Chapter 40 Dahvid Tin’vori

The fighting was everywhere.

He saw soldiers dueling up and down rows of unpicked strawberries. Others were rolling in the dust of the central crossroads, kicking and biting and wrestling away weapons. Great bolts of magic kept hissing overhead, stray shots from the more long-distance dueling.

His army's initial rush through the northern gate had been a tidal surge. Five hundred strong met by just a dozen guards. Most of those guards had looked to Tessa Brood—who was not Tessa Brood—for their orders. His sister had called for them to surrender. It was strange to see Nevelyn's expressions written on another face. She'd shot him a meaningful look before sprinting toward the distant castles. As long as she was in control of Tessa Brood's body, the plan was for her to do as much damage as possible.

The insurgents spread across the estate like wildfire. Until they hit the central crossroads. The very heart of the Broods' property. An organized counterattack met them there. That was the group they were still fighting now. Some fifty of House Brood's soldiers and spellcasters. Dahvid could tell they'd taken more damage than the enemy. There were nearly twice as many of his hired swords on the ground. But in the end, their numbers were overwhelming the other side.

Dahvid joined a duel with one of his generals. The two of them made quick work of it before turning to face another soldier. Block, stab, cross-strike, dead. He'd intentionally forged a path through the lines and was making his way over to the tree Theo had described to him. The one with the red-tipped leaves. The trunk that was as dark as night. He felt certain this was where his brother had been killed. Where he was buried.

"Incoming!"

A blast of fire nearly scorched them all. It burned a path through their ranks, soldiers dodging aside at the last possible moment. Dahvid pointed to the ramparts where the spell had come from. "Get someone up there now!"

"Incoming on foot! Turn! Turn!"

Dahvid still had some two hundred men left, though they looked tired from the first melee. Now a second unit was coming up the hill—at least one hundred strong. Dahvid suspected Thugar Brood would be amongst them. He settled into his stance. This is what he'd been waiting for.

"To me! Everyone to me!"

His mercenaries weren't new to battle. They joined ranks, raised shields, and waited for the inevitable crash. They had the higher ground. At the very last moment, he shouted to his men.

"Counter now!"

They'd feigned a defensive position. Bracing for impact. Now they drove forward. It was just enough to catch their enemy by surprise. Dust spun into the air, brief and blinding, and then both armies were in the thick of each other. Dahvid's command won them the initial push, but once they were through the front lines, everything fell to chaos. In that great press of bodies, he searched for Thugar Brood. He cut down two men, then nearly had his head taken off by a hacking swing from a third. The soldier was bull-rushed from the side before he could even answer.

No matter how deep he pushed into the enemy's ranks, he could not find the fight he really wanted. He spied a trio of wizards doing damage along the back lines, launching projectiles every few seconds. He forged a path to them and cast his null tattoo. It rippled outward, cutting away their magic. Some of his men swept in to finish them off. The fight felt like it went on without an end in sight.

Exhaustion was coming far faster to Dahvid's already tired bones. He started to feel desperate to find Thugar. Where are you? Why aren't you fighting with your men?

Dahvid tried not to use any of his combat tattoos but had to burn the elixir to heal a nasty cut along the back of his calf. He still had his golden rings, the rope spell, and Ware's reaching hand tattoo. He retreated into a small pocket of calm. Near the tree. As he looked around, he saw his army had won the second round, though their numbers were significantly reduced. He counted fifty solid fighters still standing. A small group of Brood soldiers were making their retreat.

Finally, he saw Thugar's plan.

Another battalion waited near the barracks. Thugar stood at the front. He had been waiting all this time. It was the same tactic he'd used the night he killed Ware. He would not risk entering battle against someone who was at full strength. Instead, he'd allowed his hired hands to strike the first blows, so that he could step in and finish the fight. Dahvid had no more healing spells. His scarlet traveler was useless. But the true fear came from the exhaustion spreading across his entire body. He felt just as weak as he had after four rounds in the gauntlet.

