Fireblood (Whispers from Mirrowen 1)

Even Hettie was perplexed. She pressed her sleeve against her forehead to stanch the bleeding. “Explosion?” she mouthed.

“Well?” Kiranrao said. “Obviously he sent you here for the blade. Yes, I know it is a blade. But to what purpose?”

Paedrin massaged his shoulder, and it throbbed with agony, nearly making him gasp. He stopped the effort at once. “What business is it of yours where we go and what we do?”

“All business is my business,” he replied testily. “You want to be coy then. Very well. Girl. Finder. Come into the light.”

Hettie stepped forward slowly, gazing up at the gaping hole in the ceiling.

His voice was full of disapproval. “You are Romani. Your assignment here is through. Come up here and tell me what this fuss is all about. You are Tyrus’s niece. I know that to be true. You will not find a more wealthy bidder than I. Not even Tyrus himself, though he chooses not to bid for you. Come.”

Paedrin stepped forward, moving until he was also in the light. He looked up at Kiranrao balefully. “She isn’t yours.”

They stared at each other, Vaettir to Vaettir. “A pity you are wounded, Bhikhu. It might have been interesting otherwise.”

“I’m not the one cowering at the top of a cave. Come down and see how spent I am.”

Hettie gave him a warning look, which he promptly ignored.

“You are Romani, girl. You know you must obey me.”

Hettie gave them an imploring look. “My uncle sent us here for the treasure to buy my freedom.”

Kiranrao chuckled and then laughed long and hard. “The most amazing part is that you actually believe it! Really? I am astounded.” His voice fell serious. “Tyrus serves no man but himself. He used my services to steal that dagger from the Arch-Rike. He knew that I would want it, so he hid it in these forsaken mountains. Your coming to Havenrook was a personal insult to me delivered by yourselves. Instead of seeking my aid, he sent you to a brain-fevered Preachán. This is my lair. This is my country. You are intruders here. The dagger is already mine. You found it, fair enough, but I claim it as my own and challenge you for the right to it. Who will defend your claim on it? Hmmm? Who will bid for you, girl, when I state my intent? I own the dagger. I own you. The only piece of information I am interested in purchasing right now is Tyrus’s whereabouts. I’ll gladly spare your lives, save one. You can argue amongst yourselves as to which one of you must die. I don’t care.”

Paedrin’s mouth went dry. His mind went through a flurry of thoughts. How many were up there with Kiranrao? A dozen? More? His staff was shattered on the floor. His arm was broken and useless. The other two could summon fire, so that would be of help, though the thought of killing them all was distasteful.

“You are bluffing,” Paedrin said. “You are probably up there all alone.”

Kiranrao sighed. “Now you have really insulted me. I think it is you who must die, Bhikhu. The girl is interesting. The Druidecht is bothersome, but at least he is respectfully silent. Erasmus, do you really want to die down in that Cruithnean stink hole? Girl, come closer. I will drop a rope down for you.”

Paedrin scowled and took a step closer.

“No,” Hettie said.

Paedrin stared at her in surprise.

“I was freeborn. I would rather die down here in the dark than be called Romani again. I belong to no man,” she spat.

Kiranrao sighed deeply. “It will be dark soon. You will be hungry. And you will change your mind. I will not tolerate disobedience. You belong to me, girl. I claim you.”

Paedrin saw her fingers begin to glow blue. “No,” he warned.

Some dirt and pebbles tumbled over the edge as another man approached Kiranrao. Furtive whispers came from above.

“What do you mean?” Kiranrao snapped. “He hasn’t returned from fetching water? Why should that…”

There was a roar.

It wasn’t the roar of a bear or the snort of a wolf. It was a sound that penetrated to the deepest part of Paedrin’s heart, a place where shadows bred monsters in the dark. It robbed reason. It stole confidence. Paedrin stood there, knees trembling, and wondered what could make such a sound as that.

Annon had given it a name. The Fear Liath.

The roar was followed by several moments of silence. But the silence was abruptly disturbed as trees and branches gave way to something enormous and strong. There was another roar, this one closer, more terrible. Cries of confusion came from above. There were the sounds of weapons being drawn. Bowstrings twanged. Then a grunt and the gasp of a man smashing into stones before collapsing. Screams followed, shrill and full of dread.