The Warring Son (The Wings of War Book 2) Page 5

  The bounty hunter reminded him of the sarydâ, in a way…

  “What the—?”

  Raz stopped moving just inside the ring of trees, his hood pulled down to reveal his serpentine features. He had no patience for theatrics at the moment.

  Nor for unnecessary banter.

  “All of you,” he hissed. “Leave. Now. It will be my only warning.”

  There was a moment of shocked silence, and then one of the group off to the side spoke.

  “By the Lifegiver,” he whispered, clearly shaken. “Raz i’Syul.”

  Raz, admittedly, was surprised.

  “You know me?” he asked, looking over at the man, who nodded.

  “Aye, sir. I do,” he replied quickly, raising the hand that wasn’t gripping the leather leash of his dog up in a sign of peace. “Did some work in the Southern desert towns a few years back. Saw ya’ fight once, too. We want no trouble, sir. We’ll be leavin’ soon as ya’ let—”

  “What the shit are you blatherin’ about, Shrith?” the man standing over Arrun cut in suddenly. “We’re not going anywhere. You move and I’ll skin ya myself.”

  “Boar, trust me on this one,” the man called Shrith said, not taking his eyes off Raz or lowering his hand. “We’re wantin’ to leave. Now.”

  “Don’t be a fuckin’ coward, ya’ doe,” Boar growled, spitting on the ground before returning his attention to Raz, pulling his dog’s chain tight. “An’ you. Ugly bastard. Lizard-kind, ain’t ya’? What the blazes you doin’ so far out of your hole, scaly?”

  “Boar—” Shrith tried again, but the leader shot him a look so venomous the man shut up at once.

  “Anyhow,” Boar continued, eyes moving slowly back to Raz, “I ain’t heard shit about you, so I’ll be damned if’n I’m a’ let some sharp teeth and snake eyes cheat me outta my twenty gold for this one and his sister.”

  Boar kicked Arrun’s injured leg and laughed as the boy cried out in pain.

  He did shut up, though, when Raz’s neck-crest rose to fin the back of his head.

  “You should have listened to your friend,” Raz said calmly, pulling his weapons out from where they’d been tucked in the back of his belt. “Too late now, though.”

  Boar’s eyes narrowed, and he spat again.

  Then he dropped the chain of his hound.

  “Git ’em, Morty!” he yelled, spurring the animal into a forward rush. With a snarl it leapt, jaws wide as it went straight for Raz’s throat.

  Raz’s clawed foot found it first, catching it in the chest and cracking several of the dog’s ribs as he kicked it a solid three or four body lengths away. It fell to the ground and rolled twice before coming to a halt, whining and whimpering as it struggled to breathe.

  “My dog!” Boar screamed, eyes livid, drawing the longsword at his side. “I’ll kill you, ya’ damn snake!”

  “BOAR, NO!” Shrith yelled, but too late. The bounty hunter was already charging, blade pointed straight for Raz’s heart.

  Raz counted the man’s steps as he approached, waiting for the moment. Four… three… two… When Boar’s sword was barely a foot from his chest, Raz’s war ax whipped upwards, catching the length of the blade. Even as the ax redirected the blow, the gladius in Raz’s other hand was moving, a steely blur as it sliced cleanly through the man’s wrist, severing Boar’s sword hand. In a fraction of a second, though, Raz brought the blade full circle and struck again, horizontally and a little higher.

  Boar’s lost his head before he’d even had the time to register he’d lost his hand.

  In all of a few seconds the fight was over, and the man’s decapitated body fell to the ground at Raz’s feet with a thud. Leaving his weapons drawn, Raz turned his eyes on the rest of the group, looking directly at Shrith.

  “Run,” he snarled.

  The only sign left of the three and their animals ten seconds later was distant crashing through the woods. Even Morty, the injured dog, was dragging itself away in a hurry.

  Raz waited until he was sure they were far gone before relaxing, tucking his wings into place, and letting his crest fall around the back of his neck again. Stowing his ax and gladius back into his belt, he took a step towards Arrun.

