Legend of the Ravenstone (44 page)

Hawkwing stepped forward, but Rashir waved him away. “No, no. I want the
true
leader to answer the question.” He smiled at Arcturus. “Please.”

“The one responsible is not here,” Arcturus said, seeing the fear in Jinx’s eyes. “When we spoke of leadership, did we not scorn the men of power who hid behind their soldiers and servants? A leader should be at the helm, ready to endure what is facing him. Will you have us answer for the wizard not present? You—a leader by his own right—who believes in such justice?”

“All valid points. However,
you
are here,” Rashir said, nodding at him. “The reality of your situation—of
my
situation—is that I may never meet this mysterious wizard. But I can certainly send him my regards.” He waved to Jinx. “Enforcer, tell me your name—your real name.”

Jinx looked at Arcturus, who could only stare back. The thief muttered his name, and Rashir cocked his head at the Markanturian. “Did he say ‘Jinx’? How tragically appropriate. Jinx, I bestow upon you your freedom. Take the demon and return to your master wizard. Be certain to tell him how he has failed as a leader. Asmat, assist the young man.”

Jinx merely stood there, frozen.

“If you value your life, then go!” Rashir commanded.

Arcturus gave the slightest nod, and Jinx walked toward the covered wagon, where the Demon was kept. Asmat produced the key and opened the cage. Jinx stepped away nervously.

“What is the delay?” Rashir asked. “Is the creature unwilling to leave? Perhaps it knows its master. Go then, Enforcer Jinx. Flee to the mighty and mysterious wizard.”

Asmat took hold of Jinx’s shoulder and gave him a hard shove. The thief stumbled forward and nearly fell. Asmat was close behind him, ushering him to the edge of the camp, where he gave Jinx a final push. Jinx set off at a jog, disappearing from sight as he headed for the river.

“There. The young man has been spared,” Rashir said.

“You are not who I thought you were,” Arcturus said, a tremor in his voice.

“Hardly an accusation to be made by you.” The Priagent shook his head.

“Do you intend to torture us? Put us through some unnecessary end?” Arcturus asked, his voice raising. “For what purpose? In its finality, all we had done was travel in your company.”

“Now you contradict yourself. You came to me speaking of deceit and unknown consequence. I allow your underling to flee, and you accuse me of the torture to come. Do not lecture me, Markanturian, on the transgressions to be had. You have placed yourself in my company, and now you will understand what I am about.” Rashir stood, but his eyes had left Arcturus—fixed, instead, upon Whitestar.

“What are you about?” Arcturus asked, trying to delay whatever was to come.

“I am about to confiscate your staff,” Rashir said. “Why trouble with catching an Ilangien when a cantalere will suffice?”

Arcturus backed away and struggled to his feet, clutching the staff to his chest. He spun to see Nesif and Hesun standing as a wall behind him. He took a breath and thumped the butt of the staff into the ground. “I am the only one who can wield Whitestar. All it would take is a thought to raze this site. If my life is already of little consequence, then I have nothing to lose in destroying all of you.” He raised his chin and stared down at the slight man who steadily approached him.

Rashir paused. “I am willing to call your bluff, Markanturian, but do not think for a moment that you are of little consequence. I have a use for you.” He held out his hand. “I will give you time to collect your thoughts and utter those magic words of destruction.”

Arcturus stood, trembling, as the Priagent resumed his slow advance. “Three, two, and one.” Rashir stepped up to him and pulled Whitestar from his grasp with his free hand. He lifted the Ravenstone with the other. “You seem rather concerned about this. I promise I will be quick—for your sake as well as the sake of my journey.”

~*~

I
t was not until the icy water splashed around his knees that Jinx stopped running. His lungs were fit to burst, and his head felt light, his vision swimming. He gasped for air and stood in the ford, his hands braced upon his knees. He was safe—free! The Priagent had actually let him go. He had never been so terrified—not even when Farmer Grissly’s hounds were after him for snatching a few eggs from the chicken coop. Terror—yes, that was it. And it had surged through him like a river, coursing with each echoing beat of his racing heart. It had fueled his legs with speed unknown to him, and it had propelled him forward with one single and lasting thought: escape.

Yet as his heart began to slow, and the cold touch of the water reached him, he started to wonder just how scared he really was. The fear had been undeniable, but maybe it had not been quite so reasonable. There had been no knife to his throat. In fact, other than being winded, he had no physical complaints.

