The Silent Tempest (Book 2) Page 8

  He smiled, “Then I’ll have to kill you.”

  “Most of us are Prathions,” noted one of the others. “Even if you tried, you couldn’t catch us all.”

  “I could get most of you,” said Tyrion with resignation. Focusing on the one who had spoken, he added, “I’ll make sure you’re one of them.”

  “Alright,” said Laori commandingly. “Let them go.”

  The others stood silent, none of them arguing the decision. Tyrion nodded at Kate, and she moved to help Alan Tennick to his feet before taking Brigid by the hand.

  “Take them to Colne,” said Tyrion. “I’ll meet you there when I’m finished here.”

  “How do we know you’ll keep your promise?” asked Trina as their former prisoners began to walk away.

  “Because if I don’t, you’ll kill me,” answered Tyrion. He motioned for Kate, Brigid, and Alan to keep moving.

  “Take them off now,” challenged Trina. “If you fail, those of us who survive will hunt them down.”

  “Fair enough,” said Tyrion, “but let me take care of the storm first.”

  “Then the rumors are true?” said Laori. “You can control the sky?”

  Tyrion walked to the edge of the camp and extending one finger he sent a thin beam of force into the ground, etching a line there. He made his way around the fire in a wide circle that was at least fifteen yards across, surrounding them in its circumference.

  “How will that change the storm?” questioned Trina.

  Tyrion gave her a feral grin, “It won’t.” He spoke another word, and the tattoos on his body flared, covering him with hard translucent planes of magical force. “It’s just to make sure you don’t escape.”

  Lines of power struck him from all sides as he lifted his arms, raising a spherical shield around the campsite, enclosing the wardens within it. Several of the Prathions made themselves invisible but they had nowhere to run now. They were trapped. Laori sent a hastily made spellbeast at Tyrion but he cut it neatly in two with one stroke.

  Tyrion’s arms were sheathed in blades of magical force, and the enchanted shield around his body allowed him to ignore their attacks as he began to dance around the campfire. Laughing, he cut them apart; arms, legs, and torsos falling away as blood filled the air. Sanguine fluids sprayed everything but failed to touch him; the enchanted shield keeping his skin and clothing pristine while the ground around him turned red.

  Kate watched in horror from beyond the edge of the circle, and Brigid began to retch. Alan Tennick remained silent, his one good eye closed as he tried not to see the butchery his son was committing. He could not stop his ears from hearing it, though.

  Screams and Tyrion’s haunting laughter filled the night.

  Chapter 9

  The battle, if it could be called that, was over. The camp was silent now but for the sound of the fire and the soft moans of those who had yet to finish dying. Tyrion stood near the fire, his heart still pounding and his skin flushed from exertion. He felt more alive than he had in years and he licked his lips as he looked around him.

  I forgot how much I missed it, he thought. The guilt he had once felt after his bouts in the arena was a faint shadow of what it had once been. In its place was something more akin to excitement.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the look of revulsion on Kate’s face. She held Brigid close against her, shielding the child’s face from view. Alan Tennick sat facing away, holding his hands over his ears.

  It must have sounded pretty awful, too, thought Tyrion, suppressing a sudden chuckle. They don’t understand. They couldn’t possibly understand. The only people who could understand this feeling are the ones I just slew. Looking down, he studied the mangled bodies that lay scattered around him.

  Three were still alive, if only barely. Two men, one with a deep cut passing through his abdomen and another who had somehow managed to seal the arteries in his legs after Tyrion had cut them off. The third was Trina, part of her head and skull had been shorn away, yet somehow she still breathed, lying wide-eyed and silent on the bloody earth. Of the three, only the man who had lost his legs looked to have any chance of living more than a short time.

  Bending down, he examined Trina. Her injury reminded him somehow of the way a chicken might survive for a while after losing its head. Her heart beat, her lungs continued to fill with air, but her mind was gone. She was unlikely to last more than a few minutes.

  The slave collar around her neck drew his attention. Focusing his magesight until he could make out the finer details of the spellweaving it was composed of, he spent half a minute before reaching out and cutting through it. Trina’s blood began to boil within her as the collar disintegrated, and moments later she was dead.

