“ Galenti! ” he heard one of the Ghazel say, and the others immediately began to chatter.
“ Yes! ” he said in Tenkin. “ Get off my ship, or you will all die! ”
Arista and Mauvin looked at him, surprised. No one moved on either side except Gaunt, who picked up the shield and sword.
“ Known are you, but leave not. Our ship, borrowed for a time-but ours again. Leave it. Fight no more, you and we. I-Drash of the Klune-I too fight in arena. We all fight. ” He pointed at the ground at the dead. “ Not them. Those young fish, not sharks. ” He pointed at Gaunt, Myron, and Arista. “ Young fish and breeder. Like ones we find here-young fish too-good eating. You not want to fight. You leave. ”
Hadrian brought his swords together and let them clash loudly. He held them high above his head in an X and glared at the goblin chieftain, which caused them all to step back.
“ You saw me in the arena,” Hadrian said. “ You know these swords. I come from old city, where no Ghazel drum beats-no horn blows-all dead. I did this. ” He gestured behind him. “ We do this. You leave my ship now. ”
The chieftain hesitated and Hadrian realized the ploy too late. The focus of his opponent’s eyes shifted to something behind Hadrian. At that moment, he realized his mistake. He had given the finisher enough time to move into position. The missing Ghazel, the assassin, was behind him. No, he thought, not behind him. The finisher would not kill the chief of a clan; he would seek the oberdaza, the witch doctor-Arista!
From behind him she screamed.
Hadrian spun, knowing before he did that he was too late. The poisoned blade would already be through her back. Like Esrahaddon, Arista was helpless to a blow she had never seen coming. As soon as he turned, the chief launched his attack. It was a sound plan and Hadrian knew it.
All three ranges had targeted him and let loose the moment they heard Arista scream. Three arrows struck Hadrian in the back and he felt the missiles-soft muffled hits. Two landed between his shoulders and one near the kidneys, but there was no pain. Turning back, he saw the arrows lying on the deck, the tips blunted.
The chieftain stared at him, shocked, and for a moment, Hadrian was equally bewildered, until he felt the weight as he moved. Slung on his back was Jerish’s shield, which was so light Hadrian had forgotten about it. The thin metal had stopped the arrows like a block of stone.
They had killed Arista. They had killed Wyatt and Elden. Hadrian felt the blood pound in his ears and his swords moved on their own. Three Ghazel died in seconds, including the chieftain. Somewhere beside him Mauvin was fighting, but he hardly noticed as he cast caution aside and fought forward, dashing madly, wildly through the ranks, killing as he went. Another round of arrows flew at Hadrian as he charged. Without a shield to protect him, with no time to turn, he was dead. He expected to feel the shafts pierce his chest and throat. They never reached him. Instead the arrows exploded in flame and burst into ash an instant after leaving their bows.
Hadrian cleaved the archers aside.
Only the oberdaza remained.
A wall of fire erupted between the two of them and flared up whenever Hadrian tried to move toward him. The song and dance of the Ghazel witch doctor changed to a scream of terror as his own wall rushed back at him. The flames attacked their master like dogs too often beaten and the oberdaza was consumed in a pillar of fire that left no more than a charred black spot in the deck and a foul smell in the air.
Arista?
Hadrian turned and saw her standing unharmed in her glowing robe. The finisher lay dead on the deck with a length of rope around his neck. Royce stood beside her. Mauvin and even Gaunt waited with blood-covered blades. There were smears on Degan’s face and a dark stain on his chest, and his arms and hands were dripping.
“Are you all right?” Hadrian asked.
Gaunt nodded with a surprised expression. “They still fight with one arm,” he replied, sounding a little dazed.
“Magnus!” Arista shouted as she rushed forward.
The dwarf lay facedown in a pool of dark blood.
They carefully rolled him over. The wound was in his stomach and spewed rich, dark blood. Magnus was still awake, still alert, his eyes rolling around as he looked at each of their faces.
His hand shook as the dwarf fumbled at his belt. He managed to knock Alverstone loose and it fell to the deck. “Give to-Royce-won-der-ful blade.”
His eyes closed.
“No!” Arista shouted at him. She sat down, laid a hand on his chest, and started humming.
“Arista, what are you doing?” Hadrian asked.
“I’m pulling him back,” she replied.
“No! You can’t! Last time you-”
She grabbed his hand. “Just hold on to me and don’t let go.”
“No! Arista!” he shouted, but it was too late. He could tell she was already gone. “Arista!”
She knelt with her eyes closed, her breathing quick. A soft, gentle humming came from her, as if she were a mother cat. Hadrian cradled her small hand in both of his, trying not to squeeze too hard but making certain to keep a tight hold. He had no idea what good it did, but because she had told him not to let go, he swore that only death would break his grip.
“Nothing else around,” Hadrian heard Royce say. “There’s a Ghazel ship down the coast, but it’s about a mile away and I didn’t see any activity. Is he dead?”
“I think so,” Mauvin replied. “Arista is trying to save him.”
“Not again,” Royce said dismally. “Didn’t that almost kill her last-”
“Shut up, okay?” Hadrian snapped. “Both of you, just shut up!”
Hadrian stared at her face, watching her head droop lower and lower, as if she were falling asleep.
What does that mean? Is she losing? Slipping away? Dying?
Frustration gripped him. His stomach twisted and every muscle tensed.
Her shoulders slumped and she tilted. He caught her with his free hand and pulled her to him, pressing her limp head to his chest.
Still humming-is that a good sign?
He thought it was. He cradled her with his left hand while still holding tight with his right, his palm growing slick with sweat.
Arista jerked her head as if she were having a dream. She did it again and her humming stopped and she mumbled something.
“What is it?” he asked. “I didn’t hear you. What did you say?”
Another mumble, too soft, too slurred.
She jerked again and appeared to cry out. He held tight as her body went limp against him, her head hanging.
“Arista?” he said.
She stopped breathing.
“Arista!”
He shook her. “ Arista! ”
Her head flopped, her hair whipping back and forth.
“Arista, come back! Come back to me! Goddamn it! Come back!”
Nothing.
She lay like a dead weight against him, as loose as a doll.
He pulled her tight. “Please,” he whispered. “Please come back to me. Please. I can’t lose you-not now.”
He lifted her head. She appeared to be sleeping, the way he had seen her dozens of times. There was a beauty about her face when she slept that he could never explain, a calm softness-only she was not sleeping now. There was no reassuring rise of her chest, no breath on his face. He pressed his lips against hers. He kissed her, but her lips did not move. They remained slack, lifeless, and when he pulled back, she still hung in his arms. He hoped that maybe some power from within him could awaken her, like in a fairy tale. That the kiss-their first-could somehow call her back, awaken her. But nothing happened. Their first kiss-their last-and she never felt it.