The Crow King's Wife (The Elder Blood Chronicles #5)(94)
“Ready to die Bastard?” Derrick called in a voice that was filled with forced cheer. With one hand he motioned Grace forward and pointed toward Caleb. “Kill him.” He ordered casually and then glanced to his guards. “Help her and ensure it is done properly.” He added with distaste as he carefully backed his horse away from the open street.
Caleb leaned forward pressing his palm firmly to the ground as Grace started forward and magic roiled in the air around him. She had barely taken two steps before the entire city shook violently. Cries rose from the guards and the horses screamed in panic, but Grace simply stopped walking and narrowed her eyes at Caleb. Cocking her head she turned to gaze toward the heart of the city where buildings were shaking visibly. A cold smile curved Caleb’s lips and the tremors increased dramatically as vines wrapped around the distant buildings nearly covering the sandstone walls. Screams rose from further inside the city as the seeds Caleb had ordered scattered sprouted to life with more devastation than Shade would have ever believed possible. Even the walls surrounding the main fortress were giving under the punishment of the Stonevines, but he could tell how much magic it was draining from Caleb and prayed fervently that the man would stop while he still had enough energy to fight.
“This city will crumble and burn before I draw my last breath.” Caleb announced as he rose to his feet unsteadily. “Your men will bleed and die before you, and all that you have been charged to protect will be destroyed.” He added in a louder voice as the tremors of the city slowly subsided.
“You are only one man.” Derrick pointed out loudly then seemed to notice the hesitation on the faces around him. “He is only one man!” he snarled loudly and jabbed a finger in Caleb’s direction. “Kill the gods be damned bastard before he has time to work more magic.” He ordered as Caleb drew the black long sword from his belt and moved into a fighter’s stance.
“And that is my cue. Stay right here Syrah. Unless of course your Daddy looks ready to destroy this building and then you should move to the next one over very quickly.” Shade whispered as he rose to a crouch and made his way silently toward the roof ledge closest to Derrick.
He caught a glimpse of Grace moving toward Caleb once more and then his attention settled on Derrick. He had to trust Caleb to take care of himself for just a few minutes. Once Derrick was dead he would help him anyway he could, but killing the lord of Prendington was essential for all of their plans.
*
Zoelyn moved to follow as she heard Shade’s footsteps leaving the alley, but a tug from Dray’s hand brought her to a stop. She turned and eyed the Blight curiously as he shook his head slowly. Worry creased his face and he ran a hand through his long brown hair and bit his lip before speaking.
“There was a reason Caleb told us not to follow. Shade might ignore it, but I won’t. We need to stay here and away from whatever he is going to do. It will be our only hope of staying clear of the fighting so that we can locate the prisoners.” Dray’s voice was a soft whisper by her ear, yet somehow he managed to emphasize his words to the point of command.
Wordlessly she nodded but moved a few inches closer to the alley mouth to watch Grim’s dark clad form as he wove his way through the streets. Nothing she had seen from him in the past week was what she remembered of her friend. It was as if his grief had transformed him into something far more violent and cold than he had ever been before. There were stories about him in Glis of course, but she had always believed the tales of the Bloody Huntsman were exaggerated; now she wasn’t so sure. It was possible he had always harbored a darker side and she had simply never looked closely enough to see it. He was her friend, or had been at one time. She wasn’t sure anymore, but it was a concern she didn’t have time to face. Perhaps if they both survived the day she could speak with him about it, if Grim would speak with her about anything. He had been tightlipped for most of the trip.
“I’m bloody well sick of this damn thing.” A man’s voice from the far end of the alley froze her thoughts and she turned back just in time to watch two figures enter their alley.
Wordlessly she pressed herself flat against the alley wall in a mirror of Dray’s own movement. The man that had spoken was fully in the alley now and to her dismay he wore the full armor of a high ranking Rivasan guard. A second man followed him dressed in dark clothes and a hooded cloak. She could barely make out the lower part of his jaw, but what she could see was unshaven and by the set of his lips he was highly amused.
“I feel filthy just wearing it!” The guard snapped as he unbuckled the chin strap of his full helmet and wrenched it from his head. His hair was tousled and a deep red color that was never found in Rivasans. His bronzed skin was beaded with sweat and his expression was borderline furious. With a curse he tossed the helmet to the side of the alley and shook his head with irritation. It wasn’t until he turned to gaze down the alley in the direction Shade and Grim had gone that she recognized him. Her breath caught in her throat as his bright green eyes traced over the street beyond her. Havoc Firym. She had no idea what he was doing here, and she didn’t know him aside from glimpsing him near Jala, but his presence here could only be considered a blessing. Everyone knew how much the Firym despised the Rivasans.
“Does it feel strange to you to be doing something like this without Victory here chiding us every step of the way about how stupid we are?” The second man’s voice was low and laced with amusement, but it wasn’t a voice she recognized. He raised a gloved hand as he spoke and pushed the hood back revealing lanky black hair that looked as though it hadn’t been brushed in weeks. His eyes were deep set and a long silvered scar traced down the left side of his face. Even without the scar she wouldn’t have considered him handsome. There was too much about him that screamed guttertrash. Even his clothes spoke of someone that would slit your throat for a bent copper.