the company behind him. “Keep them back,” he said quietly to Marston, knowing that the Banes would slaughter the men and women prepared to fight for him.
“Aye, my lord.” Marston slipped away, herding the company back across the square with him.
Israel took a moment to study the face of each of the three Banesmen, not recognizing them. “You are part of my son’s company?” he asked the three men, adding before they could answer, “You must be the men that Lord Hallow spirited away after the battle at Starfall. What do you here in Abet?”
“We seek revenge for our liege lord,” the middle man snarled, his skin, a dusky blue, turning a darker hue while his eyes positively snapped with anger.
“For Deo?” Israel frowned. “Then you would do better to sail to Genora, for he is not on Aryia.”
“We do not seek his grave, wherever you had him buried,” the leftmost man said, making an abrupt gesture toward him. “But we will avenge his death, you may be sure of that.”
“His death?” Israel shook his head, realizing that the men believed the scene that had played out in Starfall. He thought of explaining to them what had really happened, but knew instinctively that they would not believe him.
In their eyes, he was guilty of killing his own son, and little but Deo’s presence before them would shake them of that conviction. No, the only way he’d get past them into the keep was by removing them from the picture. He wondered if he had the strength to defeat the three Banes on his own. One, perhaps, but three? He gave another little shake of the head.
“Jalas told us how you had planned to destroy Lord Deo the minute you realized that he had done what no one else could—he had mastered chaos power. Jalas said you feared the power Lord Deo held, that you wed the woman to whom he was betrothed, and that above all else, you sought a reason to have him removed from Alba, and when that chance presented itself, you took it. We are here to avenge Lord Deo’s death upon you. We, who believed in him when you did not, will see to it that all know the truth.”
A light touch on his arm had Israel turning his head to where Sandor stood, her gaze on the three men. No, he could not fight them alone, but he was not alone. Sandor stood in Kiriah Sunbringer’s favor, and had magic of her own.
“Are you up for this?” His voice was soft, but he knew she could read the intention in his face.
“Always,” she said with a little smile, and he had a suspicion she was remembering the time some three hundred years in the past when they had celebrated—in the most primal way a man and woman could—a hard-won victory over the Starborn. “Work our way from right to left?”
“Of course.” He was making a mental note that sometime in the near future he would have to inform Sandor that Dasa, despite having been his enemy for centuries, held his heart, and nothing would change that. Those thoughts, along with the general sense of worry that had gripped him since their return from Eris, were pushed out of his mind, however, as his fingers clasped the bones, roots, and feathers, the old familiar words coming to his lips.
“Kiriah, bringer of life
surround me with the heat of your truth
touch my spirit with this place
and banish the energies that would act against me.
May the four forces heed my plea:
From the ground, I beg strength
From the rock, resilience
From the life around me, intention
And Kiriah above, power.
So it is, so it was, so it will be.”
He released the power gathered in his talismans just as Sandor, who had been kneeling, her hands clasped together as she called upon the goddess to bless them, suddenly stood up and lunged forward in one smooth movement, a sword that had been strapped beneath her overdress flashing with the golden light of Kiriah Sunbringer. The rocks and stones that made up Alba answered Israel’s call, the ground rumbling as cracks appeared beneath the three men’s feet, the long lines turning black as they leached life from the Banes.
Sandor swung her sword, the runes on it glowing so brightly they left little trails of sparks on the air when she struck the rightmost Bane. His head bounced down the stairs before the other Banes realized what had happened.
The middle Bane roared, spilling red chaos outward in a wave that knocked Israel back several yards. Hastily, he scrambled to his feet, hampered by the long red tendrils that seeped out of the cracks in the rocks, twining around his legs and capturing him. He roared an oath, yelling for Marston to help Sandor when the two Banes turned their attention to her. Pain whipped through him with burning intensity, ripping breath from his lungs and causing the muscles in his legs to buckle from the strain. He felt as if he had been chained to anvils and tossed into an inferno—a sentient inferno, one that turned an eye to him and laughed in a mocking manner while he desperately summoned the Grace of Alba, throwing protective ward after ward onto the figure of Sandor. Despite the Banes’ magic, her sword danced, flashing white against the dark wooden doors of the keep.
Before Israel could do more than send a fervent prayer to Kiriah Sunbringer to grant help to her priestess, the two Banes broke free of his magic and both turned to face Sandor. For a moment, Israel thought she was going to do the impossible and slay them, but in the space between heartbeats, the chaos magic they wielded snapped out. As it slammed into her, Sandor’s screams rose high into the still morning air.
And then she was gone, a thick, wet puddle of chaos magic on the ground all that remained of the vibrant woman who had stood against legions of enemies for more centuries than Israel could remember.
Marston had reached him by that point. Israel stood stunned, refusing to accept that Sandor could be cut down so swiftly, just as if she was nothing more than a bit of ash ground underfoot.
“My lord,” Marston said in a harsh, rushed voice, pulling on his arm. “We must retreat. The company will be slain by these monstrosities.”
“She’s gone,” Israel said, his mind reeling for a few moments before he drew himself back from the brink of rage. The two Banes were now facing him, clearly gathering power to wipe out the rest of them. Israel threw a couple of hasty binding wards onto the men, pain pricking his palms when suddenly the bones and roots cracked under the strain of his spells. He threw them down, casting one last agonized glance at the spot where Sandor had stood, before giving in to Marston’s demands.
They escaped while the Banes were still bound to the steps of the keep, allowing Israel and his company to retreat to their camp atop the southern hill. For a horrible few hours, Israel feared the Banes would pursue them, but to his relief, they remained in Abet. He stared absently at his hands, noting the scars of past battles, and the new, bloody lines caused by the breaking ofhis talismans. “I will have to get new ones,” he said to himself, sorrow, guilt, and fury spinning around inside him in a complex knot of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.
But he had not been a leader for most of his life without learning a few valuable lessons, one of which was that loss was inevitable.
“A senseless loss, though…no. That I will not stand for. She will be avenged,” he swore under his breath. Idril, who stood next to him holding a wooden flagon, simply raised an eyebrow.
“The priestess will be in the spirit realm, waiting for Kiriah to call her to her side. Sandor is beyond such things as revenge,” Idril said softly.
“I am not,” he answered in a voice that was as bleak as the gray stones that formed the hill beneath their feet. He turned away from Idril, spurning her offers of attention to his wounds.
“What will you do now?” she called after him, her normally placid voice scraping sharp as a razor on his flesh.
He hesitated at the entrance of his tent, his eyes on the one next door. It belonged to Sandor. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply of the scents of pine, sun-warmed