  “Stay back!” the boy yelled, scrambling away on his rear despite his injured leg. Running over a big stone, he pulled it from the ground and brandished it one-handed as he held himself in a sitting position with the other. “Don’t come near me! I’ll kill you!”

  Raz snorted, ignoring the threat as he continued his approach.

  “Is that how you treat every person who saves your life, or just the ones that look like me?” he asked, a little annoyed. Arrun didn’t put the stone down, though, so Raz sighed and stopped, turning to yell over his shoulder. “Lueski! It’s safe. Come out!”

  “Lueski?” Arrun asked, suddenly confused. “Wha—?”

  But that was all he got out before the girl’s small form came bolting out of the woods, crashing into his side.

  “Arrun!” she cried, wrapping her arms around his waist so tightly the boy gasped. “Arrun! I thought you’d be gone! I thought you’d be taken or, or…!”

  She stopped talking, sobbing into her brother’s chest.

  “Shh,” Arrun hushed her, rubbing her back. “Shh, Sis. I’m alright. We’re alright.”

  Raz’s jaw tightened as he watched the pair of them. Arrun was a good bit older than his sister, maybe fifteen or sixteen judging by the shadow of a beard along his jawline. His hair was sandy blond rather than the raven black of Lueski’s, but his eyes were the same shocking shade of blue. After a minute he turned to look back at Raz.

  “Thank you,” he said hoarsely. “Thank you for finding her. But who are you?”

  “Raz,” Raz replied shortly, pulling his cloak around his body again as the winds picked up once more. “For the moment let’s just say I’m as much of a runaway as the pair of you.”

  Arrun nodded. Lueski was still hugging him so tightly she shook, sobbing into the torn cloth of his vest and shirt. Raz watched the two of them for another moment, then turned away and started making his way back towards the trees.

  “Wait, where are you going?” Arrun called out.

  “I’ll be back,” Raz said without looking over his shoulder. “I have a sister, too.”

  VI

  EVENING FOUND the three of them seated around a roaring fire a good few leagues from the small clearing Arrun had been cornered in. Though he doubted the hunters would return after the bloody spectacle he’d made of their leader, between Boar’s body and the openness of the area Raz had decided to get moving as soon as possible. Cleaning Arrun’s injured leg carefully and wrapping it with most of the bandages from his supplies, he’d gotten them on their feet in fifteen minutes, guiding the pair through the woods, Ahna back over his shoulder. When night started to fall, though, and it became too dark for Arrun to travel by with his wounds, Raz had finally called them to a stop. He and Lueski set up a quick camp, clearing a spot on the ground for the fire, and within a half hour they were all huddled around the life-giving flames, soaking in the heat in relative silence.

  At long last Raz allowed himself the relief he’d been holding back all day, too on edge listening for anyone following them to think of much else. Confident they were safe for the time being, though, now he allowed himself a smile.

  Maybe we won’t be stuck in this frozen hellhole all winter after all, he thought as he cleaned the blade of his gladius with a rough cloth.

  Raz had considered himself something of a misanthrope for a long time, ever since the day Prida Arro had disappeared from their small shared home without a trace. Despite this—whether it was because he’d been on his own too long or because he was at least used to some arbitrary interaction in the crowded streets of Miropa—he was not unhappy to be around people once again. It was interesting, watching the siblings. Arrun had a good measure of self-control, but his sister—young and still a little unclear on propriety and the rules of social nu
ances—couldn’t help but stare in open astonishment at Raz for most of the night. She took in his clawed fingers, thick tail, and reptilian snout with childish wonder now that she knew he wasn’t going to eat her, and when Raz extended his wings around the flames to warm their thin membranes, she leaned towards her older brother.

  “Can he fly, Arrun?” she whispered into his ear.

  “Hush, Lueski,” Arrun told her quietly. “Don’t be rude.”

  “It’s alright,” Raz replied with a chuckle, making them both jump. Obviously they’d thought they were being quiet enough for him not to make out their words. He pointed at his ears.

