Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

Spirits rushed this way and that, sending blasts of energy into the soldiers and Rikes of Seithrall, but the smoke from the firebrands was beginning to permeate the air. Soldiers grabbed them from the Arch-Rike and charged back into the room, waving them to spread the smoke. Most of the Paracelsus had risen from the original explosion, their chests smoking from where the amulets had been. Annon saw the death grimaces on their faces. Some were retching violently, unable to stand. Then he saw Erasmus, moving like a shadow from one Paracelsus to the next, dagger in hand, making sure each one was dead.

Behind you!

Nizeera growled in warning and launched at the Kishion, who appeared even closer now. The mosquito-like pests had not stalled him. He walked through their vapors without harm and closed in, bringing up a dagger to throw at Tyrus.

“Tyrus!” Annon warned, sending a blast of fire into the Kishion, knowing that it was hopeless, that not even Tyrus’s flames had stopped him before.

Paedrin let out a roar of pain.

The prince torqued Paedrin’s arm around, planting him face-first into the ground. The angle of his arm was excruciating. He tried to do a front roll to unwind his arm, but the prince dropped to one knee, making that impossible. His arm was locked and the rest of his body shrieked in pain.

“Cut off the ring!” Prince Aran said to Hettie. “Quickly!”

If they cut the ring, you will die. They will die. The ring will explode. Let them cut it. You will serve me best through your death.

Hettie’s look was one of agony. “I’m sorry,” she said, bringing the dagger up.

“No!” Paedrin said, his face contorting, his eyes wild with panic. “Don’t…cut…it!” He tried to free himself. He felt the tears squeeze through his lashes. He tried to speak, but the Arch-Rike clamped his mouth shut. He tasted blood on his tongue. His entire body shook with pain, but he could not free himself from the prince. They were going to die because of him. They would all be killed. He looked pleadingly in Hettie’s eyes.

She had tears in her eyes, but she took hold of his fingers and tried to pry them apart to get at the one with the ring.

Nizeera slashed at the Kishion, but he dodged her blows and planted a knife in her haunch. She shrieked in pain, scrabbling in spasms, and he shoved her away. He would be on them in moments, Annon realized. He tried to summon a spirit to heal her, but the hazy smoke was driving them to escape from the windows in droves. Annon saw the look of terror on Paedrin’s face. The ring would not come off easily. Even if they cut it, what would happen?

There had to be another way.

“Wait,” Annon said, rushing to her.

Tyrus shook his head in despair. “It’s a Kishion ring. He cannot remove it himself without dying. Cut it off.”

“No,” Annon said, his mind whirling. A spirit hovered near him, whispering. He tried to make out the words amidst the commotion.

Neodesha warns you. The spirit ring. Someone else must release him from the trap. He has not shed blood yet.

It all came together in his mind, a flash of insight. In the woods of Wayland, he had seen many rabbit snares left by trappers. A rabbit would race into it headfirst and it would cinch around its neck. The more it kicked and tried to flee, the tighter the noose became until it strangled. He had freed several rabbits caught in such snares. The memory came to him as a whisper from Neodesha far away, but spoken through his mind in the form of a memory. They were connected somehow. Her wisdom seeped into him. Paedrin could not remove the ring from himself. He was the rabbit in the snare. But someone else could if he had not killed anyone yet.

Annon pushed Hettie aside and grabbed the Kishion ring. With a hard twist, he pulled it off of Paedrin’s finger.

There was no explosion. It was yet another lie told by the Arch-Rike. The irony struck Paedrin bitterly. The Rikes and their rings were all a great lie. His imprisonment was a lie. His destiny as a Kishion was a lie.

Everyone stared at him, wide-eyed. Annon held the Kishion ring in his hand and jerked as if it scalded him. He dropped it to the floor.

The voice in Paedrin’s mind was gone. He would never allow it in again.

Paedrin’s eyes focused, a feeling of intense relief flooding him. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, Annon.”

Prince Aran released his hold and Paedrin straightened. He turned to the Quiet Kishion and launched at him like a spear shaft. He was free and it gave him energy and a sense of duty he had never felt before. Everything in Kenatos was a great lie. It was time for the truth to be shown.

The two were embroiled together. Paedrin observed everyone cluster around Tyrus, who withdrew the cylinder. “Gather round me!” Tyrus barked. “Hold my arm!”