  Hmmm.

  Turning to the man who was dying from a gut wound he saw the fellow was still conscious. “What are you going to do?” the warden asked.

  “What I promised,” said Tyrion. “I’m going to remove your collar.” Repeating the process he had followed with Trina, he deliberated carefully before cutting through the collar in a different location. The warden died seconds later, his death no less gruesome.

  The last man was silent, he had blacked out from loss of blood while Tyrion attended to the others.

  “Lucky you,” he told the unconscious man. After studying him for a minute he cut the last warden’s collar as well. The man’s heart stopped, and he died almost instantly.

  But his blood didn’t boil, noted Tyrion clinically.

  The aythar faded from the last man, and now Tyrion was truly alone. At his feet was a headless corpse, a man with a name tattooed on his hand, ‘Garlin’.

  His adrenaline gone, Tyrion’s stomach tightened at the sight. A sense of vertigo washed over him. He could still hear Garlin’s last words, ‘Thank you, Tyrion, for the music’. He couldn’t remember ever hearing the man say ‘thank you’ before. It was probably one of the least used phrases among the people kept by the She’Har, almost as rare as the word ‘love’.

  A dark ache crept through him until his body felt consumed by a cold phantom pain radiating from the center of his being. He wanted to cry, but tears refused to come, and his eyes remained stubbornly dry.

  He understood. He knew I had to do it, he told himself. The words were true, but they did nothing for him. Instead he changed the words he told himself, I feel nothing. I feel nothing. I am empty.

  The pain faded but did not disappear.

  With an errant gesture and a thought he released the shield enclosing the bloody campground. A second later he dismissed the shield enchantment that encased his body. It had worked well, though it was the first time he had ever tested it. With his enemies dead it would remain a surprise for his next opponent.

  “Bring the girl,” he said, turning toward Colne. His voice sounded different in his ears, rougher.

  I feel nothing.

  “Where are you going?” asked his father, finding his voice at last.

  “To collect the rest of my children,” he replied. “Can you walk?”

  Alan nodded, “I think so.”

  “Then go home.” He looked at Kate, “Come on, we don’t have forever.”

  “Let me come with you, Daniel,” said his father, a faint tremor in his voice. He was afraid, but not yet ready to abandon his son.

  “So you can see more of what your son has become?” said Tyrion bitterly. “Go home.”

  “Let me take Brigid back with me,” suggested Alan.

  “It isn’t over, Father,” said Tyrion. “They will keep coming until they have every child I sired. She will never be safe here.”

  “What about Haley? Is she safe with you? Do you know where they took her?”

  The hope in Alan’s voice tore at him, but he answered with an honest cruelty that made him hate himself even more, “No. She isn’t safe. A different grove has her. I did what I could. That’s why I’m here. The best I can do is to make sure that they don’t get any others.”

  “But—you�
��re going to take them to the forest gods anyway?” Alan was still very unclear on the distinctions between the different groves of the She’Har.

  “My…” he paused for a second, searching for the right word, “…owner, is different, less cruel. If she has them I will have some control over what happens to them. They won’t be forced to fight each other.”

  Meanwhile, Brigid was pulling away from Kate. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered to her half-sister.

  Kate glanced somewhat fearfully at Tyrion, hoping he hadn’t heard the girl’s words. She wasn’t sure how stable he was anymore. The last thing she wanted was for him to turn his psychotic rage loose on Brigid. “Shhh,” she replied. “It’s alright. He’s going to do his best for us. You have to trust him.”

  “I’m scared, Kate,” admitted Brigid tremulously.

  “Let’s go,” said Tyrion, ignoring his father’s gaze as he walked away. Kate pulled her sister along in his wake.

  “You won’t leave me will you?” Brigid asked her.

  Kate shook her head, “No, sweetheart. I won’t. I’m coming with you. I’ll be there.”

