“You chose poorly, revealing yourself at last,” Kiranrao said slyly.
Tyrus gave a curt nod to Prince Aran.
The Prince grabbed Kiranrao by the wrist and forced him face-first into the scraggy dirt. The awkward angle of the Romani’s arm, the suddenness of the move, startled everyone. It was a Chin-Na technique and Annon watched in surprise at how quickly Kiranrao was subdued.
“Have I?” Tyrus said coldly after Kiranrao stiffened in pain, totally unable to move. “You’re discovering that your magic obeys me and not you. I was the one who taught the Paracelsus who crafted it. I know the nature of the spirits trapped inside the sword and they will obey me. You also have a very dangerous blade, the Iddawc. I warn you right now that if you attempt to use it against me, you will fail. Everyone is here for a reason. Prince Aransetis is here to guard me from you. Trust me when I say that I’ve thought out all of your moves, all of your options. You can’t flit away like smoke unless I let you. You cannot draw the blade Iddawc unless I permit it. And while you think you may be fast and can throw the dagger at me, I wear a charm that will send it hurtling back at you with the same force. I cannot be harmed by that blade, Kiranrao. But you can.”
Tyrus stepped closer to the cringing Romani, his voice full of disdain. He loomed over the Romani like a hawk ready to pounce. “You think the boulders over there are the wall surrounding the perimeter. I’ve told you before, this place is like a maze. There are walls inside as well. If you think you can skulk away into the woods and then flee us, you are quite mistaken. Now that I have you here, you’ll see this through to the end. You see, I need you here. There are some demons here that only you can kill. But we do this on my terms.”
Annon stared at the unfolding scene with shock as well as frightened appreciation for how well Tyrus had mastered the scene. He stared at the man he once thought was his uncle.
“Are you agreed?” Tyrus asked thickly, his cheek muscle twitching with barely controlled contempt. His eyes glittered.
They all stared at the subdued Romani, seeing the murder flash in his eyes. His face was twisted with rage as well as cunning.
There was the distant cry of a Weir, a piercing whine that deepened the darkness around them. Annon felt a chill and brushed his arms.
“Yes,” Kiranrao spat.
“Wise decision,” Tyrus said. “Aran. Show him what you’ve been training to do.”
The Prince hauled Kiranrao to his feet, but he did not release his grip. Then suddenly, he torqued Kiranrao’s arm the other way and flipped him onto his back. He stepped in, turning again, and the Romani’s back arched with agony, his fingers splayed. The edge of Aran’s hand swept down against the side of Kiranrao’s neck but stopped short of the blow. Then with hooked fingers, he mimicked digging into Kiranrao’s eyes to blind him. With his mouth wide in an unfulfilled scream, the Prince grabbed his bottom teeth and mimicked jerking downward, as if to break his jaw. He swiveled Kiranrao’s wrist again and brought him chest-down on the ground. The Prince landed two soft blows to his kidneys and then stepped on Kiranrao’s back, grabbing the Romani under the chin and pulling backward until the thief’s spine arched dangerously.
Aran then released the grip on Kiranrao and stepped back, folding his arms, looking imperiously down at the fallen man. “That is what I will do to you if you betray Tyrus.”
Annon stared at them in fearful amazement, seeing the cold ruthlessness in the Vaettir’s eyes. He had trained his whole life to injure and kill. He was not like a Bhikhu at all.
The look on Paedrin’s face was a mixture of revulsion and respect. All of the maneuvers that the Prince had put Kiranrao through lasted only brief moments.
Tyrus’s voice was full of warning. “Prince Aran has trained almost exclusively to disarm bladed weapons. I have seen him fight many times, wrestling his opponents in moments and flinging their weapons away. Even you, Baylen, would find it difficult to use your size advantage against him.”
“I don’t intend to,” the Cruithne said with a gruff voice.
“I didn’t think so,” Tyrus replied. He stared down at Kiranrao and then bid him stand. “Pain is a teacher, Kiranrao. Learn from it. I promised you a reward if you were faithful to me. You will earn it. But I humiliate you deliberately to prove that I can and that I have the upper hand in this situation. Think twice before crossing me or challenging me. Now follow. All of you.”
Tyrus turned and approached the wall of boulders. Annon thought he recognized the spot from when they had reached it earlier that day.
