Eleven

C H A P T E R E L E V E N

es left the tavern in the early daylight. The ground was still muddy from the rain the day before but was already starting to firm up

and dry out. He was thankful for that and rode the horse carefully, sticking to the main roadway leading out of the village. As he did, he glanced back. The village seemed smaller in the daylight, though maybe that was only the overcast sky. A couple hundred people probably lived here, not much more than that, and they were far enough away from Anuhr that they wouldn't have the same protections as larger cities or those closer to the capital. Would that be why the three men had acted the way that they had? Could they resent the empire?

Fes had resented the empire for most of his life. It was only when Azithan had pulled him from the slums that he'd begun to feel differently about it, though would he continue to feel that way if his jobs suddenly ceased? It wasn't as if he had an allegiance to the empire. It was to Azithan.

Tearing his gaze away from the village, he rode swiftly, heading north toward the dragon fields. That would be how he'd find Alison and the priest, though by now he might be far enough behind them that it wouldn't matter.

There was no one else out on the road yet this morning, which he was thankful for because it let him keep a good pace. More importantly, there was no other sign of Carter and the soldiers—or Alison and the priest.

He had taken too long coming this way. The delay with Theole and Indra had kept him for a night, and then there had been the delay in the tavern from the rain. They would have been far ahead of him.

He needn't have worried.

It was evening on the second day after leaving the village when he came across a group of riders far in the distance. When he crested a

small rise, movement in the distance caught his attention. At first, Fes hadn't been sure what he saw, but the longer he rode, the more it became clear. Mercenaries.

Would that mean Carter?

If Carter was up ahead of him, there might not be anything he could do, especially if she outnumbered him. He wouldn't have put it past her—or the person who employed her—to hire dozens of soldiers. But would they have been enough to destroy the caravan? That seemed beyond even Carter.

Fes put the horse to a gallop to investigate, prepared to run were it necessary.

He reached them far more quickly than he should have. None wore the crimson and gold of the empire. All were dressed in dark leathers much like those he'd seen attacking the Bayars. There were ten in total, and two had bows pointed at him. There were far more of them than he had planned on.

Fes unsheathed his daggers and leaped off his horse as the arrows streaked toward him. They sunk into the side of the horse and the creature collapsed.

He'd have to take one of theirs, but that meant he'd have to survive. Fes leaped at the nearest man. He was holding a bow and was preparing another arrow, but Fes reached him before he could. He sliced through the bowman's arm, the blade severing bone as easily as it cut

through flesh.

The man screamed as he fell from his saddle.

Fes dropped to the ground, rolling underneath the horse, and came up springing at the next man. This one had a sword which he brought around. Fes deflected, jabbing with his left hand while blocking with his right. He cried out, and the air filled with the sound of his anger, heat boiling through him, the rage of the attack surging.

Fes welcomed the anger. He embraced the rage.

He jumped and crashed into one of the men while kicking at another. They'd been sitting too close together, and the one fell from his saddle while Fes swung around, jabbing his dagger into the first man's chest.

That left six people.

The mercenaries had recovered, and they converged on him.

One nocked an arrow and Fes started toward him, but two men blocked, both bringing their swords up.

That was too much for him. He couldn't stop them, and as much as he wanted to blindly attack, he knew better than to rush toward them.

Was there another possibility?

Fes reached into his cloak and pulled out the dagger that Tracen had made for him. It was well-made and excellent steel, and he threw it at the man with the bow.

He was the one who could do the most damage, at least from a distance.

That left five.

Five against him. Five armed with swords, pressing in with a circle as they squeezed toward him. The swords had a much better reach than his daggers, and he knew better than to confront them like this.

How was he going to handle five swordsmen?

He needed every bit of that anger, every bit of that rage, and he needed to find some way to let it fill him, consume him, and draw upon the strength that always came when it did.

Thinking back to his parents, he tried to remember what it had been like when he'd let that anger fill him. He'd been overwhelmed by it then, losing control, and only Benjan had managed to bring him back from it.

It nearly gutted him thinking back to it, and he hated that he had to, and hated that he used it this way, but losing them had been the most devastating thing that ever happened to him, and it was when he had lost them that he first fell into the rage.

Everything went blank.

