The Silent Tempest (Book 2)

  With each fight, Tyrion found himself holding his breath. With each victory his dread increased. He knew they couldn’t all win. The odds against that seemed greater with each successful kill. Surely one of them would make a mistake, it was impossible that he would escape the day without losing another one.

  When Emma cut the head from her opponent, he felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. It was over. They had made it. No more of his children would die that day. With their first traumatic kills behind them, they would be even stronger in the future. Another week would see them better, more experienced, and more importantly, ready to kill.

  They were past the most dangerous part of their arena careers, the uncertainty of the first fight.

  Koralltis was back in the center of the arena, projecting his voice with magic and announcing the next fight, but Tyrion was hardly listening—until he heard the words, ‘Gravenna Mordan’. That was Haley’s new name.

  The master of the arena was looking toward him now, calling for the Illeniel contestant to step forward.

  Confused, Tyrion sought help from Thillmarius, “What did he just say? We’ve already finished our fights for the day.”

  “He said there would be an extra fight today. He has arranged an extra fight with the Mordan Grove—with one of your newly blooded fighters,” the Prathion trainer informed him.

  He gaped at Thillmarius, “That’s hardly fair. She’s had five or six fights now, while mine have barely recovered from their first kills.” And no matter what happens, I will lose another child.

  Byovar intervened, “I should have explained better before we arrived. The feeling is that since you have so many of the newly prized children from Colne, and because you have been training them personally, that Mordan should be given the opportunity to test one of them before your position of strength has been fully solidified.”

  “You mean they want a free kill,” said Tyrion bitterly.

  “That is far from certain, Tyrion,” countered Byovar. “Your offspring are powerful, and your training has proven more effective than anyone thought possible. No one believed that so many of your entrants would survive their first-blood fights.”

  His temper was threatening to overwhelm his self-control. Scanning his immediate vicinity, he found himself unconsciously planning his killing spree, Thillmarius first, then Koralltis. Byovar could wait, unless he tried to intervene. The krytek would appear soon after, unless I could create another windstorm like the last one. Maybe I wouldn’t stop this time—how big would it become?

  He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind. Those thoughts weren’t productive. No storm would be big enough to cleanse the world completely, and nothing else would satisfy him. He would only be killing the people he cared about, and the She’Har would remain. They could recover from any damage that didn’t completely annihilate them.

  “Should I bring him out, Tyrion? They are growing impatient,” said Byovar, sounding concerned.

  Not Gabriel, he thought, he’s the only one who doesn’t really hate me. He didn’t think the boy could handle Haley either, nor was he sure he wanted him to. She’s almost like a sister to me, aside from being my daughter.

  Brigid was the best choice, if he wanted a chance to end this tragedy today, but he had already named Gabriel earlier. And she’s Kate’s sister—how would she feel if I sent her only sister out and she died? He looked at Kate, who was looking back with puzzlement in her eyes. She couldn’t understand Erollith so she had no idea yet what decision he was considering.

  Whoever he sent was likely to lose, but Brigid had the best chance. He knew that from watching the previous fights. “Send Br—no, get Gabriel,” he answered, changing his mind. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t send Kate’s sister.

  “What’s happening?” asked Kate as Byovar walked to the holding cells.

  “They’re forcing an additional fight on me,” he told her. “Haley against one of mine.”

  “But they’re related,” she protested. “They can’t make siblings fight one another, surely?”

  “The She’Har don’t give a damn about us, or our relations,” he replied.

  Gabriel was passing by then, his features full of questions.

  “Gabriel, they want you to fight Haley,” said Tyrion, rushing to stay abreast of him. “Don’t hesitate. I know it’s hard, but she’s been doing this for weeks. If you don’t win, this will repeat itself, and she’ll be forced to fight the others, one by one.”

  Although Haley had grown up in the countryside outside of town, she and Gabriel had known each other well enough, just as everyone did in the small community that revolved around Colne. The boy looked at Tyrion in a panic, “Haley? I can’t fight her! We’re friends. She’s my sister!”

  “No mercy, Gabriel. Kill her and end this. Do it for the others if you can’t do it for yourself,” said Tyrion, desperation filling his voice with urgency. There was no time to say anything else.

  Gabriel stepped into the arena and looked across the field as he marched to his starting position. Haley stood in her place already, a look of disbelief on her features to match Gabriel’s.

  She looked behind her, asking questions of Dalleth. It was too far for them to hear what she said, but Gabriel could guess. She wanted to know why she was being forced to fight him. Haley was shaking her head, arguing with the answers she was given, when the chime sounded, and the lights changed.

  Gabriel walked forward, moving slowly. He still hadn’t raised a shield. His hands were out to his sides, palms forward and open, the universal sign of peaceful intentions. Haley was staring back at him with a horrified look on her face. She had a shield around herself, but she made no move to attack. She watched him approach in silence.

  “What is he doing?!” said Layla, looking to Tyrion for answers. “She could kill him with a thought!”

  Tyrion watched, unable to look away. “He’s going to try to talk to her.”

  “But why?” asked Layla.

  “Because he didn’t grow up in the pens,” he replied, “because he’s still human. He’s not like you…” Or me.

