Power Study (Poison Study 3.50)

“I thought the brown stains on the wood had been caused by beer, but now I know they were caused by fear.”

The Lieutenant’s face creased in confusion. The man wasn’t smart enough to make the connection. It didn’t matter though. Once Janco moved, the Lieutenant had bigger worries.

Ari thought the narrow surface would hinder his partner. Janco enjoyed side-stepping his opponents. But Janco made creative use of the bar stools and unarmed the larger man in two moves.

“That’s pathetic. I’m beginning to think I’m too good for this town.” Janco continued to gloat to an obnoxious degree. Even Ari wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. The rest of the Lieutenant’s buddies lined up to teach the new guard a lesson.

With Janco busy, Ari scanned the crowd, keeping an eye out for Rye. The wait staff carried trays full of mugs to the patrons now the bar’s surface was being used. A few people scurried from the bar with their eyes lit and animated expressions on their faces. Ari hoped they would spread the word about Janco’s challenge.

Janco threw one of the reservists into the group of spectators. A wild delight shone on his face as cheers and jeers rose to deafening levels.

Ari rubbed his hand over his eyes. His partner would be near impossible to be with after tonight. To keep his gloating to a minimum, Ari hoped someone would give Janco a close match.

The tavern’s door swung open and a group of men and women tramped in. By the way they strained their necks to catch the action at the bar; Ari knew they came to watch the show. Before the door shut, a hand pushed it wide.

The fish arrived. Rye swaggered into the room as if he frequented the place on a regular basis. His casual and semi-bored expression failed to match the lines of tension in his neck and the vice-like grip on his sword’s hilt—Pemba’s hilt. The shape of the scabbard unmistakable. After finding a good position to view the fighters, Rye studied the action.

Ari didn’t waste time. He knew Rye would soon see through Janco’s disguise. His partner controlled his fondness for bursting into a fighting rhyme, but his quick jabs and graceful footwork would give him away.

Ari dipped the hollow metal tip of a dart into sleeping potion. Inserting the dart into a blow pipe, he aimed, drew breath and puffed.

Pemba appeared to jump from the scabbard. In a flash of movement, the scimitar deflected Ari’s dart. Rye’s hand may be clutched to the hilt, but it was obvious by the stunned open-mouth gape the man had no idea what had just happened.

Loading another dart, Ari tried again. No luck. Pemba blocked again, and now Rye’s gaze locked on Ari. He drew his weapon and stood as Rye strode toward him.

“Resorting to an ambush, Ari?” Rye asked. “Ambushes are for the scared and for the weak. You’re smart to be scared.”

“And you’d be smart to address me as sir.” Ari slid his feet into a fighting stance. He glanced pass Rye’s shoulder, hoping Janco had noticed them. His partner continued to fight an over-muscled guard, completely unaware.

“Looking for reinforcements?” Rye tsked. “First an ambush and then you want to gang up on me. That’s not fair.”

“And wielding a magic sword is?”

“Did you figure it out on your own? Or have you hooked up with that Sandseed hovering about?” He inclined his head toward the back door. “I hope you’re not depending on him for plan B. He’s a bit…scattered right now.”

Oh boy. A horrifying image of Bour chopped into pieces filled his mind as a cold fist of dread clutched his heart. Ari knew he couldn’t match Pemba by himself. “Since you like fair. How about you put the scimitar down and use a regular sword? We could have a nice fair fight on the bar.”

A brief flash of panicked helplessness flamed in Rye’s eyes before the cold killer stare returned. “Nice try, but you’ve set the mood. A fair fight would be moot at this point.”

“Fine. Then I’ll call for help, and you’ll have to fight every guard and reservist in the bar.”

“Go ahead.” Rye gestured to the crowd of people. “Half of them are drunk. They will hinder you more than help you, and Pemba will enjoy cutting into their skin as much as she will savor drinking your blood.”

He had a point. Ari didn’t want to endanger any one else. “Outside, then? Me and you?”

Rye smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Janco had seen Rye enter the bar, which meant their plan to entice Rye there had worked. But from the brief glances he could afford, he knew Ari’s treated darts had missed Rye. Janco countered another lunge from his opponent. The clang of steel rang in the air and vibrated up his arm. The tired arm. He had been fighting one man after the other on this narrow bar for over an hour. He needed a break.

Only one way to get a break. Lose a match. A blow to his pride. A blow to his ego. He hesitated until he spotted Ari and Rye leave the bar through the front door. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem; however Rye carried a magical scimitar called Pemba. Ari couldn’t counter Pemba alone. So much for his pride.

