From Darkness Won - Jill Williamson [132]
Achan fell on his backside. Sir Nongo’s black gauntlet gripped the top of Achan’s shield and pulled. Achan grabbed the straps with both hands, fighting to keep hold.
A figure leapt over Achan and bashed against Sir Nongo like a battering ram, knocking the man into the wagon, which was now a raging bonfire. Sir Nongo screamed. His hair caught fire, making him look like a living torch.
Kurtz finished Sir Nongo with a quick stab, then turned to offer Achan a hand up. Before Achan could reach out, Kurtz turned to deflect a blow from the rock-wielding mage who had let down his magic and raised a sword.
Achan pushed to his feet and scanned the ground for Ôwr.
“Looking for this?” a lofty voice said from behind Achan.
He turned to see Silvo Hamartano holding Ôwr in one hand and his own blade in the other. The man was no older than Achan, thin with oily black hair.
Oh, horror.
Achan gripped his shield in both hands and held it in front of him. Silvo wasted no time in his attack. He swung both swords at Achan as if they were hammers.
It crossed Achan’s mind to simply turn and run, but just as he contemplated it, he tripped over Shung’s body. His elbows hit the ground first. The force stunned him long enough for Silvo to kick his shield aside and pounce on Achan’s chest.
Silvo’s weight stole Achan’s breath. He put a hand on the ground to push himself into a roll, but the edge of Silvo’s sword pressed against his throat like a taut, cold thread.
Silvo’s thin lips parted in a smile. “This is the happiest day of my life.”
“Your Highness!” Sir Caleb ran toward them, sword in hand, Toros at his side.
“Stay back!” Silvo said, throwing Ôwr down and gripping his hilt with two hands. “I’ll kill him!”
Sir Caleb stopped beside the wagon driver’s body. “If you do, you’ll die.”
Achan reached out for Duchess Amal. My lady, where are you?
He is keeping me from you, Your Highness. Is it over?
Achan glanced into Silvo’s dark eyes. Not quite.
“My master will resurrect me,” Silvo said with as much confidence as Sir Gavin had shown when he’d spoken before the Council of Seven months ago. But the blade quivered against Achan’s neck. Silvo was scared.
“Are you certain?” Sir Caleb asked.
“Even if he doesn’t, I will die a hero.”
Arman? Achan called. You want to come and help me out of—
“Hear me!” Silvo yelled. “You are all traitors to this land. The Council voted that Esek Nathak rule Er’Rets. The Hadar line ends here.” Silvo’s oration seemed to bolster his courage. He pressed the blade firmly against Achan’s throat.
The sword’s edge was so thin and sharp, Achan could almost convince himself that something so fine could do no real damage. He searched the ground for a rock, a branch, anything he might use to strike Silvo.
Your Highness, don’t do anything rash, Sir Caleb said.
Do you have a better plan?
Arman wouldn’t have brought you this far only to let you be killed by Silvo Hamartano.
A nice thought, Sir Caleb, but Arman is not the one with the sword against His throat.
“Goodbye, stray.”
Achan held his breath and swung his elbow around the blade to push it off. Better to lose an arm than his head.
22
Averella dropped her sword. Noam’s and Gren’s blades clanged against the stone steps as well.
Gren began to cry. “Don’t hurt her, please.”
The hooded man gestured to Gren with his head. “You in the black armor, take off your helm.”
Gren wrenched off the helmet. Her hair frizzed out. Her eyes were red and puffy.
The man released Averella and pulled off her helm. He lowered his knife. “My stars! I could have killed you! Why are you here, Averella? Explain.”
Averella trembled in the realization that she had not been killed. She snapped her eyes to the man’s face. “Who are you?”
“Your father.” He shrugged off his hood revealing thin black hair and blue eyes, but it was his round cheeks that made Averella pause.
“You are Sir Eagan Elk?”
The man picked up her smoldering torch and circled to the top of the stairs. Averella followed.