Fes leaped, and he somehow cleared a slicing sword and jabbed his dagger into one man's eyes. He spun around, slicing with the other dagger, and he decapitated the next man. His hands were warm and sticky, and that angered him even more. The daggers didn't deserve that kind of blood, yet they seemed to welcome it.

He twisted, kicking out, and his boot connected with the stomach of one of the men, who doubled over. Fes jabbed up with his knife, catching him in the eye. Two more.

He twisted, coming around, and he caught this man in the chest. Where had the last gone?

He was missing.

Fes looked up, wiping away the blood that had sprayed all over his face, and saw the man riding off, galloping east.

Fes stood rooted in place as he looked around.

The rage began to ease, beating in time with his heart as it slowed, and he shook, trying not to think about what had happened. He'd killed, much like he had the night his parents had died. He couldn't keep allowing himself to fall into the rage—it was the reason he'd wanted to get away from Horus—but it was easy out here. Almost as if Horus had known that he'd need to reach for that part of him again.

Fes took a moment to search these men. He forced himself to do so, knowing that he needed to see what they were after. Two of them had nothing more than a few silvers. He pocketed that. It was no use letting money go to waste, especially when he had earned it.

One of the men had a woven bracelet in his pocket. Fes tried not to think about what that meant but failed. It was an engagement charm, given to him by the woman who he now would no longer see ever again.

When he reached the fourth person, he found something surprising in his pockets. This was a carving, and it took Fes a moment to realize that it had come from the Bayars. The style was similar to what he'd seen in their tent.

These men had been involved in that attack.

And they were likely with Carter. That still didn't explain the fire, which meant there were others. But why would a fire mage work with Carter?

The rest of the men had nothing.

Fes stood and grabbed two of the horses. They had remained here while he had killed these men, which told him that they were seasoned horses. He needed to find the priest and Alison, but more importantly, he needed to get ahead of Carter.

But what if he was too late?

It was possible Carter already had reached Alison and the priest. As much as he wanted to avoid her, he needed to know. And the man who had ridden off would lead him to her.

Fes climbed into one of the saddles and headed east.

The rain helped him track the other rider. The man must've been riding the horse hard, likely terrified of the fact that one man in a fit of crazy rage had managed to kill ten—well, nine. Fes was thankful for the fact that he was able to track him, and was grateful for the fact that the rain had granted him that ability, and he kept a rapid pace. As long as there was daylight, he didn't think that he would lose sight of the other man.

Near evening, another village appeared.

The tracks led directly to the village. Fes knew where he had to go, just as he knew that Carter would be there. How many more mercenaries would there be? Would he be able to get to Alison?

They had seen dozens when the merchant caravan had been attacked. Did that mean that there were still dozens remaining?

If so, where were they?

It was possible that they had been sent back to the capital, but why leave only a small contingent, unless they didn't expect any difficulty?

Maybe they hadn't expected Fes.

This was all Horus's fault.

He must have known; it must have been the reason he'd wanted Fes's involvement, but then this hadn't only been about Horus. It had been the priest who'd wanted Fes. Had he known what they would encounter? If so, why send only two of them? Why wouldn't he have wanted more? Two wouldn't be nearly enough, not against dozens of mercenaries. And not against Carter.

Carter would be at the inn, if there were one. He came upon it near the center of the village.

It was louder than the last, and Fes was careful to tie up the two horses he had stolen near the back of the tavern. If he had to escape, he could head out the back and make quick work of getting away.

Hesitating at the door, he considered turning back. Alison and Talmund might not even be here. They could have gotten ahead of Carter, but something told him they hadn't.

And there was another advantage to coming in this way. Carter would know that he followed. If nothing else, she would hesitate.

Or so he hoped.

He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

It was arranged similar to the last tavern, with rows of tables and benches along them. The tables were crowded, dozens of men in here, and his gaze drifted around until he came upon the one person that he least wanted to see—and the one person that he most needed to see.

Fes searched the inside of the tavern as he made his way over to Carter. She was laughing loudly while eating, waving her hands in the air while talking to three men around him. Her bright red hair was braided and hung down her back.

There was no sign of the man who had gotten away, but he had to be here.

Which meant Carter had to know that Fes would be on his way.

