Unhewn Throne 01 - The Emperor's Blades(180)

Near the top of the ridgeline, just below the notch that would lead over the saddle and into the shallow defile beyond, Jakin pulled up sharply. Kaden started to ask what was wrong, but the man glared him into silence, then inched his head up over the rise. After only a moment, he pulled back with a low curse.

“What is it?” Kaden whispered, his throat tight.

“Men.”

“With you?”

“There is no one with us,” he hissed. “When they sent us to protect you from assassins, they forgot to mention that the assassins were an entire regiment of the Emperor’s own ’Kent-kissed Aedolian Guard.”

“What about that?” Triste asked, gesturing to the crossbow.

Jakin hefted it with disgust. “Only one quarrel left. I didn’t count on having to use so many down below.” As they spoke, Kaden realized with a sickening lurch that the sounds of slaughter behind them had ceased. Sooty red tongues of flame licked against the night sky, casting shifting shadows on the rocks around them. So they were finished with the monks, and presumably their own slaves as well. It doesn’t take long to kill two hundred people, Kaden thought hollowly, staring back over his shoulder until Tan broke into his daze.

“They’re coming up the trail behind us. How many ahead?”

“Four,” Jakin replied.

“The crossbow will make it three,” Tan said. “And if you’re anything like your friend with a knife—”

“I’m not,” he spat, glaring at him. “There’s a reason we work as a team. She does the close work; I deal with unexpected problems from the roof.”

Tan cursed, then hefted his naczal. “Ahead there are four. Behind, looks like a hundred. You shoot, we go. Kaden, hold the girl. Stay back.”

Jakin looked hard at the monk, then nodded.

Their attack seemed to last only moments. Jakin shot one soldier through the eye, and then he and Tan were on the remaining three. The monk’s spear flickered out to catch the closest man in the neck, while Jakin cut down one of the others, finding with his knife the weak joint where helmet met gorget.

So he can use that spear, Kaden thought to himself absently. He didn’t know much about combat—his father’s guardsmen had taught him and Valyn only the rudiments before they were shipped away—but Tan moved with a confidence and deadly speed that couldn’t be faked.

Rather than pressing the attack, the remaining Aedolian stepped back, unnerved by the death of his companions. He seemed to have no relish for a heroic duel, and turned his head to glance down the trail behind him. That’s when Jakin leapt.

He was fast, almost as fast as Pyrre, fast enough to close the distance and thrust his knife through the gap in the helmet and into the brain, but not, Kaden realized with horror, before the soldier could raise his blade. The two fell to the ground, the Aedolian dead where he lay, the sword he still clutched buried in Jakin’s stomach. Kaden started to run to him, but Tan stopped him with a hand on the arm.

The monk wasted no time catching his breath. “He’ll be dead in minutes,” he said, as though that settled the matter.

Kaden tugged his arm free and turned to the fallen man.

He had pulled the sword from his body and rolled onto his back, blood welling from the deep puncture. Pain creased his face, and when he spoke, his words were weak, his lips flecked with blood and spittle. “The base of the Talon,” he managed weakly. “Pyrre will meet you at the base—” He broke off as coughing racked his body, squeezing his eyes shut with agony. Kaden made to cradle his head, but Triste stopped him.

The girl’s gown was badly ripped, her jaw trembling, her breathing heavy, but she hadn’t panicked. If she didn’t have Tan’s stony resolve, she did, at least, seem in control of herself, and she pushed Kaden out of the way gently but firmly, then took the dying man’s hand in her own and pressed her other palm to his brow. “Thank you for saving our lives,” she said simply. The two remained motionless, like a statue carved from the mountain. Then, for the first time since the two merchants had arrived at the monastery, Kaden saw Jakin smile, the spasms that had racked his body subsiding.

“Go,” he said weakly, then closed his eyes. “I will wait here for the god.” With a final squeeze of his hand, Triste nodded, then stood, unshed tears in her eyes.

“There is nothing more we can do for him,” Tan said. “Come.”

They had just started to run once more when Kaden remembered his candlestick—the only weapon he had. It was just a few paces behind, and heart hammering in his chest, he turned back for it. The unlikely weapon had yet to prove its value, but it would be foolish to leave it behind for the sake of a few more seconds, seconds that couldn’t possibly make a difference. He was bending to pick up the bloodied silver shaft when he heard the panting and scrambling. Someone was coming, climbing the far side of the small rise just a short stone’s throw away. Cursing himself for a fool, Kaden snatched the candlestick and spun about to chase after his companions. The voice stopped him cold.