The southern barbarian snarled something ugly, but Losalis's own expression never wavered. "Rumors only. I can't stake my reputation on people believing a rumor's true, can I? There would always be some folk certain that I'd violated my code. No, my lord, I'm sorry to disappoint, but it's time for you and your friends to be off."
And Jassion, fists clenched and jaw quivering, began to turn away. NO. KALEB SCOWLED INTERNALLY, though his face remained impassive. No, this won't do.
Largely unnoticed, save for his single interjection, the sorcerer hung back by the horses, watching the proceedings. So Losalis wouldn't or couldn't help them; the sorcerer found no surprise there. But now the mercenary posed something of a problem.
Losalis knew, now, that Jassion was seeking out Rebaine's old minions. He knew, too, that Mellorin was accompanying them-by face, if not by name. So far he'd not noted the family resemblance, but if he gave it any real thought, or if someone were to ask…
And since Jassion wasn't an employer, there was nothing to stop Losalis from revealing all this to anyone who made him an enticing offer.
No, this simply wouldn't do at all. Something would have to be done.
And that, Kaleb abruptly decided with a hidden smile, was a good thing. It meant Losalis could yet prove useful after all.
Two quick spells, in rapid succession. He saw Mellorin shiver as the first washed over her, and then he tensed, ready to act as his carefully crafted illusion began to form… JASSION SPUN, Talon leaping free of its scabbard, as one of the mercenaries burst from the throng, his own blade raised to attack. The Kholben Shiar swung, hewing armor and flesh with equal ease. Jassion, who had expected far greater resistance, stumbled as his momentum carried him full circle, but if he thought about it at all, he attributed the ease with which he'd cleaved a man nearly in twain to the power of his demon-forged weapon.
For less than a heartbeat he paused in a half crouch. Losalis was actually recoiling, a look of stunned horror on his face, mirrored on Ulfgai's own.
Clearly, they'd anticipated a different result from their cowardly attack. Jassion leapt, Talon held high, and allowed his ever-burning fury to flare bright. Before him, before the Kholben Shiar, men and women fell. Their blades were as twigs, their shields as parchment. Blood flew, bones shattered, and the Baron of Braetlyn rejoiced. MELLORIN STAGGERED BACK from the unprovoked assault, footing unsteady as she fought to remain standing against a pressing tide of terror. Gods, what was I thinking? She wasn't ready for this, not nearly! A few street fights, squabbles picked as much for the practice as anything else, that was one thing, but this…
Despite her terror, or maybe because of it, she moved faster than ever before. Kaleb's falchion protruded from one fist, her ugly dagger from the other, and she couldn't remember drawing either. She watched Jassion plow into the assembled warriors like a whirlwind of razors, saw the mercenaries lunging to protect their captain, to punish these interlopers who dared raise steel against them. And though everything in her head screamed at her to run, Mellorin moved to meet them.
No, wait. Not everything. In the back of her mind, behind her thoughts and memories and dreams, a voice spoke to her. She heard it in her soul, calm, steady, and she trusted it without hesitation.
And when it warned her, she listened.
Whether it was real or imagination, Mellorin never knew. What she did know was that, though a fast learner, she'd not had anywhere near sufficient training to stand toe-to-toe with even one of Losalis's men, let alone the many who were closing-and yet, she did just that. Guided by that voice, she wielded falchion and dagger in twisting parries, deflecting swords that should have split her skull. She stepped and whirled as though in the midst of a formal ball, and blows rained harmlessly in her wake. She struck, falchion opening holes in her enemies' guard so her dagger could open holes in their flesh.
Blood washed over her hands, and Mellorin felt sick. She gritted her teeth, swallowed hard against the bile that threatened to choke her, and continued to dodge, and to parry, and to kill. KALEB LIFTED BOTH HANDS above his head, but this was clearly no surrender. Flames blossomed from his palms, not in a sweeping wave as in the depths of Theaghl-gohlatch, but pouring in torrents to the earth. They swirled away to either side, sweeping across the soil and igniting sunbaked grass. A wall of roaring fire sketched a rough circle around the center of the camp, preventing the bulk of the company from entering the melee. One or two attempted to leap through the crackling barrier, assuming they could pass with only a painful singeing-and were reduced to blackened bones by the heat and hunger of the unnatural conflagration. Roasting flesh, burning grasses, and a faint whiff of brimstone combined in a choking miasma that rose more slowly and more stately than the screams of the dying.
Satisfied that the barrier would hold so long as he maintained his concentration, Kaleb glanced about him. Jassion was cutting a swath through the soldiers, reaping them like wheat, though a few rents in his hauberk and trails of blood leaking down his sides served as ample evidence that this particular crop had blades of their own. Mellorin largely held her own, though the sheer press of enemies was forcing her slowly back, step by step. The sorcerer was impressed, despite himself. He'd known the girl had the potential to be good, had cast his spell so she might survive long enough to reach that potential-but the ease with which she'd acclimated to his magics suggested a budding greatness.
It was something else about her worth cultivating, definitely. Time to see how that cultivation was progressing.
This next bit-Kaleb braced himself-could hurt if I'm wrong.
The torrent of fire still cascading from his hands, feeding the blazing wall, Kaleb took a step nearer Mellorin and aimed a blast of flame over her head. The mercenaries fell back, shrieking as hair and beards ignited, and the young woman smiled her thanks.
A smile that fell from her face as though it, too, had melted. For when Kaleb hurled fire her way, a gap had opened briefly in the fiery bastion. The footsteps of a mercenary pounded across the earth behind him, but he pretended not to hear. He saw Mellorin tense, begin to move his way, and only then did he look behind… THE LAST OF THE INTERVENING WARRIORS slumped at Jassion's feet, and the baron stood face-to-face with Captain Losalis. The one gripped Talon rock-steady in both hands; the other had produced a crescent-shaped saber and raised the knife-edged shield before him.
"My lord," Losalis began, "stop! I swear I didn't-"
But Jassion was already lunging, and though he heard the words, the pounding in his ears and the fire in his mind had long since rendered him incapable of listening.
With nigh supernatural grace, Losalis ducked beneath the first slash and swung the saber in a brutal cross-cut. Jassion's chain took the blow without parting, and the blade left only a light scoring on the steel, but the impact doubled the baron over, ribs aching, struggling for breath. Losalis raised his shield-hand high and brought it brutally down, an axe as deadly as any executioner's, but Jassion allowed himself to tumble left, turning his pained collapse into an awkward roll. He staggered upright and parried another slash as Losalis pressed his attack, refusing Jassion the moment he needed to recover.
Losalis was better than he; of that, even in the midst of his murderous fury, Jassion had no doubt. But he held Talon, and that would have to make the difference.
Again he parried, and again-first saber, then shield. Only the unnatural speed of the Kholben Shiar allowed him to bring the massive blade in line, and even so he found himself retreating. Gradually, he allowed his parries to rise ever higher, leaving himself open for another slash. Mentally he braced, girding himself against the pain to come.