  Kate was holding onto his arm, her fingers digging into his flesh painfully.

  Layla tsk’ed in disapproval, “He certainly isn’t like me. I prefer breathing.”

  On the field Gabriel was still approaching Haley slowly, they were a mere ten feet apart now, and tears were streaming down her face.

  “We don’t have to do this, Haley. They can’t force us if we both refuse to fight,” he told her sincerely.

  She tried to answer, but her voice was thick with tears. It took several tries before she could get the words out, “You don’t understand, Gabe. You don’t understand at all.”

  “No,” he argued, “They don’t understand. We can make our own choices.”

  “I’m going to kill you, Gabe! Don’t you get it? That’s the only way out of here!” she yelled. “Why don’t you have your shield up!?”

  He watched her sadly, wishing he could convince her, but even he could see the resolve in her eyes. Gabriel lowered his head in acceptance. “Fine, we can start over, but I don’t want to do this Haley. This wasn’t my choice. I never wanted to hurt you.” Turning, he started to walk away, to return to his starting position.

  Haley’s aythar surged violently, and a scything plane of deadly force shot forth, bisecting Gabriel’s body diagonally, from shoulder to hip. He barely had a chance to register the attack before he was dead.

  “Why didn’t you have your shield up!?” she screamed hoarsely. “Why?! I told you I was going to kill you! Why?!” Haley’s body sagged, and she fell to her knees still crying.

  The crowed was silent. None of the She’Har had expected such a sudden ending, such an uncontested fight.

  Thillmarius was as surprised as the rest. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. That was unprecedented. Why didn’t he defend himself?”

  “Because he wasn’t a savage,” ground out Tyrion. “He wasn’t li
ke your people.”

  Kate was still in shock. “She killed him while his back was turned,” she mumbled.

  She made the same choice I would have, thought Tyrion. She knew the fight was inevitable, and she decided to end it right then and save herself the risk of a real battle.

  ***

  The return to Albamarl was a somber walk. Tyrion’s students were silent. He knew from experience how traumatic the first kill could be. They were still fresh from that, along with the fact that they were walking back with two fewer than had started out.

  Even Brigid, who had seemed the best adjusted to the situation, now seemed quiet and withdrawn. Her anger had faded, leaving an empty regret as she remembered the boy she had burned.

  It was Sarah who spoke first, “What happened to Gabe and Jack?”

  “Jack panicked, stopped thinking, and pretty soon after that stopped breathing,” said Tyrion. “Gabriel did well on his first fight, but he wasn’t prepared for the second one.”

  “He fought twice?” she asked.

  Tyrion worried that telling them about Haley would demoralize them, but he couldn’t hide the fact forever. One of them would have to face her, possibly more than one of them, until someone managed to kill her. There was no escaping that fact. “They wanted a special match, between him and Haley. He tried to talk, didn’t defend himself. She killed him.”

  Brigid looked up, her interest piqued when she heard Haley’s name. The two girls had been neighbors; much like Tyrion and Seth had once been, since Brigid had been raised by Seth’s father and Kate’s mother, while Haley had grown up with Tyrion’s parents. “Was she—how did she look?” asked the dark hair girl.

  He stopped, forcing everyone to come up short. “She looked very well, Brigid, until she saw Gabriel walk into the arena. She got pretty upset then. She screamed, she cried, and she cut him into two very dead pieces when he failed to take her seriously.”

  The look on her face was heartbreaking. Gone was the sullen malevolence that had marked her gaze earlier, replaced by the desperate look of a girl who needed some small hope to cling to. “But she didn’t want to do it, right? They made her.”

  “They made her, and Gabriel is just as dead either way. Who do you think is next?”

  Brigid was shaking her head, unable to accept what she was hearing, “No. No, no, no…” She started to back away, but Tyrion’s hand darted out, catching her long black hair, pulling her to a halt.

  “Who else do you think can do it, Brigid?” he asked her harshly, pointing at the others. “Do you think David can? He nearly pissed himself today. What about Emma? Do you think she has what it takes?” Twisting her head around, he brought her face close to his own. “You’re their only hope. You’re the strongest. You’re the best killer among them. If you can’t do it, she’ll kill all of them, one by one. Is that what you want?”

  “No! Let me go!” she shouted, pulling at his hand, trying to get him to release her hair. “I’m not going to do it.”

  “Then you’ve got two choices.” Tyrion drew the razor sharp wooden sword from his belt, handing it to her before letting her go. “You can shove that through your heart, or you can let her do it for you.

  She stared down at the deadly blade made from Eilen’tyral, the weapon-wood of the god-trees.

  Tyrion’s tone shifted then, becoming softer. “I wish I could do it, Brigid, but they won’t let me. I want to protect you, I want to protect them. I even want to protect Haley, but I can’t. The only one who can save you, who can save the others, is you. It’s your choice.” He turned then, and walked away, heading for the deeper parts of the Illeniel Grove.

  “Where are you going?” called Layla.

  “To think,” he responded. “Take them back to Albamarl. I’ll be there later.”

