The Blessed Curse (The Elder Blood Chronicles Book 4)(5)

“Neph.” The word was mangled by her swollen lips, but it still sounded like music to his ears. She was alive. There was hope.

Carefully, Neph wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her until the rope slipped from the post. “It’s OK now, Zyi, I’ve got you,” Neph whispered, his voice harsh. His eyes rose to stare hard at the circle of guards. “She has suffered her punishment. She needs a healer now,” he growled.

“Cowards do not receive mercy from Delvay, neither do traitors.” The voice cracked through the clearing and Neph turned slowly to face his father. “Did you help her, Neph? Are you a traitor to your people?” RenDelvayon demanded.

“He didn’t help her father,” Kadan replied before Neph could open his mouth. “I spoke with him on the ride and I will swear by the Aspects and Divine that Neph is no traitor.”

Neph stared hard at his brother before slowly turning back to face his father. Zyi shifted in his arms and he could feel her blood soaking through his armor. “She needs a healer,” he repeated struggling to keep his voice calm.

“Return her to the post. We do not heal cowards. You know the coward’s fate well enough to understand that,” Ren said coldly. “She is your daughter!” Neph bellowed, his panic and anger fueling his voice.

“That creature is not of my blood,” Ren snapped in disgust and pointed once more to the center post. “Place her back on the post or share her fate Neph.”

“Do it, Neph. Let me die. Don’t fight for me, please,” Zyi begged weakly. Her hand moved to his arm and her pale blue eyes flickered open. “Please, Neph.”

“Save your strength, Zyi. You will need it for the ride back down the mountain,” Neph whispered and kissed her gently on the forehead. Carefully he sat her down at the base of the pole and pulled off his cloak. Gently he wrapped the thick wool around her and slowly stood once more, facing his father. “You want her back on the pole then come and put her there yourself,” Neph snapped as he pulled his sword slowly from its scabbard.

“You would challenge me for a coward?” Ren demanded his anger rising in his voice.

“My sister,” Neph corrected firmly and squared his shoulders as he brought up his strongest shields. “Consider it a challenge if you want. I really don’t care. All I’m saying is, she is going back down the mountain with me and if I have to fight you first, so be it.”

“I always knew you had a weak heart,” Ren snapped as he drew his own blade. Stalking forward he shook his head in disgust.

“At least I have one,” Neph growled as he moved to meet his father’s first attack. Metal screamed as he parried the blow. Stepping back quickly he dodged the next swing and struck low with his own blade. His sword grazed across his father’s armored leg. Frantically Neph called on his magic to lend him speed as he parried another bone jarring blow that had been aimed at his head.

“You can’t win here, Neph,” his father growled as his own magic flared to life and his attacks doubled. “You may have strength, but it isn’t honed. One day you might be stronger than me, but not today,” RenDelvayon was the High Lord of Delvay for one simple reason: he was the strongest. No one in Delvay could match him at swords or magic.

“I’d rather die than see her hang again.” Neph gasped the words as he struggled to keep pace with his father’s sword. Blow after blow rang down on him and it was all he could do to parry or dodge. At this rate, his father was right. He didn’t have a chance. He needed a break in the assault, just one chance to strike a solid blow.

Back stepping quickly, Neph circled his father and pulled on his magic once more. It was dangerous to speed himself more than he was already, but he had no choice. His accuracy would suffer and he knew it, but it was the only chance he had at landing a blow. His sword flashed out again striking sparks from his father’s breastplate and he felt his hope rise. His father had been so sure of the fight that he hadn’t even bothered to put up shields. That was the second time he had scored a line in his armor. Now all he had to do was hit flesh.

“False hope, Neph,” his father growled as he renewed the assault with a savagery that Neph had never before seen.

Staggering back under the attack, Neph parried his father’s blade as quickly as he could, his sword flashing like a hummingbird in the morning light. His fingers were growing numb with the ringing of his blade. Pain flashed down his arm and he barely had time to register the wound before he was blocking another blow.