Exalted, page 24
Indecision weighed within Hest, a heaviness in his chest that willed him to sit down, to comply, to wait for Stymori to—
The lowmar! It was pulling at him still. Ahead on the road, he could hear Stymori hissing threats.
Mouth tight and eyes wide, Hest said through clenched teeth, “Sydur, go! If Nwa gains control of me, he’ll have me kill you.”
The cannonsea’s eyes softened, and Hest could hear the mage’s voice growing strident. “You won’t allow that. Now come before he returns.”
With a final glance at the Aeguskey, Hest nodded, lowering his blade.
Are you coming too, Usheen?
Not yet. Let them think they have me for now.
Goshkeah smiled as he extended a hand for Hest to dismount. The gesture comforted Hest’s heart. He remembered when the Rittider had first seen his silver eyes. Now, silver eyes were the least of his worries.
“Good to have you back, Moregot.”
“Thank you, Goshkeah. I’d like to be myself, but for now, this will do.”
At that moment a blast of green luminance shot shadows across the rocky terrain. Whirling, Hest and Goshkeah saw the jiddee’adar, his hood thrown back and his staff extended, the point of the tool glowing like the dappled light of Graen through a treetop.
With a look of sudden remembrance Nwa turned and, with a cry of dismay, ran toward Hest, the ring extended. Hest’s heart beat faster, and the pull became stronger the closer Nwa came.
Goshkeah stepped between them, his sword raised, while the sorcerer and mage began their battle in earnest, lighting up the plain with their power. Nwa, though, had only one focus, and he didn’t stop until the tip of the warrior’s blade pressed against his chest.
“Toss the ring, Aeguskey.”
Nwa stared Goshkeah down, nearly jeering. “And if I don’t?”
“I’ll run you through like you did to my friends.”
The Aeguskey rubbed his fingers along the ring, each movement a twinge in Hest’s chest. Nwa pressed his thumb against the side, holding it firmly in place, and Hest gasped for air as he fought to lower his blade, watching white and green light flash off its surface in turns. His face contorting with furious disdain, Nwa tried one more time, clenching the ring in his fist, and Hest took one involuntary step, then another.
His snarl becoming a triumphant grin, Nwa straightened up. “Try it, warrior. I don’t think you’ll have time.”
Goshkeah didn’t bandy words; he thrust the sword between the young man’s ribs.
Hest gasped as his legs carried him forward. He knew Nwa was dying, but the ring was still firmly in his grip, and it was pulling him. Hest set his feet and pulled against its command with all his might, slowing each step that carried him closer to Goshkeah.
Nwa’s voice burbled, blood frothing on his lips, his words unintelligible, and he slumped, sliding off the Rittider’s blade.
Nwa’s eyes shown with hate; he focused on Hest and started to raise the ring—
Goshkeah swept his bloodied sword down and cleaved Nwa’s hand from his arm. The ring rolled out of his palm and away into the darkness, losing its glow as it went, its clatter muting the soft sigh of a breath that tried to become a scream—but fell in a shrill gasp, the last of its kind.
Panting, Hest relaxed his stance and came to stand beside Goshkeah. “’Tisn’t... how I... envisioned his end, but... thank you.”
Nwa’s lifeless eyes gazed at the sky, his features frozen in a mixture of loathing and disbelief. Hest wanted to feel sorry for the waste he had made of his life, chasing vengeance to the end, but all he could feel was relief.
Lugh called, Now, boiwith, I need your assistance.
“The jiddee’adar needs my help,” Hest said, gathering his courage.
“I’ll have your back, Moregot.” Goshkeah saluted.
Usheen, are you ready?
At your command, heart of my hearts, Usheen replied as he sat up and unfurled himself from the wagon.
With a lightness Hest hadn’t felt in many moonsteps, he lifted his sword and ran toward the sanyalee.
Lugh and Stymori dueled with all the ferocious vigor of younger men trading blasts that streaked like falling stars through the dark. Both were panting, and by a white light at the sanyalee’s temple and a green one at Lugh’s, Hest could see the sweat that beaded on their skin and plastered their hair to their foreheads. As they circled, Lugh dodged left and right, trying to keep Stymori facing away from Hest and Goshkeah.
