changelands?”
“Your life will not be at risk, my child,” Gregor said. “I have enough of the elixir to protect you while you complete the task. And unfortunately Tyrangal has no more plaguegrass. Neither does anyone else. It only grows inside the Plaguewrought Land. It’s quite amazing that she had some to begin with.”
Slanya stood at balanced readiness and waited for him to continue. She had made her decision; she would go regardless of the risk. She had never been inside the Plaguewrought Land, but the benefits to those who came into contact with the spellplague would be immeasurable.
And despite his recent obsessions, Gregor had saved her life and had given her everything. She trusted him and would do whatever he asked.
“I have two doses of the elixir left,” he continued. “You will take them with you, and they will protect you from the spellplague remnants.”
Slanya nodded.
“I need someone I trust to do this for me,” Gregor said, putting his hand on Slanya’s shoulder. “Vraith has offered to help, but I don’t want the Order of Blue Fire involved. Just between you and me, I’m not sure I trust their motives, and I’d rather they stay ignorant of the elixir’s ingredients.”
“Very well,” she said. “When do I leave?”
“Tomorrow,” Gregor said. “First thing in the morning, you will meet with Tyrangal.”
“Tyrangal herself?” Slanya did not follow the gang politics of Ormpetarr, but even she had heard of the secretive woman who commanded a sizable fighting force to keep the peace. She had a reputation for ruthlessness and cunning.
“Yes,” Gregor said. “I have spoken with her, and she’s agreed to help. Someone who works for her has been inside the changelands and will act as your guide.”
Slanya blinked. Everything was happening so fast. “I’ll need to get my things prepared.”
Gregor nodded. “Yes, but hurry. I’ve arranged for you to meet with Tyrangal. She’s expecting you at dawn.”
“Whoa, whoa,” Duvan said, circling carefully away from the cliff edge. “Let’s talk this over before anyone gets hurt.” He continued his slow sideways walk to put his back to the jungle.
“The only one who might get hurt is you,” Beaugrat said.
“It’s two against one. You’re tired and, frankly, look like you’ve been through the Nine Hells.”
As the other man spoke, Duvan gathered detailed stock of the situation. Beaugrat and Seerah stood slightly apart with the horses behind them. No getting to the horses without going through the two of them. Smart.
He could run for the forest; that might be his best bet, if he could get the crossbow off him. The ranger clearly wanted to shoot him. The setting sun’s light made her pale skin and blonde hair seem limned in blood. No uncertainty showed in her eyes; she clearly hoped he would try something so she could pull the trigger.
Duvan cursed himself for not seeing this coming. He rarely trusted anyone, but Beaugrat had been one of Tyrangal’s men. And over the years he had come to trust Tyrangal. But now, this riffraff could kill him here and take all his possessionsincluding the book he’d risked his life to get for Tyrangal. In fact, they would be stupid to threaten that and not do it.
The main question on Duvan’s mind was, would they kill him even if he gave up the treasure?
Not that giving up the book was even an option. At least not a permanent option, but he might be able to use it as a delaying tactic until he could figure out a way to kill them. He’d made a promise to deliver the book to Tyrangal if he found it, and Duvan never backed down from a promise.
Kill or he killed. It was a strategy that he’d often lived by, and one which had served him well. The other strategy he liked was “run or be killed.” So, he mused, it was decision time: fight or flight?
“I didn’t find much,” he said, more to buy time than anything else. “Just a few things, most of them worthless.” Duvan took another step, adjusting his posture so that he’d be ready if an attack came.
“Well just see about that,” Beaugrat said. “Hand over your sack.”
“I think you know that’s not going to happen.”
A predatory grin spread across the big man’s face, reminding Duvan eerily of the manticore. “Seerah,” Beaugrat said, “on the count of five, if he hasnt given over the haversack, put an arrow in him.”
“Now hold on.” Duvan put on his most reasonable expression. “Drop this mutiny, and I promise I’ll pay you double what we agreed.”
The sun had set and dusk was nearly here. Not many shadows to hide in if he could get away, but the waning light would make it difficult to distinguish shapes. Under the jungle canopy, this would be perfect for invisibility.
“That’s a very generous offer,” Beaugrat scoffed. “But we seem to have the advantage here.”
Duvan held up one hand. “Hold it,” he said, taking a step back toward the relative safety of the deeper jungle. “You do understand that you can’t take Tyrangal’s property. She won’t allow it.”
“Tyrangal’s power is waning, Duvan. Soon the accordant of the Blue Fire will reign.” Beaugrat’s voice had grown dreamy and reverent.
Duvan edged one more step back. If he could get close enough to dash
“Stand still, or Seerah will shoot you.”
Duvan stopped and gave a conciliatory nod in Seerah’s direction. The ranger smirked back. Yes, she would shoot, Duvan knew. Any hesitation on her part would be brief. But while she was distracted with the exchange, her aim drifted ever so slightlydown and to her right.
Now! As soon as he formed the thought, he was in motion. His left hand, held in front of him to signal “wait,” served as a distraction for his right hand, which was already in his flash powder pouch. A smooth motion pushed a pinch airborne, and with a flick of his fingers, two of his rings chimed together, one flint and one steel.
Duvan dived right as the spark ignited the dust, blinding in the dim light. And by the time the ranger brought her crossbow back to where his chest had been, her quarrel missed him by a good six inches.
He hit the ground and rolled once, then used the momentum to hop back on his feet. They would expect him to bolt into the jungle, and that would be the prudent thing to dotry to lose them amid the dense undergrowth, wait them out, then later make his way back to Ormpetarr on foot.
Instead he decided to attack, quickly and decisively. An enemy dead was always better than him dead.
Duvan plucked one of his paralytic-coated daggers from his sash and flicked it with dead-on accuracy toward the shoulder gap in Beaugrat’s plate armor. Before that dagger landed, Duvan hurtled the next dagger, also coated with poison, at the twisting torso of the ranger. He finished his throws while both were still dazed by the blinding flash.
The first dagger was aimed perfectly and flying too fast for Beaugrat to dodge. It hit home, buried deep in the fighter’s spellscar, and should have dropped him mid-motion. Instead, the dagger vanished in a burst of blue fire.
The second dagger wasn’t aimed quite as well, but Duvan could tell it was enough. The point barely made it through the skin of Seerah’s thigh. But that would be enough; the poison would eventually lock up her muscles. The ranger was already stumbling, and after a moment she lay still on the ground.
Instinct prompted Duvan to dive to his right again, and he’d learned to trust that feeling. Just in time, too, as one of Beaugrat’s steel-covered gauntlets, barbed with sharp extensible spikes, swept past Duvan’s cheek. If it had been any closer, it could’ve taken his three-day stubble with it.
Duvan stood, now having circled so that he was between Beaugrat and the horses. Taking on the barbarian directly would be folly; Duvan would be giving up any advantages he had and would be playing into the other man’s hand.
Beaugrat wore plate armor and was no doubt at least half-again stronger than Duvan. The openings in his armor were limited to his face and the spellscar.
But Duvan was faster, more agile, and smarter. Well, he hoped he was smarter. That would be determined by the outcome.
Beaugrat gave a quick glance at his fallen cohort, and it registered on his face that she was out of the game. She would be dead shortly if an antidote wasnt delivered.
“You should’ve taken the deal,” Duvan said, breathing heavily in the humid jungle air. “Now it’s even odds, and you’re about to go down.”
