Shuddering, Khallayne pushed him away and crawled to her feet. The fighting was all around her, the clang of sword against metal, the war cries of the attacking humans, the neighing of an injured horse, the scent of blood and the sour sweat of human slaves. Human fear.
Lyrralt, no longer astride his horse, was conspicuous in the melee, swinging his mace in wild, whistling arcs. He was doing little real damage, but holding back the attackers.
Jyrbian and Tenaj stood back-to-back. Nylora, Briah, and the two cousins also fought with their backs together. All wielded swords stained with blood. The ground was littered with the bodies of humans who had stupidly ventured within range of their practiced blades. The remaining slaves were ranging and scuffling about the two groups, threatening.
“Khallayne, do something!” Lyrralt shouted, gesturing toward the embankment above the caves. At least ten more humans could be seen approaching, thrashing their way through the scrub and trees.
She knew what he was asking, but it would mean exposing herself… The others would realize her power. And would die knowing anyway, if they were outnumbered.
Something boiled inside her. Something bubbled with excitement.
One of the humans stabbed, and Briah jumped to block him. Her wounded leg refused to bear her weight and, as she slipped, a woman slave swung her weapon with all her might.
Briah screamed and fell with the long spikes of a farm rake buried in her body. Trying to aid her sister, Nylora would have fallen also had one of the cousins not stepped in to close the gap and yank her back.
Breath coming in short, painful gasps, Khallayne gripped the bloody handle of her dagger. Fury, the flame of temptation, writhed inside her.
“Khallayne, now!” Lyrralt shouted, pointing toward the embankment with the tip of his mace. At the last moment, he lashed out viciously with it and gutted a slave rushing toward him.
Despite her fear of being exposed, she shivered in anticipation. The squirming inside was a thrumming in her blood, a music pulsing in her veins. Pleasure, almost carnal, slithered across her skin. She spoke the words that leapt into her throat and flung her hands out.
Lyrralt’s attackers burst into flame, so suddenly that the two humans had no time to scream. Lyrralt was almost engulfed. His mace was scorched, but then he managed to jump backward and roll away from the flame licking at his hands and arms.
Khallayne saw Lyrralt only dimly through a wall of rushing wind. Her vision clouded by blood and smoke, she flung out her hands and spoke the words again. The incantation seared her throat.
The slaves who had started to scramble down the embankment were thrown back by a wall of fire.
Vision and hearing still impaired, Khallayne threw out her hands again, this time sending a fireball slamming into the embankment. Shards of gray rock and red clay went flying. Another spell was bubbling in her throat when something barreled into her and knocked her down.
She scrabbled for her dagger, sensing the handle against her palm through a haze of fury. She came up fighting, the words to another spell forming on her lips, bare fists striking out, only to realize the person she was hitting was Jyrbian. What she had heard through the roaring in her ears was his voice shouting her name.
She collapsed into his arms, gasping and spent, but also exhilarated.
Jyrbian supported her in the crook of one arm, his sword at the ready, but the few slaves left alive had fled. “Whatever you did,” he said, his voice husky with admiration, “it worked.”
She said nothing, simply looked up and met Lyrralt’s gaze as he came over to them.
“Are you harmed?” Lyrralt asked.
She managed to shake her head and push herself away from Jyrbian.
Blood was running off the bodies of the dead, pooling on the hard ground. The woods at the edge of the clay bank were charred, little trickles of fire still licking the dry leaves. Above the caves there were three lumps of charred black that vaguely resembled human forms.
The only sound came from Nylora, who had knelt beside Briah’s body and was moaning. She touched her sister’s lifeless body at the forehead and throat and wrist, desperate to find some sign of life.
It was obvious to the others that there was none. A row of neat punctures, encircled with blood, ran diagonally across Briah’s chest.
Nylora looked up and saw Lyrralt. “Heal her,” she pleaded. She paused and touched the hole over Briah’s heart. Her fingers came away red and sticky.
“I can’t,” Khallayne heard him whisper as he went over to Nylora.
“You saved Khallayne,” she accused Lyrralt.
One of the cousins leaned over and caught Ny-lora’s arm to pull her up, but she resisted. “You saved Khallayne! I saw what she did. I saw her use magic!” she screamed. “If you don’t heal Briah, I’ll tell everyone!”
Lyrralt dropped to his knees in front of Nylora and grasped her bloody hands. “I can’t,” he said with anguish. “The gods have not yet granted me such power.”
She jerked away from his grip, moaning, “This is what comes of Igraine’s free will.”
“These weren’t Igraine’s slaves,” Jyrbian said gently, holding out his hand to help her stand.
“What does it matter whose slaves they were?” She slapped his hand away and pointed at Jyrbian. ‘This is what comes of it!” She threw her short sword at him, but the weapon thunked onto the ground harmlessly.
Lyrralt looked around. There was blood all around him, on his hands and his clothes. He could taste it in the air. The rune on his arm throbbed. He had to struggle not to give in to the whisper “Doom,” while they tried to console Nylora.
Lyrralt stared at Briah’s body, his fingers clasped over his left shoulder. Khallayne gazed only at the scorched earth across the path.
Jyrbian took charge. Only Tenaj was unaffected, alert and aware of the possibility of further danger.
“We need to round up the horses,” he told her. “The slaves may have run, but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back.”
Briah’s horse had been killed, and the others had disappeared into the forest. With a curt nod, Tenaj strode off, calling for Khallayne to help.
Once found, the horses were nervous; precious time was spent calming them, while Jyrbian grew more agitated, sure that the group would be attacked again.
“I’ll put Briah’s body behind me,” Tenaj said.
Jyrbian shook his head. “No. I want the strongest fighters mounted separately, in case we’re attacked again.”
Soon they had checked each mount for injuries and were ready to move. Eyes tearstained, Nylora took up Briah’s sword and the heavy rings from her sister’s ringers and climbed to her feet. “It’s Igraine’s fault. It’s his fault Briah is dead. And when we get home, I’m going to make sure everyone knows what he’s doing! I’ll make sure everyone knows everything!”
Khallayne, her expression stiff, mounted without bothering to glance at the hysterical Ogre.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A gong pealed, sonorous and stately, and five doors opened simultaneously onto the raised platform of the chamber of the Ruling Council. Five council scribes, stiff and formal with importance, entered onto the platform, carrying their writing trays before them.
The audience, seated in semicircular rows ranging from the foot of the platform to the back of the room, placed their right hands over their left on the floor and bowed low over them. The most important families, or their representatives, were seated in the front, with the ranking members kneeling beside the center aisle.