  “I hear better than you do. But no, it’s fine. At her age it’s understandable to be more than a little curious. Feel free to ask me anything you’d like, Lueski. As for being able to fly…” he glanced at his leathery wings, “…I’m honestly not sure.”

  “You’re not sure?”

  It was Arrun, this time, who asked the question, and Raz hid a smile.

  So it’s not just the sister who’s curious.

  “I’m not sure,” he repeated. “I somewhat managed it once, for a few seconds, but that was in a very special situation, and I haven’t tried it since. I’ve been a little preoccupied to think much about it.”

  He watched the flames of the fire, remembering the inferno of the burning bathhouse crashing around him the night he’d somehow managed a few brief moments of flight.

  Odd how fond memories could mix so well with bad ones.

  “Does your tongue hurt?”

  Raz looked up at Lueski, perplexed.

  “My… tongue?” he asked.

  “It’s cut in half,” the little girl said matter-of-factly, pointing at his face.

  “Lueski!” Arrun hissed, but Raz stopped him as he laughed again.

  “It’s fine, Arrun. No, Lueski, it doesn’t hurt. It’s how my tongue is, see?” He stuck his forked tongue out so she could look, wiggling it around.

  Lueski giggled, winning a smile from her brother, who relaxed a little. For a while after the group didn’t speak. More than once each of their stomachs growled in hunger, but as none of them had any food to spare they didn’t voice their discomfort. Instead they sat in silence, appreciating the rare warmth of the campfire until Lueski fell asleep, her head in her brother’s lap. Raz watched her from across the flames, remembering how Ahna used to fall asleep the exact same way.

  “Our parents passed when she was six,” Arrun spoke suddenly, and Raz looked up at him. The boy was watching his sister sleep, smoothing her hair with a gentle hand. “I was fourteen at the time, old enough to take care of things, at least according to the laws of the town. I took over the shop until Lueski could help, and we’d been working it ever since until this past winter.”

  There was another brief silence.

  “Arrun,” Raz asked quietly, “why were there hunters after you? Your sister told me something about money, and that they were going to drag you off to an arena?”

  “The Arena,” Arrun corrected him. “There are a few throughout the North, but Azbar’s is the largest. They’re technically illegal, ever since the Laorin managed to pass a ban on them twenty or thirty years ago, but recently they’ve started opening again. Last year’s freeze was tough for a lot of people…”

  He was quiet again then.

  “So… what?” Raz pressed. “They were going to make you fight? Because that’s what Lueski made it sound—”

  “They were going to make us die.”

  The sentence hung in the air as Raz blinked.

  “They were going to make us die,” Arrun repeated. “Sure, they say you have a fair chance, but it’s bullshit. They give you a rusty sword and send you out in packs into the pit. They don’t need us to fight. They have gladiators, volunteers with experience and training who get armor and better weapons. Sometimes they’ll be matched against each other, but it’s usually one or two of them against three or four of us. It sounds fine, until you realize that they know how to fight and the people who often get forced into the Arena are either petty criminals or farmers who couldn’t pay their taxes. The gladiators rarely lose, but even when they do the victors are usually wounded so badly they die on the surgeon’s table later anyway. It’s a bloodbath is all, but it’s a lucrative one. People come from all over to watch the fights, and those with money even bet and gamble on the outcomes. Ever since the Azbar Arena opened up again, things have been going better for the town, but the price isn’t worth it. People are scared. The town’s prisons were emptied within a couple months of the fights starting up, and after that the council and Chairman Tern decided to go after anyone that gave them an excuse to throw them in the pit. They’re desperate to keep the money flowing through the Arena gates. It’s gotten so bad they’ll claim anyone old enough to hold a sword, so long as they can still bleed.”

  It’s the Cages all over again, Raz thought, his eyes back on the fire as he listened to Arrun’s story, only instead of slavery they get handed a blade and get told to save themselves.