Still, he raised his voice. "Form up ranks again!"

His remaining soldiers circled back. Some plucked weapons from the fallen, trading nicked blades for something better. It smelled horrible—like the arena. Death was kind to no one. Dahvid watched as Thugar called out commands to the final group. The third wave began to march.

Halfway up the hill, their march became a run. Dahvid let out a war cry as the two sides collided. But this time, they lost ground. He could feel their lines being shoved back, worn down from too much fighting. Individual duels broke out everywhere.

Thugar Brood came for him now. "Hello there, image-bearer."

His enemy had grown. Far bigger than Dahvid remembered. More polished looking than any version of Thugar he'd ever dreamed of. It was as if he'd spent all his days shaping himself into an instrument of pain and suffering. The man stalked forward wielding a massive broadsword.

"My name is Dahvid Tin'Vori. Brother of Ware Tin'Vori."

Thugar nodded. "I know who you are. Came all this way to be buried beside him?"

Dahvid snaked forward. His only advantage now was speed. He feigned a side-sweeping blow that twisted into a crosshanded backswing. His blade slit Thugar's exposed right shoulder. Blood trickled down as Dahvid pressed him, darting in and out of his steps, as quick as a man who'd fought a hundred battles in just a few days could be. He wounded Thugar once more before the bigger man adjusted. Switching into an entirely new stance.

"My turn," Thugar grunted.

He cut away Dahvid's quickness through pure strength. Sweeping blows that left no room for counters. All Dahvid could do was backpedal, parry, deflect. The two of them danced in and out of the surrounding duels until it was too much. His body was on the verge of collapse.

He raised his arms to parry a brutal downward cut and felt his sword rattle away. Thugar lashed forward with a brutal punch to the throat. Dahvid stumbled, on the verge of falling, and saw his end coming in a bright flash of silver. The cleaving blow swung from left to right. Dahvid activated his golden rings a breath before the sword reached him.

Golden light spilled outward. A circle inside a circle inside a circle. It entrenched him in a breath, whispering safety. He slumped down within its protection. His hands shook. At least he had time to calm his breathing. Thirty seconds to recover, though he was not sure what would change when the golden light fell away. He needed to make sure…

… a resounding crack filled the air. Thugar's sword hit the side of his shield with impossible force. Dahvid watched the damage from that impact spread, splintering his most powerful protective magic into a million pieces. He rolled to his right just before the golden light winked out entirely. Thatis not possible. Thugar pressed him again, and Dahvid had no sword to answer with. He ducked and dodged and desperately activated a second tattoo.

His rope spell.

The invisible magic lashed out, coiling twice around Thugar's right arm. Dahvid took the other end of the magical rope and drove it straight down into the ground. He felt the magic anchor there. When Thugar raised his sword again, the invisible rope went taut. His right hand jerked down to the ground. It was forceful enough that he nearly fumbled his sword.

Dahvid took advantage. Darting around the bigger man, rolling to collect his fallen sword. He spun back, hoping to turn the tides of the fight while Thugar was still trapped, but his opponent didn't panic. He lifted his massive sword, set it against the spot where the invisible rope was, and cut through it with a single strike.

That's a sever-sword. He can destroy magic. Shit.

That realization broke Dahvid. He did not have the physical strength. His magic could not turn the tides. Thugar Brood began to wear him down with merciless efficiency. A cut here. A slit there. An unexpected kick to the chest that sent Dahvid backward. He hit the ground so hard that it felt like he was still falling, like the earth itself was devouring him.

There was dust and the blue sky and his sworn enemy looming overhead. When Dahvid tried to jab upward with his sword, he realized it wasn't there. He'd been disarmed again.

Thugar spat down in the sand beside him. The bigger man made a show of collecting Dahvid's blade, abandoning his own. When he came back, he knelt down close.

"Do you want to know how Ware died?"

Thugar grabbed the back of his neck. With incredible strength, he wrenched Dahvid up into a sitting position. He held the summoned sword in his opposite hand.

