The Staff and the Blade: Irin Chronicles Book Four (23 page)

“You are my brother, not my commander.”

“In the field, I am both.”

Tala did not look appeased.

“Sister.” He gentled his tone. “You know you are a target.”

“We have always been targets.”

“Then have mercy on me and allow me to command you. This once, please do what I say.”

He knew by the angle of her jaw she would relent.

“I agree,” she said. “But you must listen to my counsel when I insist.”

“I can agree to that.” He handed her a loaf of bread he’d taken from the kitchen. “Please eat something. I know you’re unwell.”

“I’ll be better when I can rest.”

“Resting is for later, sister. Tonight we hunt.”

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN

A
BRA
was speaking, but Sari was only half listening to the healer. They were in the meeting house for the evening meal, but the mood was grim. Even with a night’s rest, the mated singers were feeling the effects of the power exchange, including the healer.

“You know she went with Damien. He will keep her safe. She’s been pining for Gabriel for weeks now. He’ll tuck her into the house with a guard and she’ll be fine, Sari. It’s useless to go after her. And frankly, neither of us has the energy.”

“I could send Gaston.” The blacksmith wasn’t the brightest of scribes, but he was strong and an able rider.

“It’s too late. Besides, sending Gaston would deprive the retreat of one of its few defenses. There have been no signs of Grigori, but we’re already weakened and missing Farrin. Losing another strong scribe would be ill-advised.”

Sari knew Abra was right. For the thousandth time, she was grateful for the calm reason of the older singer. She reached over and grasped the woman’s hand. “Thank you.”

“You worry. She is your twin. It is expected. But trust your mate to keep her safe.”

“I wish he’d simply sent her back.”

“Perhaps he could not have,” Abra said quietly. “She is a seer, sister. Near equal in rank to your mate. He cannot ignore her wishes if she insisted. And Tala would only insist for good reason. She’s not reckless.”

“I know.”

I know where it is. The clothes are mine.

Sari was afraid Tala did have good reason to follow Damien into Paris. She just didn’t want to imagine why.

Dinner that night was a simple soup of barley and beef that some of the older scribes had prepared to give the singers a reprieve from preparing the evening meal. Sari accepted her bowl with thanks and set it down just as a cry rose from down the lane.

Sari and Abra both turned toward the door, but the sound was faint, cut off swiftly in the gathering dusk.

“Did you—?”

“Yes.”

They waited, but no other sound came.

Abra rose and reached for the staff behind her. Sari rose and reached for her blade. They walked toward the door. The rest of the village watched them. Sari turned and said, “Gather the children. Make sure they’re all inside.”

The old scribe by the fire stood. “Yes, sister.”

It was light enough that lamps would only hamper their vision, so Abra and Sari opened the door and headed down the lane with their staff and their sword held ready.

“I’m trying to think who was missing at supper,” Sari said.

“Terese? She was particularly moody this afternoon. I don’t think I saw her.”

Terese was intended for Randel, a young warrior in the Paris house, but they were not yet mated, therefore her young man had not been in the company that had visited the village. The girl had a tendency toward the dramatic, and Sari could easily imagine her brooding.

The lane was empty and silent. The setting sun cast deep shadows in the forest. Even the birds were mute. As they reached the turn that led to the main road, Sari saw something on a path leading toward the fields.
 

“Abra.”

“I see it.”

Something brown and white on the path. A cloak? Had someone taken Terese and left her cloak? Sari began to run.

Abra reached the cloak first and knelt down beside it. It was more than just a cloak. It was… a whole set of clothing. Dress. Jacket. Cap, cloak, and shoes. Familiar clothes that belonged to an impetuous young singer. Empty clothes lying on a path. They were stretched out as if the wearer had simply…

Abra’s hand came away from the cap, golden dust sticking to her skin. She turned to Sari in horror.

“Grig—” Her voice was cut off by a silver spear through her neck. Abra’s eyes widened for a second before the healer’s face dissolved in a gold mist.

Sari dropped to the ground and screamed as loud as she could as the woods came alive.

“GRIGORI!”

※

Gabriel tapped a steady finger against his thigh. He’d returned to the house after the second report came in. No trace of Grigori in the usual haunts. No slinking parasites near the docks or in the parks. Every death they were called to left no trace. They were behind their prey, not in front. There were reports from a few scattered confrontations that only led to minor kills.

Damien had disappeared on his mysterious errand having to do with Tala’s vision, and Gabriel’s teams had been searching for hours with no luck. It was as if the sons of the Fallen had fled the city at once, but none of the scribes set to watch their homes had reported anyone fleeing. All their possessions were intact. Their horses were in the stables and their servants asleep.

He smoked his pipe and tried to untangle the threads in his mind.

They had gathered numbers. Lain quiet. Antagonized them until the Paris scribes were looking for any excuse to attack, but… none came. Not even a hint of provocation until three nights before when forty humans—

A shout from outside the gate, then two men burst through the door, carrying an unconscious Farrin between them.

Gabriel bolted to his feet. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” The young man’s eyes were panicked. “He wasn’t attacked. We were headed back to the house because we’d found nothing but a few young Grigori, barely able to fight at all, and Farrin was waiting for a report from another team. Just like that, he fell over. He sounded as if someone had knocked the breath from his chest, then he fell.”

“Help him to bed.”

The next hour saw five more scribes brought in, all completely unconscious as Farrin had been. Gabriel had tried to wake the powerful man, tried drawing spells for healing across his skin. Burned prayers before the ritual fire.

