“For the kingdom which gives us life.”
Khirro shook his head. “I go no farther. I can’t.”
“You must. You may be willing to let Elyea die in vain, but I will not let it be so of Maes.”
“Watch your tongue or I’ll remove it like you took out your brother’s.”
He pointed the blade toward Athryn’s face. The magician stepped forward until the steel pressed against his throat, glaring at Khirro from behind the blond hair spilled over his face.
“Do what you must. At least I will die knowing I did everything in my power to honor the one I loved.”
The muscles in Khirro’s jaw knotted and he swallowed hard. Athryn’s expression softened.
“It was not Elyea, Khirro. You saw how she acted. You heard what she said. Were they the words and actions of the woman you loved?”
“No,” he replied and lowered the dagger. “But it was her face.”
“Yes, it was. But it was not simply Elyea’s face you loved, was it?”
“No.”
“Then this was not her.” Athryn moved closer and took the blade out of Khirro’s hand. He placed it on a table and embraced his companion. “Elyea would want her sacrifice to help ensure your success, Khirro. She gave her life so you might continue.” He paused, swallowing hard to contain his own grief. “They all did.”
It was her at the end.
“I’m sorry, Athryn.”
“It is understandable.” He moved back, gripping Khirro’s shoulders at arm’s length. “You are the bravest man I have ever known. The Shaman could not have chosen better.”
Khirro wanted to smile at his companion’s words, to thank him for the sentiment, but found himself unable. He didn’t feel anything like a brave man.
I’ve done a few brave things, but that doesn’t make me a brave man.
He nodded. “We should go before the sun rises.”
Khirro retrieved the dagger and the Mourning Sword, sliding them back into place at his hip, then picked up half of the broken shield. He deemed it unsalvageable before dropping it to the floor and slinging his pack over his shoulder. Athryn led him across the room and Khirro followed, careful not to set eyes upon the corpse lying in the middle of the floor.
***
People flooded the streets of Poltghasa as though news of the demon-woman’s vanquishing had already traveled from one side of the city to the other. Drunken groups of men rollicked down the avenues, cussing and fighting. Moonlight flashed on steel as brawls broke out while Khirro and Athryn watched hidden in the shadows.
Where were they all before?
The streets had been empty the previous night, like they’d entered a city populated by ghosts.
Did one woman cause so much fear?
Athryn led them down an avenue but they didn’t get far before a crowd clogged the way. Pressed against the wall, they crept close, but the throng stretched the width of the boulevard. They melded into the mob, pushing their way through while trying not to attract attention. Men and women around them cheered and jeered. Khirro paused and stood on his toes to peer over the people in front of him but saw little through the forest of waving arms. A man beside him slapped his shoulder and laughed loudly.
“My money’s on the dogs,” he shouted in Khirro’s face, spraying him with saliva and foul-smelling breath.
“Fuck that,” another man said. “The boys’ll take 'em down.”
Khirro stretched farther to see but Athryn grabbed his sleeve and pulled him away. Above the mob’s cheers, he heard the growl of feral dogs and yelps of pain-human, not canine. The autumn air suddenly seemed colder despite the warm bodies close around him.
The crowd moved and pulsed like a beast, shifting first one way then the other as the fight at its center moved and the people closest scrambled out of the way. Khirro pitched and swayed, dragged along with it. Someone grabbed him and yanked him from Athryn’s grasp. The mob engulfed him.
He reached for his sword, but bodies crowded close enough to pin his arm at his side, making it impossible to grasp the hilt, let alone free the blade. People pressed against him, forcing the air out of his lungs, and he gasped to refill them. The throng encircled him, made it impossible to move as they made him their own. He tripped, but they kept him upright, moving him forward and away from his companion. He struggled against them and he found himself moved by too many hands, blocked by too many shoulders, and he stumbled again, but this time no one caught him before he went down hard on the cobblestone street. Air returned to his chest, fresh and cool, and there was suddenly nobody close by him.
Silence.
The cheering and catcalls ceased. Khirro looked up at a circle of faces staring down at him and scrambled to his feet. He reached for his sword to find it gone. The man directly in front of him waved the black blade at him and laughed. Khirro reached for it but the growl behind him made him stop. He turned slowly, already knowing what he would see.
Three brown, mangy dogs leered at him, ribs showing through their sides and foam at their mouths. The blood-soaked body of a man lay at their feet, entrails pulled free and hanging from the jaws of the largest dog. Khirro froze.
If I don’t threaten them, maybe I’ll be all right.
Two men pushed him, sent him stumbling toward the dogs. The big one reacted first, dropping its meal and leaping for him. The other two followed close behind.
Khirro regained his balance in time to raise his arm for protection. The first dog bit down on his forearm, the second went for his crotch but he pivoted and the dog’s snout bounced off the side of his thigh. The third grabbed him by an ankle. Pain seared through Khirro’s body and he struggled to maintain focus. In his mind, he pictured flames and fire burning on his limbs. He gritted his teeth as the lead dog shook its head, rending his flesh.
His arm burst into flames.
The big dog yelped and released him, fire spreading to the fur on its muzzle. It leaped away howling in pain, jaws snapping futilely at the blaze. The crowd gasped.
Fire swirled before Khirro’s eyes; a roar escaped his throat. The dog biting his ankle let go and sprinted into the crowd whining and barking. The last dog leaped for him again, jaws snapping at his face. Khirro caught it in both arms and squeezed. The dog’s claws raked his chest as it struggled to get away but he didn’t let go until its spine popped. He released his grip and the dog’s smoldering body thumped to the ground.
Khirro faced the men who’d pushed him. They stared, white-faced and gaping. Silence fell and time seemed to stand still. Nobody moved. Dogs whimpered and fire crackled, but the crowd around him made no sound. Khirro bared his teeth of flame and stepped toward them and it was as if someone released the throng from a spell. Everyone moved at once, screaming and yelling, desperate to flee. They bumped into each other, scrambled over the top of one another. A woman fell and no one stopped to help her-the crowd trampled her, left her bleeding in the street.
As the mob dispersed, the flames dancing before Khirro’s eyes dissipated. Tendrils of smoke curled up from his body leaving him shivering as the last of the crowd disappeared into doorways and down side streets. Even the woman who fell under the feet of her compatriots dragged herself away to find cover in the shadows.
“You have control of the fire,” Athryn said.
“More than I did.”
“That is good.”
Khirro wrapped his arms around himself and went to where the man dropped the Mourning Sword, probably leaving it behind for fear of retribution. He slid it back into the scabbard and looked at Athryn.
“I couldn’t stop it when I was fighting Elyea.”
“It was not Elyea. Remember that.”
“I know. Shariel.”
He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of a bandaged hand and felt no pain, so pulled the dirty cloth from his fingers. The flesh beneath was completely healed. The spell Athryn had cast when Elyea-Shariel-died had worked. Only the fresh lacerations left by the dogs remained.