Chasing the Prophecy
Page 67

“It knows you,” Corinne said. “It’s trying to reach you.”
Jason gave a nod. The charm necklace would prevent mental contact. His psychic inability might also block communication.
“It shared dreams with you,” Corinne murmured, rubbing her elbows as if she felt a chill.
“Lurky?” Jason asked. Was this the same lurker he had met shortly after his return to Lyrian?
The air remained still, the sea quiet.
Jason resolved that if the lurker insisted on a duel, he would try his best. Whether a lucky victory was possible or not, he would feel better if he went down swinging. Maybe it would help distract him from the pain of the fatal blow.
The torivor extended one of the swords, the blade pointed directly at Jason. The dark being turned the weapon upright and tossed it to him, the sword traveling at the perfect angle for Jason to catch the weapon by the hilt.
As Jason reached out his hand, Drake stepped in front of him and intercepted it.
The lurker rushed forward, forcing Drake to deflect a flurry of swings. The blades chimed musically, each ringing collision reverberating over the water. Drake circled to his right, and the lurker stayed with him, pressing the attack. The seedman barely parried blow after blow.
Jason watched in a daze. The weight of his impending death had settled so firmly in his heart and mind that he felt astonished by the interruption. Drake was trying to save him. Jason felt a wrenching mix of gratitude and horror. Could the seedman possibly win?
Jasher stole the sword from Jason’s sheath and joined the fight, attacking the lurker from behind. With preternatural grace, the torivor engaged the two seedmen at once, not only protecting itself but still actively attacking. Blood sprayed from Jasher’s arm. Before the droplets had landed on the deck, Drake received a quick stab in the thigh.
A drinling up on the mast hurled a knife at the torivor. Without disrupting its attacks on Drake and Jasher, the lurker swiped the knife with its sword, like a batter connecting for a homerun. After the clang of contact, the knife streaked through the air into the chest of the man who had thrown it. He tumbled from the mast to the deck, landing loosely.
A scratch on Jasher’s cheek. A shallow slash across Drake’s side. Both seedmen were scarcely stalling death. They doggedly resisted the inevitable with all of their skill, but they could not possibly win.
Corinne drew her sword, and Farfalee was immediately at her side to restrain her. “No,” the seedwoman demanded.
“But maybe—” Corinne protested.
“No,” Farfalee repeated with finality.
Galloran had drilled all of the best swordsmen on how to fight torivors, not necessarily because he thought they could learn to defeat them, but rather to elevate their overall skills. Jasher had received the expert training, as had Drake, Corinne, Ferrin, and Aram. Galloran had shown them patterns the torivors preferred and how to defend against them. Jason had watched some of the sessions. It had been intense. Jason suspected that as skilled and experienced as Jasher and Drake were, without that training, they would have already fallen.
The chiming swords moved in a frantic blur. With flawless precision the lurker continued to alternate blows, in front and behind, striking ruthlessly, leaving no openings. Jasher was stabbed in the eye. Drake lost his free hand just above the wrist. Both seedmen kept fighting.
Jason realized that when the seedmen died, he would still have to take up his sword and fight his duel. They shouldn’t have intervened! He was more grateful for their sacrifices than he could have ever expressed, but now three of them would die instead of one!
“Get ready!” Drake yelled. “Don’t miss this!”
Whipping his sword fiercely, Drake charged forward. The lurker stabbed him through the chest, the blade piercing his titan-crab breastplate as if it were cardboard. Dropping his sword, legs churning to keep his momentum, Drake wrapped both arms around the lurker, hoisting it off the ground. The legs flailed. A dark fist pounded Drake on the shoulder. For an instant the lurker hung in the air immobilized.
And Jasher stabbed it through the back.
The torivor vanished with a blinding flash.
Jasher pulled the tip of his sword out of Drake and caught him as he slumped forward. Farfalee darted to them and helped her husband lay her brother on the deck. Jason and Corinne drew near.
Drake coughed wetly. One shoulder was misshapen, buckled where bones had snapped. As he rested on his side, the hilt of the torivor’s sword protruded from his chest, the sleek blade from his back. Blood drained from his many wounds.
“We need a tourniquet on that arm!” Farfalee instructed.
“Failie,” Drake chided softly, “I’ve . . . done this before. I’m past . . . the reach of medicine.” He coughed again. His eyes shifted to Jasher. “We got it.”
“Yes,” Jasher said. “That was the bravest act I’ve ever seen.”
“Always wanted to . . . go out with style.”
“Drake,” Farfalee managed, her face rigid. “Drake, I . . .” Her fragile composure shattered into sobs.
“Don’t,” Drake said. “I know. I love you too.” His eyes shifted back to Jasher. “You killed a torivor!” The statement was powered by a moist chuckle. “First Galloran . . . now two can claim it.”
“Three of us,” Jasher corrected. “You more than I.”
Drake closed his eyes tightly and clenched his jaw. He was having trouble breathing.
Jason couldn’t hold back any longer. He knelt beside his friend. The words came in a rush. “Thank you, Drake. You saved my life. I wish you hadn’t. I’m so sorry.”
Drake grabbed Jason’s forearm with his remaining hand. The grip was strong. Jason tried to ignore the leaking injuries. “No, Jason. No apologies. You saved me.” He coughed several times. “I was . . . already dead. No amar. Squandered it. I could have ended . . . alone . . . a failure. Hating myself. This is better. Much better . . . than I deserve.”
Jason felt vaguely aware of Corinne’s hand on the back of his neck. He could not restrain his tears.
Drake released Jason and became lost in a fit of coughing and gasping. Jason wanted to turn away. Drake would die any second. But he could not turn his back on his friend, just in case those eyes opened again.
They did. “Take it out,” Drake murmured.
Jasher crouched, bracing one hand against Drake, and withdrew the torivor’s sword, the blade scraping against the cracked breastplate as it came free. No gore clung to the sleek weapon. Jasher cast it aside.