  He walked then, wandering without purpose until he found himself at the base of the tree that Lyralliantha lived in. She still hadn’t returned, but it was the most familiar place in the grove to him. Walking up the trunk of the mighty tree he ascended until he found her living platform.

  Once there he sat, pondering his life; the choices that had led him there, the mistakes that had created his misery. He could find no meaning in any of it. His only conclusion was that whatever happened, much of it was his own fault.

  I should have died in the arena.

  Death seemed to be the only escape available. He thought of the weapon he had given Brigid, and then he thought of the collar around his neck, the symbol of his slavery.

  He wanted freedom, he wanted death, and he knew of one way that was guaranteed to provide one or the other. They said I could have it removed. He knew where to cut it now, or he thought he did. If he was wrong, he wouldn’t live long enough to regret his mistake.

  Both of his index fingers were tattooed, and a word brought the magic to life, razor sharp enchanted blades appearing around them. He rarely used the finger blades, but he wanted precision. There are two places that must be severed simultaneously, or the collar’s destruction will kill me, he thought silently. One region of the spellweave was responsible for the boiling of the blood, the other would stop the heart, and both needed to be cut at the same time.

  Unless there’s a third trap in the spellweave, he reminded himself. He had intended to test that theory before ever trying it on himself, but he no longer cared. If he was wrong it would be as much a blessing as a mistake.

  Lifting his hands to his neck, he positioned the two blades carefully with his magesight before letting out a slow breath, and then he cut the spellweave.

  The collar fell apart, disintegrating as the minuscule She’Har symbols unraveled. Tyrion continued to breathe. “Damnitt.” He had hoped he was wrong.

  He slept for a time after that, lulled by the peaceful sound of the wind through the trees. After he woke he just lay there, letting his mind remain blank. He could almost imagine the terrible events of the morning hadn’t happened.

  But they had.

  His face tensed, his eyes clenching as he tried to shut out the memory of Haley’s face as she slew her half-brother. Restless now, he stood and began to descend the tree, keeping his body in motion to help prevent his mind from returning to that awful moment.

  From there he made his way back to Albamarl, his magesight scanning the terrain ahead of him. Any number of She’Har made note of him as he passed quietly through the trees, but none approached him. They could see he wore no collar, but that rule no longer applied to him. Just a few weeks before it would have been a death sentence for him to walk uncollared through one of the She’Har groves.

  When he drew closer to his home he took note of the children. They were gathered in small groups, talking in quiet whispers, seeking comfort in each other’s company, but neither Kate nor Layla were in evidence.

  That meant they were alone inside the house, which was designed to block magesight.

  It’s been several hours, they’ve calmed down now, but Kate’s just witnessed a number of violent events. He knew exactly what such events did to people, once the adrenaline wore off. He had thought he was beyond jealousy, but the thought of the two of them together made him angry.

  He ignored the teens and went through the front door, closing it loudly behind him. The noise would surely alert them to his return. Even inside he couldn’t sense them, which meant they were in the second bedroom. It had been finished over the course of the past week, and the two women had taken to sleeping there.

  Tyrion stopped in the hall, wondering if they would come out. He had intended to go to his own room, but now he found himself irritated and indecisive. A strange longing filled him, but he wasn’t sure what he wanted. He was alone. He was angry.

  No one emerged from the other room. Obviously they were too busy to care or take note of his return. He knocked on the door. He could hear them scrambling within, startled by the sound.

  Kate opened the door a moment later, leaning out, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I didn’t realize you were back,??
? she said.

  Their eyes met, and he couldn’t remember what he had meant to say. It seemed as if he was staring at her across an impossible gulf, a distance that could never be crossed. Kate might as well be back in Colne. He stood still, transfixed.

  She watched his features, her gaze moving from one eye to the other. Kate could see that he was in turmoil. No, he’s worse than that. She wondered if he was about to break down. Her heart leapt into her throat. She wanted to talk to him, to help him. Giving in to Layla’s desires had been a mistake, borne of her own fear and desperate need for companionship. She should have waited.

  Layla was waiting, she could feel the other woman’s impatience. “Listen, Daniel, this isn’t a good time. If you want to talk later…”

  His face flinched, and his eyes hardened, “I don’t want to talk.”

  Kate looked down, “I’m sorry. I know this is awkward. What happened today…”

  “I came to fetch Layla,” he interrupted. “I need her help with something.”

  She looked up at him, her green eyes filled with surprise, “But…”

  Kate paused then, for Layla’s hand was on her shoulder. She looked over the redhead’s shoulder with an impish grin. She had no embarrassment over what she had been doing. “What do you need, my lord?”

  “I need a little of your time,” he replied, his face expressionless.

  Her attention fell to his throat, and the warden’s eyes widened, “What happened to your collar?”

  “That’s what I’d like to discuss with you.”

  Serious now, she looked back into the room, “Let me get my clothes.” Being a warden, she almost never went out without wearing the symbols of her status, unlike nearly everyone else in the small camp who were required to be without clothes.

  “You won’t need them,” he informed her. “Come with me.”

  Her face took on a sly expression, “Certainly.”

  He walked her across the hall and ushered her into his room, leaving Kate staring after him with a curious countenance. She was still trying to figure out what had just happened.