Janco knew his opponent planned to unarm him with a thrust and parry combination. The guy wasn’t too bright. He had tried that move six times before and it failed each time.

Suppressing a sigh, Janco allow his opponent the upper hand. He dropped his sword in defeat, then raised his arms and said, “Congrats, you won. Guess I learned my lesson.” He swept up his sword and hopped off the bar. “Gotto go, fellows.”

Amid cries of outrage, Janco dashed out the back door. The Sandseed magician who had traveled from Sitia to reclaim the scimitar, and who had recruited Ari and Janco to help, was supposed to be guarding the entrance.

Janco skidded to a stop. Deep slices criss-crossed Stripey’s prone form, exposing muscles and bone. He bent over the Sandseed and closed the dead man’s eyes. The lifeless gaze was scary, but what truly terrified Janco was the absence of blood. Not a drop oozed from the cuts, no splashes on the Sandseed’s clothes, and no puddles on the ground. Pemba had absorbed it all.

Magic. Janco spat in disgust.

He raced around the building. A crowd surrounded Ari and Rye’s fight, growing bigger as the bar’s patrons spilled into the street to gawk. Janco pushed through them until he reached the edge.

One glance and he knew Ari wouldn’t last long. Gashes marked Ari’s thick forearms, blood stained his tattered pants, and sweat poured off his strained face. Before joining in the fight, Janco met Captain Kenton’s gaze and nodded.

The bar had been filled with off-duty soldiers and reservists. Most were drunk, but the Captain had been informed about Rye. He and a few others had stayed sober. Since their first plan to prick Rye with a sleeping potion-laced dart failed, the Captain would be needed for plan B.

Janco stepped close to his partner and aimed a blow at Rye’s mid-section. Pemba blurred into motion, countering the strike before Rye reacted. The scimitar controlled the man’s actions, and the insane hunger shining in Rye’s eyes meant the weapon also controlled his mind.

Ari grunted a greeting. “What took you…so long?” His breath huffed with the effort.

“I stopped for a snack, and ordered us a couple beers,” Janco said. “We should finish him soon. I hate warm beer.”

A snort of amusement from Ari, but even Janco grew quiet as they fought Rye. The scimitar blocked every thrust, lunge and attack. Pemba ignored all feints. All the while she snaked under their defenses and sliced into their skin. Little by little the number of cuts grew while he weakened.

The addition of Captain Kenton didn’t slow Pemba down. Three more soldiers joined in. But the scimitar’s movement created a zone around Rye. As if a bubble of glass surrounded him, protecting him. There seemed no way for their weapons to reach him.

P

lan B sucked. Although it kept Rye and Pemba occupied, and gave each of them a turn to take a break, eventually one of them would make a mistake and die. They would be forced to give up and…what? Janco hated to surrender.

Time for plan C. Too bad they hadn’t formulated plan C.

When Ari’s broadsword flew from his grip, Janco called for a retreat. The soldiers engaged in the fighting stepped back as one. No longer under attack, Pemba stilled.

No sweat coated Rye’s face. He wasn’t even panting from the effort of defending against six men. Interesting.

“You can’t stop,” Rye said in a matter-of-fact tone. “A blood sacrifice must be made.”

Time to slow events down and think. Unfortunately, thinking wasn’t his strength. Janco glanced at his partner. Perhaps Ari would have an idea.

“Why do you want a sacrifice?” Ari asked.

“We need it,” Rye said.

“What for?” Janco asked. “You’re already unbeatable.”

“Valek.” The word hissed out between Rye’s teeth.

Pain jabbed Janco where the lower half of his right ear used to be. He rubbed the scar. “Now, I’m not a genius—”

“Got that right,” Ari mumbled.

He shot his partner a nasty look. “But how can increasing your magical power help you against Valek? He’s—”

“Immune, I know. But if we’re strong enough to slow him down, all we need is one single drop of his blood and his immunity will be gone.” Rye advanced toward Janco.

Janco backed away. It galled him, but he needed to stall. “Hold on there, puppy dog. What’s your beef with Valek?”

“He put my mother and me through hell after my father disappeared. Our house was under constant surveillance, preventing my father from returning to us for four years.”

Click. An important clue fell into place and answered a question that should have been asked. How did Rye get Pemba?

“Your father has returned. Did he bring you Pemba?” Ari asked.

Rye pressed his lips together, refusing to answer.

Why would he give the scimitar to his son? He wouldn’t. Janco suppressed the desire to do a little dance. “His father returned, all right. But not to see his son. To retrieve Pemba.”