the meld’s anger. Enraged, Kordenza went for the girl and swiped her savagely across the face, hard enough to knock Wendah to the ground. The meld reached for her sword.
Kutch was there, pointing his dagger at her, hand trembling. ‘Leave her alone,’ he said.
The meld sneered. ‘Think you can stand up to me, little boy? Let’s see, shall we?’ She swept up her blade.
Another barred its arc. It belonged to the silent young officer.
‘How dare you stay my hand?’ Kordenza flared. ‘Whose side are you on anyway?’
‘Certainly not yours,’ he said, speaking for the first time. ‘You want Kutch, you go through me.’
‘I’ll enjoy it.’
Their swords came together and another fight broke out.
‘What the hell are you doing, Meakin?’ Bastorran yelled.
‘Looks like you don’t inspire quite as much loyalty as you thought,’ Caldason chided.
They fenced on.
Still clutching the knife, Kutch backed away from the violence and helped Wendah up. Her lip was bleeding and she looked shaken, but not seriously hurt. He embraced her protectively.
In Kordenza, Meakin had chosen an opponent far more skilled than himself. But he acquitted himself well, bravely even, knowing that he faced a professional killer. The meld chose to increase her advantage yet further. She retreated a few steps and began the repugnant process of disgorging her twin.
‘Don’t let her do that!’ Kutch cried, for he’d seen what she was, and what she could become.
Meakin dashed forward, evaded the meld’s sword and encircled her in a bear hug. Their struggle took them to the ground, limbs thrashing.
That particular distraction was poorly timed for Caldason. He deflected a blow imprecisely, then took a second hit at an awkward angle. The upshot was that his sword, the only one he wore this day, was knocked clean out of his hand. It landed tip down, quivering, in the impacted earth of the stable floor. He dived for it, sprawling full- length, a finger’s length short.
Bastorran was nearer. He contemptuously kicked the blade away. It bounced beyond reach.
Caldason was at his mercy. The paladin loomed over him, lifting his sword for the killing blow. ‘You don’t know how much I’ve longed for this,’ he announced sardonically, relishing the moment.
The blood pounded in Reeth’s ears. Kutch yelled something that sounded like, ‘The sword, Reeth!’ He looked to the weapon. It was tantalisingly near but past hope of recovering.
Bastorran’s blade was raised high.
Wendah gave a shrill little scream of horror.
Caldason’s gaze returned to his sword. An indescribably powerful surge of wanting rose in him.
The sword moved. It shifted jerkily at first, as though tugged by an invisible hand. Then it flew, smooth and dart-like, hilt first to fill his waiting hand.
Bastorran watched all this in frozen astonishment, his own sword poised.
Reeth took his chance. He delivered an upward thrust. The steel sliced into Bastorran’s abdomen, and Caldason felt it go in deep. He wrenched it free, ready to strike again. The wound erupted crimson.
The paladin wore an expression of bewildered disbelief. A look that spoke ill of a Fate that could have him snatch defeat from the jaws of sweet victory. The sword slipped from his grasp. His blood flowed more freely still. He fell.
Caldason was numb. The blade in his hand could have been a viper from the way he stared at it.
There was a commotion. Kordenza ran for the door, cloak aflutter. Meakin was getting to his feet and looking to chase her.
‘Let it go!’ Caldason shouted. He thought the young man lucky to have survived one encounter with her. A second could well prove fatal.
The young officer obeyed. In fact, his attention was now on Kutch, and the two of them came together. They hugged.
It seemed to Caldason that the world had just got crazier. Standing, he said, ‘Kutch, who is this?’
The boy turned his head Caldason’s way. His eyes were glistening. ‘This is Varee, Reeth. My brother.’
‘Your what?’
‘It’s true,’ Varee told him. ‘Kutch and I are siblings, and we haven’t seen each other in a long time. In fact, until recently I felt sure he was dead.’
‘And I thought you must be,’ Kutch said, his voice near breaking.
‘Varee Pirathon?’ Reeth queried. ‘Bastorran called you something else.’
‘Meakin. Lahon Meakin. Under that name I’ve been his aide for the last six months.’
‘You better be able to explain this.’ There were sounds of fighting from outside the stables, a reminder of the greater conflict. ‘Only not right now. Later, if we’re still alive.’
‘He’s all right, Reeth,’ Kutch insisted. ‘He’s my brother. Look how he took on the meld.’
‘You do deserve thanks for that, Varee,’ Caldason conceded. He turned his attention to Wendah and Kutch. ‘And so do you two.’
‘Forget that,’ Kutch replied excitedly. ‘What about that magic you pulled off? That was awesome, Reeth!’
‘No. No, I didn’t do that. It was a fluke…a…It was really you, wasn’t it, Kutch? Or you, Wendah?’
They shook their heads in unison.
‘Neither of us could do that,’ Wendah informed him.
‘It was you, Reeth,’ Kutch added. ‘You’re a natural. That Founder blood.’
Caldason was horrified. He resumed studying his sword.
Varee looked thoroughly confused.
In brotherly empathy, Kutch said, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll explain. Though there’s a lot to tell.’
‘I know some of it. I’ve been trying to help your cause, in a small way. And I want to help now.’
‘Then get rid of that uniform,’ Caldason advised, pulling himself together. ‘There are several hundred rebels out there waiting to riddle it with arrows.’
‘Gladly.’ The elder Pirathon started peeling off his tunic, revealing a plain shirt.
Kutch looked on in something approaching adoration. And Wendah looked happy for him.
‘The fighting’s nowhere near over,’ Caldason reminded them soberly. ‘Not to mention that meld’s still on the loose. Let’s get out of here in good order, and keep your weapons handy. Kutch, Wendah, you stick close.’
They trooped past Bastorran’s body and to the door. On the way, Varee picked up a discarded horse blanket and draped it around his shoulders against the cold.
Things were a lot quieter outside. The invaders had been repelled, just, and at a dreadful cost in lives. Islanders were mopping up the last pockets of fighters. Most were being forced into a retreat through the gates, or back over the walls. Kordenza was nowhere to be seen, and was presumably among them.
Caldason couldn’t stop thinking about what had just happened with the sword he carried, and what Kutch had said about it. He walked on, leaving the brothers and Wendah behind in their slow-moving, engrossed huddle.
Darrok swooped in on his flying dish. ‘Good to see you, Reeth.’
Caldason returned the greeting distractedly.
‘Thanks for saving my woman,’ Darrok added gratefully. ‘Look at that,’ he went on before Reeth could respond. He pointed at a corpse half immersed in a horse trough. The man wore pirate clothing. ‘More of Vance’s men siding with the empires.’ It was obviously a running sore for him.
‘Something should be done,’ Caldason replied mordantly.
Darrok was in a mood to take that literally. ‘You bet something should be done. And I’m the one to do it, given the debt I owe the swine.’
Caldason kept walking, leaving Darrok to stare at his back before gliding away. He went to one of the walls, clear of invaders now, and found a little stretch of his own. The soldiers they’d driven out were jogging towards an army massing on the plain. A force bigger than the entire rebel population of the Diamond Isle, and with more arriving. He knew that everything up to now had been a skirmish.
Wendah came and stood beside him. ‘They want to be together,’ she explained. ‘They don’t need me there.’ It was said without rancour. She took in the scene. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it?’
He nodded. ‘Yes.’ He was thinking of Serrah. All he wanted was to be with her, and that was the next thing he was going to do.