Despite the clear opportunity, Hest couldn’t bring himself to stab the man in the back. Instead, he touched the carrick in his hilt and willed the flame to dance along the blade, then pressed that against the sanyalee’s ribs. Air whistled through the man’s lips when he felt the steel.
“I would hold still if I were you.” Hest increased the pressure on the blade.
Immediately, his chest throbbed, but now he knew how to counter it. Drawing on the laubrach, he pushed back against the lowmar. His chest began to glow with the same white light wreathing the sanyalee’s hands.
“Are you going to surrender,” Hest demanded with the low, cold tone of kingship, “or would you rather face immediate execution?”
The lowmar flared brighter, but Hest only flashed a fierce smile. The laubrach was shielding him.
He took a step closer to the sanyalee, his blade never wavering, only shifting, leaving a scorched trail along the man’s robes.
“Careful, Stymori, or you’ll go up like a torch.”
Stymori gave a contemptuous sneer. “Wool doesn’t burn, little king. I’m not the fool you take me for.”
Hest took a careful step into Lugh’s field of vision, never taking his eyes off Stymori. “How are you holding up, jiddee’adar?”
“Thankful for your arrival, Moregot. We—”
Stymori made a sudden move, lunging for Hest. A white shield flared, extinguishing the sword’s flame before his hands landed on Hest’s chest, and the breastplate crackled to life. The sanyalee screamed, his face a portrait of astonished dismay, and Hest looked on in horror as white lightning lanced from the breastplate, arcing across to lash up Stymori’s arms and conjoin at his throat. The scream was cut short.
Now, Usheen!
The flame rained down upon them, wrapping Stymori in a flare too bright to see through, and Hest choked on the smell of burning wool, hair, and flesh, mixed with a metallic scent. Then as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. He blinked, clearing his vision; the sanyalee, or what was left of him, crumbled into a heap of ash and charred bone that glistened as Grean reasserted its rightful place in the sky.
Usheen stepped forward, and Hest nodded, his sword arm dropping.
Come, heart of my hearts. Regain your strength, then you may return to your bratnoor.
Collapsing against Usheen’s chest, Hest wrapped his arms around the arc lukesure. A pleasant warmth enveloped him, and he sank into it. He didn’t care that even with his eyes closed, he saw a silver tinge. The only thing that mattered was that they were alive, and they were together.
A hand rested on his shoulder, but Hest had neither the energy nor the desire to respond.
“Moregot?” Goshkeah whispered. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but what do we do with the others?”
Hest drew in a shuddering breath. Not now. He didn’t have the will for anything more. Without answering, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to block out the rest of the world. A steady thudding drew him in, and he slid to the ground beside Usheen.
“Cannonsea!”
Hest blocked out the Rittider’s call and focused on his arc lukesure’s heartbeats, focused on the peace they created.
Couldn’t they leave him be? Hest groaned at the hands that pushed and pulled on him. A voice breached his quiet, disturbing the rhythm of Usheen’s hearts.
“Come, boiwith, wake up.”
The voice was familiar, but Hest couldn’t place it. Instead, he drifted back to the warmth.
“It’s not working, Lugh. Can’t you get it loose?”
Something pried at his left hand. He squeezed it tighter.
“Let go, boiwith,” a different voice commanded, and green light seeped past the silver behind Hest’s lids.
Hest tried to turn aside, but the other person stood there.
Give me peace!
“We need you to come out of it, Moregot,” a third voice ventured, more timid than the other two.
Let me be. I need rest.
The gruff, older voice answered, “And you’ll get it once you give me back my carrick.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we let him sleep, Lugh?”
Comfort wrapped around Hest as if his father had pulled him into his lap.
Aye, sleep, Lugh.
“Nay, if he sleeps with the carrick and lowmar both with him, there’s no telling what damage will be done. He’s not trained with them.” Lugh pried open Hest’s talons one by one.
“You get the sword away from him. It’s not enough though; the lowmar is our greatest concern, and I can hardly withstand its power enough to touch it.”
