffected by the wild skirmish. He handed Jason the reins to one. “I’ll be right back.”
Mounting the other, Jasher rode off down the ravine the way Jason and Rachel had come. Shortly he returned, leading the horses Jason and Rachel had ridden. “Transfer the gear you want to keep, and we’ll let these poor beasts go.”
Jason retrieved the furry water skin and some other articles. Rachel collected gear from her horse as well. Meanwhile Jasher heaped the bodies together and set them aflame.
“That should help blur the evidence of my handiwork. Nobody knows that I travel with you. We can use that to our advantage. Do you have what you want?”
“Yes,” Jason said.
Jasher crossed to the horse Jason had ridden. He passed his hands