The Continent (The Continent #1)(67)

The man stands alone at the edge of the wood beyond the gate. He is an archer, and wounded, his right arm bound with cloth. I count this as one small advantage. The Topi presses himself back into the trees, searching for a target that he might dispatch from the concealment of the forest.

Quickly, I map out a route that might bring me across the field without being seen, into the safety of the trees. From there, I can approach him from behind without being heard. My heart is pumping furiously, adrenaline coursing through my body. Can I do this? Even if I make it to the wood, can I take a life? And should I succeed—and survive—can I bear the cost?

I falter, uncertain, allayed by doubt and fear. Yet I am keenly aware that no Aven’ei would hesitate to defend against the Topi; I must go, lest I lose this opportunity. I turn to move back along the length of the wall so that I might descend out of sight, but a change in the Topi’s stance gives me pause. The man stands perfectly still, his eyes fixed on something to my left. He lifts his bow, notches an arrow and pulls the cord taut; automatically, I train my eyes to where his target must be. A sickening sense of disbelief trickles through me as I see the small boy perched upon the wall on the opposite side of the gate, a large gray hound beside him.

“Keiji!” I scream, my knives stupidly forgotten, but the wind tears the word from my lips, and the archer lets the arrow fly. It strikes Keiji in the neck, knocking him backward behind the parapet. The dog launches itself over the top of the wall, skids and rolls over in the mud below, then flies across the field toward the archer. He catches the Topi by the throat and knocks him to the ground, tearing at the man’s flesh. For a moment, I am certain Aki has killed him. But the dog goes abruptly still, and half a second later, the archer scrambles backward into the wood, one hand at his throat and the other clutching a short, sharp knife.

Shaking, I clamber down the inner side of the wall as quickly as I can, without care or fear of the battle below. I no longer hear the crash of swords or the deafening rain and thunder. I only run, my feet digging into the mud, my arms pumping at my sides. Men fall and fight and die around me; I run through them, over them, past them. I leap for the wall when I reach the other side of the ruined gate; my fingers catch the lip of the wet, broken stone and cling with a strength borne purely of will. I climb upward, steadily, quickly, and pull myself over the side when I reach the top.

Keiji is there, small and broken, convulsing in the rain, the arrow driven through his throat just below his chin. His eyes are wide with shock, his hands hovering over his neck. He opens his mouth to speak, but there is no sound.

“It’s going to be all right, Keiji,” I say, with a certainty I do not feel. “Everything is going to be fine.”

A shadow falls over his body and I freeze, fear and remorse mingling in the pit of my stomach. I will die now. A Topi has followed me up the wall, and I will die here, and so will Keiji. This is the end.

But no hatchet falls, nor any sword—only the familiar deep voice of Noro cuts through the night.

“Who has done this?” he says.

I turn, relief washing over me. Noro stands rigid in the shadow of the tower wall, a short sword in his right hand and an axe in his left. There is a man with him, someone I’ve not seen before; he is older than Noro, and taller, dressed all in black. This, and the telltale strip of hair along his scalp, mark him clearly as an itzatsune. He is bleeding from both ears.

“Noro!” I say. “How did you—”

“Where is the archer?” he says, his voice like an icy pond.

I point a trembling finger toward the trees. “Aki went after him.”

Noro exchanges a glance with the itzatsune. The man nods and says, “I will see him to Eno Zu’n.”

Crouching down before Keiji, Noro whispers something I cannot hear. To me, he says nothing. An instant later, he disappears over the side of the wall in a burst of shadow.

The Topi archer, I surmise, does not have long to live.





CHAPTER 23





THE ITZATSUNE IS CALLED NOBUO, AND THOUGH he may be wounded, it does not seem to impede either his strength or his speed. He plucks Keiji from the wall and moves with all haste toward Eno’s home. I murmur soft words of reassurance to Keiji, keeping pace beside Nobuo as we pick our way through the empty streets.

The arrow is a sleek and slender thing, made monstrous by its deceptively delicate appearance. It has gone all the way through Keiji’s neck; the shaft must have cracked when he fell backward, and the last four inches of the point end—including the arrowhead—protrude at a grotesque angle. I don’t understand how he breathes, but I thank the heavens that he does.

Within minutes, I am pounding on Eno’s door. A curtain draws back at the front window; half a second later, the door opens. She steps back and ushers us inside.

“Down the hallway,” I say to Nobuo. “The second room on the right-hand side.”

He moves quickly and sets Keiji down on the bed in the healing room while Eno brings in a large lamp.

“Now go,” he says. “We will remove the arrow. You do not want to see.”

I sit at the edge of the bed and take Keiji’s hand in mine. “I will not leave him. Do what you must.”

As they make preparations, I smooth Keiji’s wet hair away from his face.

“What courage you have,” I say, tears in my eyes. “And rightly so, for all will be well soon enough.”