  ***

  Tom Hayes stood behind the door to his store. Tyrion had knocked loudly several times, which had awoken the store owner, but the hour was late. They had arrived in Colne close to midnight, and everyone had already been long abed.

  “Mr. Hayes, open the door,” said Tyrion. “I know you’re standing there.”

  “Who is it?” asked Tom Hayes uncertainly.

  Tyrion’s patience was running out, and his brow furrowed as he struggled with his temper.

  “Tom, this is Kate Tolburn. I’m outside with Brigid and Daniel Tennick. Please open up, it’s late.”

  Tyrion’s magesight easily picked up the flare in Tom Hayes’ emotional state at the sound of his name. Fear. The last time he had been in the town of Colne it hadn’t been pretty. He had threatened, maimed, and even branded some of the townsfolk.

  They had deserved it, though.

  “My wife is sick,” said Tom hesitantly.

  “She’s standing three feet behind you, and she seems fine to me,” said Tyrion angrily. “Open the door, or you won’t have a store for much longer.”

  “Daniel, you can’t threaten everyone you meet…” began Kate.

  Cold eyes burned into her like ice, “This isn’t a social call. I’m here to take every child I fathered and hand them over into slavery. You think I should pretend to be a kindly guest?”

  A fire kindled inside her, and her old spirit began to assert itself, “You have a good cause, don’t paint yourself worse than…”

  “I’m the lesser of two evils, Kate,” he interrupted, “That doesn’t make me good.”

  The door opened in front of him, and Tom Hayes peeked around the edge, “What do you want?”

  Tyrion molded his will and pushed the door open even as he wrapped Tom in a bubble of force, driving him aside and trapping him on one side of the room. The man’s wife, Alice, stared at him in horror as he entered the room. “Tell your son, Thaddeus, to come downstairs.”

  “Y—you k—knew I had a son?” stammered Alice.

  Kate stepped forward, claiming the space between them, “The forest gods know as well, Alice. They’re coming to take all of them. It will be much worse if they get Tad. Daniel is trying to protect them.”

  “You can’t have my son,” declared Alice, mustering her courage.

  Tyrion stepped forward, prompting Tom to shout from the side where he was still imprisoned, “Please, don’t hurt her!”

  He stopped, frustrated—tired. It had been a long day, and he was surrounded by nothing but resistance. He had expected that. Tyrion knew he was the villain of his own private story, but he was tired of arguing at every turn, tired of being hated.

  “We’ll sleep here,” he announced, surprising everyone. “I’m taking your bedroom for the night, Alice. Kate, Brigid, and Thaddeus will stay in the room with me. You and your husband can sleep wherever else you like, but don’t leave the building.”

  “What?” said Alice, somewhat alarmed.

  “You heard me.”

  “Are you taking us prisoner?” asked Tom.

  “You can think of it like that if you prefer,” he answered. “Stay here and behave yourself, and we will be gone tomorrow. Leave, talk to anyone, or try to warn the rest of the town, and you’ll regret it. Don’t forget your son will be sleeping in the room with me.” He motioned at Kate to head for the stairs while at the same time releasing the shield imprisoning Tom.

  Once upstairs they woke Thaddeus and forced the confused teenager to relocate to what had been his parent’s bedroom. When they were all inside Tyrion sealed the door and window to make certain no one could leave. Removing his boots, he lay down on the bed. He didn’t bother giving any instructions to the others. They could sleep on the floor or stand all night, either way he didn’t care. He closed his eyes.

  ***

  The warmth of someone beside him was comforting, the touch of another’s skin. The tight ache that seemed to constantly clutch at his heart eased a bit. Tyrion was surprised, he hadn’t expected Kate would be willing to chance getting near him after what she had seen the day before.

  Stretching out his hand, he felt the gentle curve of her hip. He traced her leg down to the knee, which had been thrown over his own leg. She was close against him and her warm breath fluttered against his neck. He could feel her arm across his bare chest.

  He didn’t remember taking off his clothes, but he was glad they were gone. Opening his eyes, he found soft morning sunlight filtering into the room. The others were gone, but he didn’t mind, he was alone with Kate. He pulled a lock of her hair across his face, enjoying the soft feel of it accompanied by the scent of summer flowers.

