Fantasy of Fire (The Tainted Accords #3)(91)

“Sister, you’ve been busy,” he remarks.

“You know me, Landon.” I tilt my head at the remaining Elite. “I’m just wondering how many more I’ll have to kill for the message to sink in.”

“How many we’ll have to kill, Tatuma Olina,” he corrects with a bow. “There are many here I’ve been looking forward to dealing with for quite some time.”

“Well, I want Brovek,” I say, crossing my arms.

“As my Tatuma commands,” he says. I almost laugh at his display until I catch him casting a covert look at the group of women and children. Who is he searching for?

“Commander Olandon,” Brovek says with a deep bow. “We have no orders concerning you. You are whole, not a half-breed. Stand aside and you will not come to harm.”

“Your Tatuma is not whole,” Olandon challenges. I watch as Brovek turns an unhealthy shade of purple.

“We may not have to kill him after all,” I stage-whisper to my brother. We share a grin and there’s no fear in his expression. Just as there is none in mine. Anticipation shivers down my spine. It’s been so long since I’ve had a good fight. If I’m going to go, I’m going to take as many with me as possible.

Brovek addresses the Elite. “Do not harm the Tatum’s son. Take him alive. Kill the half-breed.”

One of the Elite steps forward and I tense. His face is familiar and I try to recall his name. I stand ready for attack as the Solati kneels in front of me, head down.

“Tatuma Olina. There are those of us who do not agree with the Tatum’s rule. Your heritage is less than nothing compared to your mother’s crimes.”

Rian. The man’s name is Rian. He was merciful to me in the past. He let me escape the Torture Room when he could’ve barred my way.

He continues. “Allow me to fight by your side, to help right the wrongs I have done to you.”

I lay a hand on his shoulder. “Rian, I remember you. You did what you could to ease my suffering.” He tips his dark head back to peer at me.

“You may stand and fight by me and regain your honor,” I declare.

He stands and moves to the other side of Olandon. There’s no way he’ll be fighting behind me.

One of the other younger Elite moves to join us. A sword appears through the front of her torso. The young woman looks down at the sword in horror before falling forward, sliding off the weapon. The soldier slits her throat to finish the job and steps back into line with a nod to Brovek.

“Anyone else?” Brovek asks the Elite. I feel the tension in the remaining Elite’s muscular frames. This is it. There was perhaps one other who might have joined us, but they won’t dare to after the death of their comrade. The Elite is now down to twelve. And with Rian, we number nine.

Olandon moves to my side. “Just like old times?” I ask.

“Just like it,” he replies.

I turn my head to the archway as Brovek draws one of his legs back to push off into a charge.

I shift onto the balls of my toes, legs shoulder-width apart, fists formed tightly and held palm up next to my waist.

“Now!” I scream.





Chapter Twenty-One


My senses expand and contract at the same time, focusing on the Elite charging me, as the rest of my men explode through the doorway to join the fight.

The women and children push back against the wall down the far end of the food hall.

I crouch as the Elite near.

Malir’s sword swings high as he boulders toward battle in true Bruma fashion. The Solati before me freeze momentarily, but quickly regain their movement. They are sleek where the Bruma are mighty, and no less deadly.

Without a word, the Elite slide into more advantageous positioning. Brovek and three other fighters circle Olandon and me, while two more rush at Rian several meters behind me. The remaining six Elite face a wall of my men, who also number six. It’s a one-on-one battle for my friends. I think of what will happen if we don’t succeed and realize we have to win this.

The dance begins.

Olandon crosses over the front while I spin to his left. It is the start of a pattern drilled into us since we first were capable of remembering the chain of actions. A type of fighting not taught by anyone except our ex-Elite trainer, Aquin. The technique is a completely random, unpredictable chain of movements—learned by rote, unseen and unheard of by any other than Aquin, Olandon and myself. The Elite will have no idea what we’re doing.

I keep low and the air shifts mere finger-widths from my head as a blow whispers past. Brovek is one of the several Elite surrounding us. He recovers from my brother’s kick, but isn’t prepared for my upper-cut.

One step back. High kick.

I face one of the less-experienced Elite and risk a glance at my friends. They’re all standing, though Sanjay has been struck already and is flagging.

“Cover Sanjay!” I yell to the others.

Olandon and I reverse the pattern for three moves. I grin evilly at the shock on my opponents’ faces. I bet they’ve never experienced anything like this before. Aquin was one of the best Solati fighters ever seen. He is a genius.

I place my foot on Olandon’s bent knee and push up against it, delivering a spinning kick to Brovek’s face. Blizzard’s yell of pain distracts me and I reel back from a hit, but my body continues the chain of movements. Olandon sniggers even as he head-butts a muscled woman in the face. No doubt he’s remembering Aquin disciplining us until the sequence became automatic. My robes hid many of his bruises in my childhood. I’ve never been more thankful for the lessons as I glide from one form to the next.