A direct approach. That was the only way to go about this. If Carter would know that he was coming, it only made sense for him to approach her directly.

Unsurprisingly, Carter sat at the end of a bench. It was an easier way to get out, with only one person on her side to get away from. Fes found an empty chair and dragged it over, slamming his fist on the table as he took a seat.

Carter looked over at him lazily. A sneer parted her lips. "Fezarn," she said, drawing out the name.

Fes glared at her, and when someone to his left reached for him, Fes grabbed his wrist and snapped it quickly. "Have your men stay back."

"Impressive. I didn't know that Fezarn had such anger inside him. I could have used you long ago."

"You were never going to be able to use me," he said.

"No? Others would say differently." She smiled, tilting her head so that the flames caught her bright red hair, almost matching it. "I didn't think that you'd actually leave your master like this."

Fes gritted his teeth. She wanted a reaction out of him, and he had to do everything in his power to avoid giving her what she wanted.

"Why are you here?"

"I imagine I'm here for the same reason as you. Why are you here, Fezarn?"

"A job."

"Job?" Carter asked with feigned ignorance. "Why would Fezarn need to take a job? Why would he be out here when Azithan is back in the empire?" She leaned toward him. "Unless this is for Azithan. And if it is, I must ask why you had to come all the way out here?"

"A job," he repeated.

"A job that has to do with a priest. And dragon relics of incredible value." Fes must have reacted because Carter smiled. "Yes, I'm well aware of your job. Probably more than you."

"You followed us."

"I followed the priest. I wonder, what do you know about your job?" "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you aren't prepared, Fezarn. You are skilled, and the men you've killed will cost me, but you can't cross the dragon plains with only a priest and another thief."

"Why not?"

"You know so little, don't you? A shame they hired you. Anuhr is much more interesting with you there." She winked at him. "But without a mage, you can't even reach what you seek."

"Why is that?"

She smiled, and something was condescending about the way she did it. "What you're after takes more than a dragon relic thief. More than a priest. It requires a mage."

Fes stared, unblinking. Could Carter be telling him the truth?

Why would she lie? She obviously believed that he couldn't reach what he was after, not without help they didn't have.

Had Azithan known?

If he had, why not say something? Or better yet, come with them?

He looked along the table. The men watched him, and he had the uneasy sense that he wasn't going to be getting away from this easily. There were more here than he could fight and escape.

The only way was to bluster and make them afraid of him. With what he'd done already, they had reason to fear him. "I'm going to get

to it before you do," Fes started. "Regardless of what you think, I'm not going to stop until I get there, and—"

Carter shrugged. "Go ahead and try." With that, she nodded.

Fes jumped to his feet. Everyone at Carter's end of the table—nearly a dozen—all got to their feet and converged on him.

He stared at Carter, glaring at her for a moment. A dozen. Could he take out a dozen?

He'd just managed to survive against nine, and that was when he allowed the rage to consume him. Could he do the same against more than that?

Carter watched, as if trying to determine what Fes might do. For what it was worth, Fes was trying to decide what he would do. Was it worth it to attack? Or should he wait?

He took a deep breath, backing up. Now wasn't the time to fight Carter. Now that he knew she was here, now that he knew that she didn't have the priest and Alison—if she did, he would have said something by now—he needed to get out of here and regroup. He needed to prepare for the next move, though he wasn't sure what that would be.

He located the back door to the tavern, thankful he had tied the horses up there rather than leaving them out front.

Spinning quickly, he bolted for the back door and into the alley outside, grabbing the reins of the horses and jumping into the saddle. Surprisingly, the men didn't follow him.

Then again, maybe it wasn't surprising. Fes had killed off a dozen of them, so they would be cautious.

He rode off, going quickly. He headed north, cutting across the ground, no longer trying to stick to the trails. He wanted to make good time. He was willing to ride throughout the night, and with two horses, he thought that he could.

And what had he learned? He had learned that Carter knew of the dragon relic and that it was incredibly valuable. And he had determined there was a fire mage with her, though he hadn't seen them.

With a fire mage, they would be able to cross the dragon plains. And they'd be able to recover the relic. If what Carter said was right—and he had no real reason to doubt it—how did the priest intend to do the same without one?