"I held him like this," Thugar said. "The same way he held my wife. Dancing with her. Flirting with her. In front of everyone. I held him so very close to me. And then I whispered the final words he heard in this life. The same ones you will hear."

Thugar leaned forward. Dahvid thought his breath smelled like a graveyard.

"No one will remember you."

Before he could plunge the sword, Dahvid dismissed the spell. The metal vanished a second before it could find flesh. Thugar instinctively dropped him, and as Dahvid fell, he reached for his very last tattoo. The two hands that Ware had drawn just before he died. One reaching from below the water and one from above. He did not know what would happen. Power thundered out from him.

A forceful wave that threw back anyone within twenty paces. Dahvid could feel his entire body vibrating with an almost painful surge of energy. The magic latched on to something in the distance. He couldn't tell if it was Thugar, or the trees around them, or some other source. But his guess had been right. The spell was an exchange. His weakness for that waiting strength. His wounds for that offered wholeness. Whatever the source, he felt it flood his veins with pulsing life.

Dahvid snatched an abandoned sword and stood. Thugar Brood was scrambling away. The entire world had gone mute and colorless. He saw everything moving in slow motion. Brood was shoving his own men forward, urging them to fight in his place. Dahvid cut them down one by one, all without adjusting his stride. Navigated through them with a strength that was not simply restorative but an evolution of his power. A perfecting. He'd never been so strong.

Thugar was forced to turn. He swung once, backpedaled, and Dahvid began a sequence of his own. He did not need the scarlet traveler to know how it would all end. He swung low to high. Two darting lunges, a spin move, and then his borrowed blade found the belly of the dragon that had haunted his entire life. Thugar choked out blood. Dahvid held him close, twisting the metal, and then ripping it free. Their eyes met as Dahvid prepared the final blow.

"I will remember Ware. Long after you're gone, his memory will live on."

Dahvid plunged his sword into Thugar's heart.

When he pulled it back, the man fell. It was done. There were a few skirmishes left, but his mercenaries held the hill. He knew he should oversee their entry into the family castles. Make sure that no one killed the servants or looted before the time to divide the spoils came.

But he didn't care. He wanted Cath. He had left a small ring of guards with her. Back by the northern gate. He ran, fueled by the pulsing energy of Ware's spell. He felt like he could sprint all the way back to Ravinia in this state. As he closed in on their location, he saw something had gone wrong. The guards weren't watching for enemy approaches. They were all turned inward. Looking down. Muttering to one another. Dahvid shouted and they moved aside, allowing him through.

"Cath?"

She was on the ground. Wounded and bleeding and paler than he'd ever seen.

"Who did this to her?" He seized the collar of the nearest guard and dragged him down to eye level. "Tell me who did this! You were here to protect her. Who did this?"

He realized none of the men looked as if they'd seen battle. There were no signs of sweat or dirt or blood. Had they betrayed him? But the man stumbled back a step.

"Sir… I'm sorry, sir. There was no one. We were just… we were all standing here. She just fell, sir. She collapsed. All of those wounds appeared. I've never seen anything like it."

Dahvid collapsed back beside her. He pulled Cath in close and stroked her hair and could not admit that she was already gone. His eyes traced her wounds. That pulsing fury was building in his chest. They were lying to him. He'd kill them all for betraying him.

"These are sword wounds. If no one came, how could she…"

His voice trailed away. There was a strange bruise along her throat. A great thicket of black-and-blue skin. Like she'd been punched with a metal gauntlet. Looking down, he saw a horizontal gash across her thigh. Exactly where his wound had been before the magic healed him. His hands traced the lines of her body, finding each cut, remembering each of his own. It was like following a trail up a mountain to learn a truth that he could not bear actually knowing.

He began weeping. Into his hands. Into her hair. Crying over the body of the only person he'd learned to love since that horrible night. He knew what had happened, even if he didn't know why. No one else had done this to her.

It had been the magic. It had been him.