His gaze fell to the sword at his side, and a different ache hit him. He had never drawn it. He had never even thought about drawing it. A magic sword to help him fight—a useless blade at his waist as he fled to save his own skin. “What’m I doing?”

Jinx straightened and looked back in the direction from which he had come. “By Lorth, what’s wrong with me?” He had left Arcturus and Hawkwing behind.
They could be tortured. They could be dead!
He ran a hand through his hair.
But if I go back, they’ll do the same to me.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Coward. I’m a coward. Yellow dog,” he mourned. “No, I can’t do it. I can’t just leave ‘em. They wouldn’t leave me.” He waded out of the ford and started up the hill, gathering his nerve.
I gotta play this right. I gotta be careful, or I’ll be as worthless as the sword....

Jinx was near the summit when a figure crested the hill and charged at him. The two of them collided and tumbled down to the river bank. Jinx managed to pull himself away, watching as Arshod crouched to attack again. He kept the magic sword poised in front of him, but this was not a friendly match. This was a fight for his life.

Arshod rushed him with a cry, and Jinx’s weapon diverted the blow, sliding along the Jornoan’s arm and cutting into his shoulder. “I don’t wanna fight you,” the thief said. “I just wanna help my friends.”

“You must help yourself first,” Arshod said. “I will not let you return to them.” They circled each other, waiting for the first move.

“We just want to leave,” Jinx said. “Nobody’s gotta die.” He held up his sword in trembling hands as Arshod came at him again. There was a clang of metal, and Jinx moved away. “We didn’t even take the stone or the Demon.”

“It does not matter,” Arshod said. “You are a threat to Rashir’s plans.
You
were the ones who lied.”

“’Cuz we’re afraid of what he’ll do with the stone. We just wanna keep it safe.” Jinx narrowly dodged another strike.

“The Ravenstone belongs to Rashir,” Arshod said. He advanced upon the thief, driving him back toward the river. “If you do not fight, I will kill you.”

“Well, I don’t wanna fight, and I don’t wanna hurt you.” Jinx glanced back at the water. “I don’t wanna die, either. Just an hour ago, we were still friends.”

“You are a coward and an imposter,” Arshod said. He gave a series of short thrusts toward Jinx’s chest, watching him splash backward into the river. “I do not know you to call you ‘friend.’”

Jinx stumbled and tried to hold his ground. He made the next move, swinging at Arshod’s torso. The Jornoan avoided the obvious affront, but he managed to give a good slice to the thief’s forearm.

Staring at the blood and feeling the burn of the cool air upon the wound, Jinx reeled and fell backward into the water.
He’s really gonna kill me.
The revelation was short-lived as Arshod stepped from the bank and into the water. Jinx’s instincts—what few he believed he had—propelled him to his feet. He had no strategy—no great evasive plan. All he could think about were the friends he had left behind. He had to get back to help them.

He took a side swipe at the Jornoan, his attack catching Arshod by surprise. The Jornoan staggered but regained his balance. Jinx was already racing for the embankment when Arshod took up pursuit. He would have the advantage of higher ground, except that the slope was slick with mud. He felt fingers grip his leg and tug at him. He began to slide backward, and in a panic, he thrust the sword into the earth to keep him from losing further ground.

Arshod, however, had gained ground. He gripped the material near the thief’s neck and wrenched him backward. Jinx clung to the sword as he fell, certain Arshod was going to make the final move. The blade wrenched from the clay, but the force flung it from the thief’s slick grasp. Jinx gasped as he hit the bed of the stream, the frigid water welling over his face and body. At any moment, Arshod would end him.

Jinx lurched forward and sucked at the air. Arshod was beside him, but he, too was on his back. Then Jinx saw the blade nestled in his gut, saw the scarlet eddies in the water. He flipped over and knelt at Arshod’s side. “No. No, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to—”

Arshod took hold of the magic blade and pulled it free with a cry. “If not me, then you, Enforcer. My hand was not guided by magic,” he said.

“Arcturus can heal you,” Jinx said quickly, without thinking. “Or maybe the magic stream, or—”

“There is no magic stream,” Arshod spat, trying to lift his head above the water.

Jinx came to his aid, propping him upright with his hands. “Just—just hold on. I can get help. Don’t die. Please.” He could not tell his tears from the water of the river that ran down his face.