Tyrus gave a curt nod to Prince Aran.
The Prince grabbed Kiranrao by the wrist and forced him face-first into the scraggy dirt. The awkward angle of the Romani’s arm, the suddenness of the move, startled everyone. It was a Chin-Na technique and Annon watched in surprise at how quickly Kiranrao was subdued.
“Have I?” Tyrus said coldly after Kiranrao stiffened in pain, totally unable to move. “You’re discovering that your magic obeys me and not you. I was the one who taught the Paracelsus who crafted it. I know the nature of the spirits trapped inside the sword and they will obey me. You also have a very dangerous blade, the Iddawc. I warn you right now that if you attempt to use it against me, you will fail. Everyone is here for a reason. Prince Aransetis is here to guard me from you. Trust me when I say that I’ve thought out all of your moves, all of your options. You can’t flit away like smoke unless I let you. You cannot draw the blade Iddawc unless I permit it. And while you think you may be fast and can throw the dagger at me, I wear a charm that will send it hurtling back at you with the same force. I cannot be harmed by that blade, Kiranrao. But you can.”
Tyrus stepped closer to the cringing Romani, his voice full of disdain. He loomed over the Romani like a hawk ready to pounce. “You think the boulders over there are the wall surrounding the perimeter. I’ve told you before, this place is like a maze. There are walls inside as well. If you think you can skulk away into the woods and then flee us, you are quite mistaken. Now that I have you here, you’ll see this through to the end. You see, I need you here. There are some demons here that only you can kill. But we do this on my terms.”
Annon stared at the unfolding scene with shock as well as frightened appreciation for how well Tyrus had mastered the scene. He stared at the man he once thought was his uncle.
“Are you agreed?” Tyrus asked thickly, his cheek muscle twitching with barely controlled contempt. His eyes glittered.
They all stared at the subdued Romani, seeing the murder flash in his eyes. His face was twisted with rage as well as cunning.
There was the distant cry of a Weir, a piercing whine that deepened the darkness around them. Annon felt a chill and brushed his arms.
“Yes,” Kiranrao spat.
“Wise decision,” Tyrus said. “Aran. Show him what you’ve been training to do.”
The Prince hauled Kiranrao to his feet, but he did not release his grip. Then suddenly, he torqued Kiranrao’s arm the other way and flipped him onto his back. He stepped in, turning again, and the Romani’s back arched with agony, his fingers splayed. The edge of Aran’s hand swept down against the side of Kiranrao’s neck but stopped short of the blow. Then with hooked fingers, he mimicked digging into Kiranrao’s eyes to blind him. With his mouth wide in an unfulfilled scream, the Prince grabbed his bottom teeth and mimicked jerking downward, as if to break his jaw. He swiveled Kiranrao’s wrist again and brought him chest-down on the ground. The Prince landed two soft blows to his kidneys and then stepped on Kiranrao’s back, grabbing the Romani under the chin and pulling backward until the thief’s spine arched dangerously.
Aran then released the grip on Kiranrao and stepped back, folding his arms, looking imperiously down at the fallen man. “That is what I will do to you if you betray Tyrus.”
Annon stared at them in fearful amazement, seeing the cold ruthlessness in the Vaettir’s eyes. He had trained his whole life to injure and kill. He was not like a Bhikhu at all.
The look on Paedrin’s face was a mixture of revulsion and respect. All of the maneuvers that the Prince had put Kiranrao through lasted only brief moments.
Tyrus’s voice was full of warning. “Prince Aran has trained almost exclusively to disarm bladed weapons. I have seen him fight many times, wrestling his opponents in moments and flinging their weapons away. Even you, Baylen, would find it difficult to use your size advantage against him.”
“I don’t intend to,” the Cruithne said with a gruff voice.
“I didn’t think so,” Tyrus replied. He stared down at Kiranrao and then bid him stand. “Pain is a teacher, Kiranrao. Learn from it. I promised you a reward if you were faithful to me. You will earn it. But I humiliate you deliberately to prove that I can and that I have the upper hand in this situation. Think twice before crossing me or challenging me. Now follow. All of you.”
Tyrus turned and approached the wall of boulders. Annon thought he recognized the spot from when they had reached it earlier that day.