“What do you need done?”
Bratnoor, Hest recognized. The voice they both respected.
“It needs to come out, but I’m not sure if I can do that.”
I will help you, jiddee’adar, Hest heard the arc lukesure offer. Heart of my hearts, you must waken enough to try. He speaks the truth—you must not allow the lowmar to remain. You have strength enough now; come. Remove it, and be free in truth. ‘Tis almost over.
Hest reached for the lowmar. White sparks arced between the stone and his talon, and the pressure built again, as if a weight had been placed on his ribcage.
It hurts!
Of course, it does! It’s the sanyalee’s magic. But it stands in the way of you and your own self; it traps you in our bond. You must remove it; I can aid you, but ‘tis in your body, your essence. Do you want it gone?
Aye, but I—
Then cast it out!
Hest summoned what energy he had left, but he was exhausted, and the crushing weight of resisting it was more than he could bear. In the haze of an agonized struggle for breath, though, he felt something else, something like Usheen’s heartbeats, but thinner, higher, as if it was only just in his range of hearing. Hest focused on it, curious, but Usheen reacted at once.
Bratnoor! His thoughts were choked with feeling. I know her power; it sings to you, heart of my hearts. Her carrick can banish the aberration, and Lugh will anchor your essence as her power works. Now, again!
Drawing in a labored breath, Hest nodded and set one taloned hand against the orb, reaching with the other for the pulsing lowmar.
Silver swirling with green flooded his vision, blocking out the white glow. Hest winced in anticipation of another shock, but none came. The stone fell into his scaled hand, and with it, the weight on his chest disintegrated.
We did it, Usheen!
A breeze blew, and Hest shivered. Cold flooded his being as the laubrach ebbed, sending a jolt of fear through him.
Usheen?
I am here, heart of my hearts, merely tired. We have fought well, and we have fought as one, dragon king. You are a true marcah now.
Hest half-collapsed against Usheen’s side in sheer relief, leaning his forehead against the silver scales, and felt the arc lukesure wrap his neck around to touch his snout to the sword hilt, then rest his head on Hest’s shoulder. As he did, Hest realized that the cold wasn’t only from the withdrawal of the laubrach—when he opened his eyes he could see that his breastplate sat rigid against his chest, allowing the air to draft beneath it, and his arms were a tanned brown; his fingers were soft and tipped in nails that ended in white crescents.
He sank into a heap beside Usheen and allowed the tears to come. Emotions too great for him to decipher flooded through him. He was whole, and Usheen was with him. They could go home now.
Lugh lifted the lowmar from his hand and placed a cloak over him, while Sydur knelt down at his side. “I’ll stay with them. You go into town and bring the rest of the Rittider back to Donantes’.”
“Aye, cannonsea.”
Before his eyes slid shut, Hest smiled at Goshkeah standing guard over them.
The Rittider saluted. “Chay la Jeeah, Moregot.”
Chay la Jeeah. Hest didn’t have the energy to speak the words, but his heart sounded them out.
Chapter 30
Home is where love resides—a place of rest, comfort, and belonging. Best to know where ‘tis and when to return there.
~Eoghan, son of Gowan, brewmaster
Laregg, Muintir
5913 AI
Boulick, Muintir
6126 AI
HEST STRETCHED, AND AS he did his arm rubbed along Usheen’s scales.
Finally, you’re awake. Humor colored the arc lukesure’s tone, and Usheen lowered his head to Hest’s shoulder.
With joy, Hest wrapped his arms around Usheen’s neck, neither needing nor wanting words for what he felt. The steady throb of Usheen’s hearts brought Hest a quiet peace, suffusing him with simple, enveloping comfort. He blinked, surprised to find that when he opened his eyes no silver aura remained on the world.
“Are you two ready to break your fast?” Sydur strode up to them with a mug in one hand and a roll in the other. “Donantes wouldn’t allow Lugh and the others to leave without taking food for the journey, and this is specifically for the king.” He placed the bread in Hest’s hands. “A sheep is being brought for you, arc lukesure.”