Nothing.

The house was in chaos. The few men who’d seen combat had pushed away any attempts at healing to focus on those who had collapsed. As more and more unconscious scribes came in, Gabriel realized what they had in common. He finally recognized the connection.

“Heaven above…”

“Brother Gabriel?”

They had been fooled.

The scribes who were collapsing were all mated men. Men with singers in the village.

Gabriel grabbed the sleeve of a man rushing by, one who had been sent with Damien.

“Rene? What are you doing here? Where is Damien?”

“At the house, I assume. I only brought Randel back when he became sick. Damien said he was no use like that.”

A faint hope lifted the weight in Gabriel’s chest. Randel was not mated. “What happened to Randel?”

“He began to vomit and his head ached. Like daggers piercing him, he said.”

“He is unmated, is he not?”

Rene’s face grew pale. He looked around the house, seeing the same connection Gabriel had. “Randel is unmated, but he and Terese have made promises. She wears his mark on her forehead. As he wears hers.”

“‘Daggers piercing him…’” Gabriel muttered.

“Brother Gab—?”

“This has been a ruse!” Gabriel shouted and the room came to a deadly quiet. “Get to the village. Immediately! Take every man you can and ride as fast as you are able. Leave the wounded. Leave everything but your weapons. Go now!”

The room erupted in movement, every scribe able to ride a horse leaping into action.

A voice inside Gabriel roared,
Too late!

They would be too late.

Fear threatened to unman him. He reached along the bond he felt with his mate but felt nothing. No panic. No fear.

“Brother Gabriel?” Rene was almost in tears.

“What?”

“Damien is at the house with the seer.”

“With who?”

“With your mate, Brother Gabriel. I thought you knew.”

Twin spears of rage and relief rose in Gabriel. He grasped Rene’s arm and shoved him toward the library. “You are going to show me this house where Damien has taken Tala.” He grabbed a confused scribe who was rushing one of the unconscious who was just beginning to wake. “You! Forget the sick. Go now and find the others who are still hunting. Gather as many as you can and ride hard for the retreat. Grigori are attacking the village.”

※

Sari had raised the alarm, but the monsters were already pouring in from the forest. She yelled for the village to arm themselves but had to fall back to escape another silver-tipped spear. Grigori surrounded them, moving like deadly locusts from house to house.

The sheer horror of the sight made Sari want to scream, but she could not. Her mind went blank. The only thing she remembered was Damien’s voice as he drilled her with the sword.

You cannot think of the blood.

Keep your eyes moving.

Keep your blade up.

She crept through the woods, taking cover in the bushes and grabbing Grigori as she came upon them. A few had dragged women and children out of the village and were feeding in the woods. She killed the monsters as swiftly as possible and urged the survivors to flee.

From the village, she heard the voice of the old scribe. “Fall back to the bathhouse!”

Sari’s faint hope rose. If they could take shelter there—if she could come at the Grigori from behind as others held their attention at the front— She cut down another monster grasping the body of a child. The little boy’s eyes were blank as his body began to dissolve before Sari’s eyes.

Do not think of it.

Two small shapes shot through the bushes, fleeing into the forest. A young mother holding an infant bound to her chest ran into the shadow of trees. Sari cut down soldier after soldier, but there were too many.

A glancing blow off her shoulder and Sari turned and hurled a spell at a Grigori not even as tall as her shoulder. “
Shanda vash!
” Her spell threw him into a tree where he crumpled.

Sari ran behind the meeting house, determined to cut through it and surprise the mass of Grigori that must have followed the villagers to the bathhouse. She was exhausted. Weary of body and mind. A low, silent scream threatened to claw its way up her throat. This was everything she had feared. Every nightmare brought to life.

Do not think of it.

When she opened the door to the meeting hall, it was empty of Irin, but five Grigori were searching under tables. When they spotted her, wild hair and blood splattered across her dress and face, their inhuman eyes lit with glee. Sari lifted her sword, letting the gore that marked it speak for itself.

“Look at the Irin cow,” one said, laughing. “She’s stolen her master’s sword.”

“With a body like that, I’d give her my sword,” another joked as they began to stalk her.

Sari could see her people fighting through the windows of the meeting hall. She just needed to make it through these five monsters…

“Look, brothers, she’s carrying a little angel get,” one sneered as his eyes narrowed on her belly. “I’ll rip the babe from her womb with my teeth. Then I’ll devour
her
.”

Sari ignored them and opened her mouth, the ancient words filling the room. “
Shanda vash!
”

Three of the Grigori fell to their knees, the other two swaying and holding their stomachs. She lunged toward them in a fury, taking off the head of two before the others could react.

She didn’t think of her sisters or her mate or the child in her belly.

She thought only of the monsters in front of her.

Behind her.

Dead men before her blade.

“Get the bitch!” one screamed.

“
Shanda huul,
” she hissed, stabbing another in the neck as he tried to twist away.

She cut and hacked around the stumbling Grigori, hating her skirts but grateful for the simple spells her grandmother had taught her, even more grateful for the sword drills from her mate.

Damien, where are you?

The bitter question burned in her mind, but she had no time for anger. She’d almost killed the last one when another Grigori burst into the room.

“Preston, we’ve found— Oh hell!”

Sari reached for a dagger from one of the fallen Grigori and flung it at the man coming through the door. She caught him in the neck. He fell but did not turn to dust. She concentrated on parrying the remaining opponent, who was proving more wily than his mates.