“You have never taken a life,” Arshod said, meeting his gaze. “It cannot be undone.” He shuddered. “Finish what you have started. Do not leave me this way.”

Jinx’s eyes widened in horror. “No. I can’t. I can’t kill you.”

“You already have. I am asking for mercy.”

Through his blurry vision, Jinx lifted the sword from the riverbed.

“End it,” Arshod said.

“I’m not a fighter,” Jinx protested. “I’m just a thief. An unlucky thief. And a coward.”

Arshod glared at him. “Damn you if my death is in vain. Do as you intended, and find your friends.”

Jinx wiped his sleeve across his eyes and gripped the hilt of the sword in both hands. He closed his eyes and raised the weapon, point-down. With an agonized cry, he brought it down.

He did not want to open his eyes, but Arshod was right. He had to go. The Jornoan lay there, unblinking and still. Jinx clutched at his stomach, feeling as though he would vomit. He took a deep breath and then another. His vision cleared, but his heart felt as though it was made of lead. He shook his head and reclaimed his sword. “I’m coming,” he whispered.

~*~

R
ashir had taken the staff. Everyone had watched his fingers pull it free of Arcturus’s grasp, and it was then that Hawkwing struck. The two brothers nearest him did not have a chance to react as the tracker’s sword plunged and retreated without warning. The third brother advanced quickly, but just as Hawkwing swung, he vanished—only to reappear behind the tracker. Hawkwing narrowly evaded the brother’s strike, and then his opponent vanished again. With barely a sound, the Jornoan reemerged from thin air and swung at Hawkwing’s legs. The tip of the blade nicked the tracker’s calf, but then the attacker was gone again. Hawkwing waited before swiping the empty air opposite where the Jornoan had been. His enemy emerged just in time to receive the blow, but the tracker did not wait to see him fall.

Hawkwing headed for Arcturus, who was being restrained by Nesif. Before the Markanturian stood Rashir, the first true color of emotion upon his face. There was rage there now, smoothed only by the Priagent’s determination to end the confrontation in his favor. In his hands, the Ravenstone flickered. Rashir was guarded by Hesun, whose narrowed gaze challenged Hawkwing to make his move.

If Hawkwing had been younger, he might have been strong enough and fast enough to confront them all, but he was no longer the rage-driven fighter he had been. He did not believe he would succeed in regaining Whitestar and the Ravenstone, but perhaps he could still free Arcturus. He longed to free the Demon as well, but whatever hold Rashir had upon the creature, Jinx had proven that it was unable to escape its master’s will. The Priagent would have to die.

Hesun did not wait for the inevitable skirmish. He strode forward confidently, sword in hand. Hawkwing took note of the stocky brother’s careless grip on the weapon.
He, too, has a gift he is waiting to employ, but what could it be?
Hesun raised the blade with both hands as though he intended to cleave a fallen tree. With the Jornoan’s chest left open, Hawkwing lunged for Hesun’s heart, but the blade deflected off an invisible, impenetrable shell. The force of the collision was jarring, nearly knocking Hawkwing’s sword from his hands. He managed to redirect his motion to a hasty defense, barely blocking the Jornoan’s slow but powerful swing. Both men stumbled, though it was Hawkwing’s sword that dropped to the ground, beyond his reach. Quick to recover, the tracker did not hesitate in moving in on his opponent. There was a reason he had earned the name “Talon.”

He tackled Hesun to the ground, and the Jornoan relinquished his sword to grapple with him, trying brute strength against brute strength. Hesun was younger, eager for victory. Hawkwing knew patience, and he had the benefit of his size. They twisted and struggled, and when it seemed the tracker would gain the advantage, Hesun slipped a knife from his sleeve and into his hand. He went for Hawkwing’s neck, but Hawkwing’s massive hand swallowed Hesun’s and twisted the Jornoan’s arm behind his back. Hesun grunted, but was seemingly unbreakable. If sheer force could not beat Hawkwing’s opponent, there had to be a different weakness. The tracker locked his arms around Hesun’s neck and tightened his hold.

Hesun kicked and gasped and lurched, but Hawkwing did not relent. As his opponent’s struggles weakened, the tracker looked up to find Nesif on his way to assist. Nesif was cause for concern, and there would be no wresting the sword from him. Hawkwing prepared to use Hesun’s limp body as a shield, but there was a shout and a clang as Jinx charged Nesif from behind.