  He closed his eyes again. This was a moment not to be disturbed. It needed to go on, but he felt her move and seconds later the soft touch of her lips on his.

  He returned the kiss, but the taste of iron brought with it a feeling of guilt. Her lip had been split when he struck her. I’m so sorry, he thought. It was necessary, or they’d have seen through our deception.

  He was considering how to apologize when she pulled away. Studying her face clearly in the morning light, he noted that today it was even more bruised and swollen. Kate’s eyes held a look of sadness and resignation.

  “Thank you, Tyrion, for the music.” The words came from her lips, but the voice was Garlin’s.

  He stared at her in horror, and a feeling of immense dread swept over him. “No!” he shouted, wanting to deny what he knew was coming. Her head vanished, exploding into a red mess of gore and blood. He screamed again, searching the room with all his senses, trying to find the source of her death, but he knew it had been him.

  Tyrion thrust himself out of the bed, his hand flailing to find his sword.

  Kate sat in the corner holding her sister while Tad was close beside her. All three of them were staring at him with frightened expressions.

  It was a dream.

  Glancing down, he saw that he still wore his leathers from the day before. His sword was still belted at his side, and Kate’s crossbow lay on the floor. He had fallen asleep from sheer exhaustion, and the others had been too fearful to approach him. The other pillows were still on the bed.

  They slept on the floor, without pillows or blankets.

  As the world sorted itself out, falling into place within his head, he searched for words to reassure them. “Are you hungry?” was the best he could manage.

  The boy nodded, and Brigid whispered in her sister’s ear. “They have to pee,” said Kate in a neutral tone.

  That made sense. He felt the urge as well. Casting his senses outward, he located Alice and Tom Hayes. They were still downstairs. Tom sat nervously at a table while Alice was in the kitchen.

  Tyrion unsealed the door and gestured toward it, “Let’s go down. We can take care of our bladders and bellies…” The words sounded stupid in his ears, b
ut he had no gift of eloquence.

  Kate ushered the two teens in front of her, and they went down.

  Tom greeted them with a nervous look, making room at the table but keeping his mouth shut. After they had taken turns visiting the outhouse they sat with him, and a few minutes later Alice brought out several heavy clay bowls filled with warm porridge.

  “Thank you,” said Tyrion quietly, the words awkward from long disuse.

  They ate in silence.

  When they had finished Tyrion glanced around the table, “I need to know their names.”

  Alice, Tom, and Kate shared several glances between them, but none of them spoke. An awkward pause grew until at last Kate took up the challenge, “We aren’t entirely sure which ones are yours. Some may not be yours, even if…”

  “…Even if they are the right age?” he finished for her. “I’ll list the women for you. You tell me which ones have children the same age as Brigid and Thaddeus. Fiona Brown, Emily Banks, Jennifer Wilson, Greta Baker, Rachel Moore, Wilma Carter, Sally Phillips, Peggy…,” he stopped for a moment. “What was her last name?”

  “Do you mean Mrs. Morris?” asked Alice.

  “I think that’s her,” he affirmed.

  “Let me get some paper,” she suggested. Rising she found one of the old ledgers and returned with it and a small bottle of ink. It took her a moment to prepare the pen, but a few minutes later she was penning the names he had given in the margin of one of the pages.

  “Laura Collins, Mrs. Price—I don’t remember her first name…,” he admitted.

  “Selma,” provided Kate.

  He nodded, “Greta Baker…”

  “You said that one already,” said Alice.

  He continued until he ran out of names and had begun to repeat himself.

  “What about Laura Collins?” suggested Kate, “She has a son the right age.”

  “I forgot her,” he agreed.

  “Vicky Jenkins?” added Alice. “Her daughter Piper is fifteen now as well.”

  Tyrion nodded, the name jogged another memory, “Darla Long too, she lived next door to Vicky.”

  “Did you just go door to door?” asked Kate in a tone of disgust, daylight and his calm mood had erased much of her earlier anxiety.