  “When I heard they were coming for us, I wouldn’t have it,” Arrun continued. “I told Lueski to grab anything she needed fast, and one of our parents’ old friends helped sneak us out of the city. We’ve been on the run ever since. We aren’t the first to make a break for it, but everyone else I’ve heard of doing the same has ended up being caught or killed by groups like the one you chased off. I think we’re the first ones to get away.”

  “You aren’t done with it yet,” Raz told him. “You won’t be until you can clear your name. Trust me, being on the run may sound appealing compared to being thrown into this ‘Arena,’ but it wears at you if all you’re ever doing is picking up and moving.”

  “Speaking from experience?”

  “A lot of it. If you think things are bad here, I can tell you it’s nothing—nothing—compared to what’s going on in the South. Slavery is as close to being legalized as it can be. People are being dragged out of their homes and tortured by the men they pay taxes to and trust to defend them. The governments are nothing but puppets to the underground societies that actually control everything… Believe it or not, as much as you’ll hear me complain about the cold and as much as you can hate your own people for what they are doing with these Arenas, you’re better off.”

  “You sound like you know more than most,” Arrun responded, giving Raz a pointed look.

  Raz nodded. “In a way. For a long time I conned myself into working for the wrong side. I made myself believe what I was doing was for some higher good. In reality, though, I was as much a puppet as anyone else.”

  “So you ran? Are you being chased, too?”

  Raz smiled slowly. It wasn’t a happy smile, but he could feel the satisfaction there, tucked away in some darker corner of his conscience.

  “I’m running because half the Southern realm is after my skin,” he said. “It’s what happens when the puppet murders those holding the strings.”

  “You killed them?” Arrun hissed, shocked.

  “You sound surprised,” Raz told him, smirking. “After what you saw today, you thought that wouldn’t be the case?”

  “N-no,” Arrun stuttered, “I just… I don’t know… You killed all of them?”

  “If only. But no. I didn’t. The Mahsadën—the men I was working for—are too big a beast to slay on your own, even for me. You would need an army. I cut off its head, but by now I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s already started to grow a new one. In reality I think I only wanted to prove to myself that it could be hurt, because for a long time I was convinced it couldn’t.”

  “And now they’re after you, and you came here, of all places.”

  Raz shrugged, picking up a branch from the small pile of kindling by his side and poking the flames with it. He followed the spiraling dance of the sparks as they drifted upwards into the air, watching them disappear into the gusty night.

  “It was as good a place as any, and better than most. To get to Perce
or the Seven Cities, I would have had to cross the Cienbal, the Southern desert, and I spent enough time there as a child to know I wouldn’t have managed that alone. I might have made for the West Isles and looked for a ship to stow away on in Acrosia, but the ports are controlled by the Mahsadën. If I’d been caught I would have been done for. The South’s other fringe cities are in their pocket just as much, so that wasn’t even an option. The North was my best bet, and with the seasons changing I’m hoping to catch a break and get a head start on anyone who’s after me.”

  “So you’re laying low in the woods?” Arrun asked him.

  “I’m in these woods,” Raz snorted, “because I’m lost. There’s no point in laying low. I’m not going to spend the rest of my life hiding, and even if that was the intention my features aren’t exactly akin to those of the average Northerner. I just have no idea where I am, nor had any idea to begin with. I figured if I had no plan, then anybody on my ass would have less to figure out and go by.” He shivered, scooting closer to the fire as he prodded it again. “Now I’m starting to see the problems with my ‘no-plan’-plan.”

  “Well I’m going to do you a favor and say if you get stuck out here, you’re done for,” Arrun told him with a nod, and Raz looked up again. “I’m not taking a shot at your skills as a survivalist. Obviously you can handle yourself, but if this is your first freeze coming up then you need to find shelter. It can snow so much in these woods that even the deer sometimes get stuck and freeze to death. And the winds—”

  “Wait, the ‘deer’? Is that what you call those horse-things that I always see leaping off through the trees? Some of them have horns?”

  “I wouldn’t call them horse-like,” Arrun said tentatively, looking amused, “but yeah, that would be them. And they’re called antlers, not horns. But I guess you wouldn’t know that, would you?”