“’Tis much appreciated.” Hest and Usheen spoke in unison and had the pleasure of seeing Sydur taken utterly aback, blinking rapidly with a half-slack jaw.
“That... I don’t think I like that.”
The three of them laughed together, and Hest took a bite of his roll, savoring the sweet yeasty flavor. With the taste, he remembered the kind woman who made them. “What about her son?”
Lugh grunted as he joined them.
Hest continued, “Donantes’ son. What became of him and the others that disappeared? Did we ever discover where they’d gone?”
Lugh smirked and inclined his head back toward Boulick. “They’ve all been recovered. While you were busy taking on a sanyalee single-handedly, Bryan brought me to the Croft and Barrel to liberate the people locked in the cellar. They were in no shape to join the battle against Stymori, but they did take the remaining fiahat by surprise. Most scattered; it seems that they’re not much for a fair fight, so we didn’t have to kill many to end that battle, and then we were free to ride after you.”
A weight lifted from Hest’s spirit, and the next bite of roll tasted better than the first. “What about you, Sydur? What happened when you left the wagon?
The cannonsea stared down at his hands. “I’m sorry, boiwith. They came upon us and kept us pinned down.”
“They?” Hest was confused.
“The sanyalee wasn’t alone at the cliffs. You didn’t see them because they didn’t cut off the way to the meeting point until after we’d passed—but Nwa’s men and some of the fiahat were there to keep us out. They weren’t great warriors by any means, but they had us surrounded and were less interested in killing us than keeping us occupied. It’s difficult and time-consuming to defeat an enemy like that. Once we finally broke through, we had to regroup—my men were wounded, and ‘tis likely that the sanyalee would have puppeted them anyway.”
“Sydur, you did your best, as did your Rittider.”
“And Conry,” Lugh put in with mock indignation. “The only one of us who could go on ahead of us and meet you in my stead.”
“Aye,” Hest smiled. “I’m sure Oakwin is particularly glad of Conry’s help. But the rest of you...” He sobered. “How many did we lose?” The face of his own victim was burned in his memory.
“Three, counting Arrin.”
The mention of the scout’s name sent the image of his death scrawling across Hest’s vision, and he put his head in his hands.
“I killed him,” he whispered, his voice breaking. He swallowed, trying not to dissolve into his anguish.”
“’Twasn’t your fault, boiwith,” Sydur said softly.
“Maybe not, but ‘twas my blade.” Hest studied his hands, then suddenly resolute, asked, “Will you go with me to his family? They deserve to know what happened.”
“They will know.”
Hest shook his head. “I need to tell them.”
“As you wish, Moregot.” Sydur’s eyes shone with pride.
The events of the last two moonsteps sat heavy on Hest’s heart, and he sighed with the weight of them. “When do we leave?”
“Once I can determine whether you’re in a condition to travel,” Lugh declared staunchly. “And not a moment before.”
Hest opened his mouth to argue, but Sydur spoke first. “Humor him, boiwith. Avril would have his hide if he didn’t check you over. I’ll get you some more rolls.” The cannonsea strolled away, but not before a wry smile crossed his face.
Lugh fussed over Hest for what felt like an eternity, examining each arm from the shoulder to the fingernails. Then he removed the breastplate and Hest’s tunic to expose his chest.
“There’s not even a scratch here.” Lugh prodded at Hest’s chest. “Does this hurt?”
When Hest realized Lugh hadn’t seen his head shaking, he replied, “Nay.”
“And you said you were wounded by the sanyalee’s magic. Your ankle, your side, and your hand, it was?”
“Aye. There’s not a trace of them now, though.”
After verifying Hest’s claim with a final round of squinting and questioning, Lugh handed Hest his tunic. “I don’t know how, but you’re healthier than you were before. Not even a trace of the lowmar that he planted in your chest. I guess you’re cleared to ride.”
“Good.” Hest stood, then he remembered what Lugh had said about the patrons of the Croft and Barrel. “All of the fiahat are either gone or killed?”
Sydur ran a hand across his hair. “When they received the message that Nwa and the sanyalee had been slain, the ones who’d been brave enough to stay in the city at all scurried out of town like rats back to their nests.”
