The Shield of Weeping Ghosts - James P. Davis [77]
Drawing back against the wall, his hand went to the Breath, making the shadows pull away. Before he could study the effect, the room rippled and changed. Ghostly images overlaid themselves among the fighting Rashemi. Fierce warriors in heavy armor fought with sword and shield through the scene. The faint noise of metal on metal echoed in his mind as if from a great distance. The Breath's steel gripped his hand with claws of ice, compelling him to stand, to skirt this battle and continue on his way to the northwest tower. He fought the will that tried to overcome him and, straining with effort, released his hand from the Breath. As he did the ghostly battle disappeared.
Blood spattered across the floor in front of him, and Syrolf landed on his back. Duras stood over him, breathing heavily and reaching for the fallen warrior again. Others came from behind, grasping his shoulders and hauling him backward. Syrolf turned over, noticing Bastun, and lunged. Blood poured from his nose and stained his bared teeth as he was stopped as well, pulled away from the prone vremyonni to spit and swear.
Thaena walked up between the pair, reprimanding them with little more than a stern glare and a steady hand. The shouting faded as the bloodlust fled from weary muscles and clenched fists. Duras and Syrolf stood on their own, staring each other down but making no move to continue the fight.
Bastun rose to a sitting position and caught his breath. The whispers died away, and the shadows sank back into the stone, the ghosts' sport now finished as a measure of order was restored to the group. Thaena caught his eye, an unreadable light flashing in her gaze. An awkward silence passed between them, which she quickly broke, ordering men to secure the doors and any other entrances or exits. Wind whistled through cracks beneath the doors and shook the broken windows at the far end of the chamber. Bastun leaned against the wall, clutching his stomach, stars dancing before his eyes.
"Hold him," Thaena said, and Duras stepped forward to grasp Bastun's robe. Hauled to his feet, Duras pinned him to the wall. The warrior did not look at him directly, seeming uncomfortable with the situation but obeying the ethran. Syrolf and the remainder of the fang waited expectantly. Despite the blood on his face and a bruised cheek, Syrolf ignored Duras and kept his gaze firmly fixed on Bastun.
Anilya approached Thaena, barely glancing at Bastun, though she again took note of the wavy-bladed sword at his side.
"I have laid an enchantment that should discourage the nighthaunts," she said calmly as if nothing had happened, "but the storm is another matter. We might do well to wait out the worst of it before continuing."
Thaena blinked, looking at the durthan before nodding in agreement.
"See to your men, durthan," she said, her tone still even and full of command as she looked sidelong at Bastun. "I will see to this."
Anilya glanced once toward the vremyonni and turned away. Bile rose in Bastun's throat at the durthan's calm exterior. He fought the urge to spit and call her out in front of the fang, but instead closed his eyes to calm and steady his nerves.
They cannot know, he thought. Not yet. Not until I can prove my claims.
Thaena approached him, standing at Duras's shoulder as she looked him up and down.
"Bring him," she said and made her way toward the back of the room.
Duras pulled him from the wall and shoved him forward.
The fang parted for the procession, spitting and whispering in their wake. Syrolf paused before moving out of the way. Wiping blood from his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic, his expression made promises that Bastun had no doubt he intended to keep. He grabbed Duras's shoulder, looking up at him as the big warrior