Kihrin pushed Teraeth away from him so Kihrin was standing on his own, and the blond man cocked his head and regarded Darzin. “Yeah, funny thing about that. I suppose you should probably go ask Xaltorath if he really received an acceptable sacrifice. I’ve got a funny hunch he lied about having to do what you say.”
Darzin pulled his sword from his scabbard. “Doesn’t matter. We already have what we want. Who’s your friend?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Kihrin said back. “Shall we end this?” He lowered the sword from his shoulder.
Thurvishar was looking past Darzin, toward the center of the Arena. He showed no interest in Kihrin or Teraeth, but was staring at the bright light flashes. Dread stole over Kihrin. If Thurvishar was still here, that meant Tyentso had been wrong about Gadrith’s decline in power. She was fighting the man himself.
That was not a good sign.
“End this?” Darzin laughed outright. “Oh brat, you can hardly stand. Do you really think you’ll be any good against me?” He waved the sword in front of him.
“Are you too afraid to find out?”
Darzin’s nostrils flared. He stepped forward, nimble feet dodging the fallen branches and bleached white bones of the Culling Fields floor. He came in with a quick sword swing.
Kihrin blocked it easily and took a step to the side. “You need to work on your stance.”
Darzin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t waste breath on a reply. He attacked again, slicing to Kihrin’s off-side, feinting, and then sliding to the right to thrust the blade at Kihrin’s thigh.
Kihrin again reacted, moving his sword to block the feint, then leaning back just enough so that Darzin’s sword sliced through the fabric of his kef but no deeper. Darzin and Kihrin circled each other, until Kihrin’s back was to the center of the park. Darzin lunged forward. Kihrin caught the inside of Darzin’s blade against his own, and while the blades were trapped there, Darzin lashed out and punched Kihrin in the face.
Kihrin staggered back and wiped the blood from his nose.
Darzin shook his head. “Oh, come on, this isn’t even a challenge. The least you can do is put some backbone into it.”
Kihrin readied his blade again.
Thurvishar sighed as he watched the lights fade from the center of the Arena. “What a tragedy. She was magnificent.”
“What?” Kihrin’s eyes flickered to Thurvishar in horror, and Darzin saw his chance.
More than one person saw their chance. As Darzin swung at Kihrin, a wall of energy—fine deadly webs of glowing blue lines—spread out from Thurvishar. Teraeth vanished from where he had been standing and reappeared, almost in position to slice his poisoned blades across Thurvishar’s back. Almost, but not quite.
Teraeth flew back as if he’d run into an invisible wall.
Kihrin wasn’t distracted. Too late, Darzin tried to stop himself, but he was already committed to the sword swing. Kihrin stepped inside Darzin’s blade, holding his sword next to his body with one hand on the hilt and the other hand directing the back end of the sword. He sliced across Darzin’s wrist, then in a single quicksilver-smooth motion lifted the sword and brought the blade up and across Darzin’s throat.
Kihrin stepped backward as Darzin put his hand to his neck, shock widening his eyes as blood gushed outward. Kihrin didn’t have to see beyond the First Veil to know what Darzin was doing.
He was healing himself.
“Not this time.” Kihrin swung his sword in a tight arc with all his remaining strength.
Darzin’s head and several of his fingers tumbled onto the grass.
“I’m sorry,” Thurvishar whispered. “I have no choice. None.”
Kihrin turned to him in time to see the branches and roots of trees twisting out of the ground to wrap around Teraeth—the real Teraeth—who struggled at the bonds with little success of freeing himself.
Kihrin held up his sword as he moved back to confront Thurvishar. “You’re gaeshed.”
The magus smiled. “If only I could answer.”
“Notice how I didn’t ask you.”
“Yes, perhaps that’s for the best.”
Kihrin swallowed and looked past him into the center of the park. The darkness that lingered now was far more threatening than the colored light show had been earlier. “Settle a curiosity for me, would you? I get that you don’t look like Sandus because you’re half-vordreth, but the age thing has been bothering me. I think I’ve got it though: it’s because you’ve spent time in that lighthouse, Shadrag Gor, isn’t it? Time moves slower there, and that’s why everyone thinks you’re too old to be Sandus’s son, even though you are. Truthfully, you’re not any older than I am.”
“Oh, I am older than you,” Thurvishar corrected, looking impressed, even as he explained the details as much as the gaesh allowed. “I lived those years. I just didn’t live them here.”
“Kihrin!” Teraeth shouted. “Just run. Run! You can’t take them both.”
“And I can’t run fast enough either,” Kihrin said, looking past Thurvishar. “He’s already here.”
As if on command, Gadrith strode out of the darkness.
87: THE BREAKING OF OATHS
Gadrith smiled as he walked forward, a look that had been foreign to Dead Man’s face. It was in keeping with Sandus’s sunny air, made more macabre for that false cheer.
It was like a sick joke, Kihrin thought as he watched him step toward the group. Gadrith, who had pretended to be Thurvishar’s father, now possessing the body of Thurvishar’s real father in an evil mockery of that memory. Kihrin saw the look of unrepentant hate on Thurvishar’s face and knew that, if he had been able to, he would have destroyed Gadrith long ago.
“I’m curious how you Returned,” Gadrith told Kihrin. “Still, I don’t begrudge you Darzin’s death. You were right back in the tombs: his usefulness came to an end the moment he sacrificed you to Xaltorath.”
“I assume you killed Tyentso,” Kihrin said, his expression grim.
Gadrith raised an eyebrow. “You may need to be more specific, young man.”
“Raverí,” Kihrin corrected. “Your wife.”
“Ah!” Gadrith smiled again. “Yes. She acquitted herself admirably. I almost regret I had to slay her.”
“Really?” Thurvishar asked, surprise coloring his voice.
“No. I was being polite.”
“What happens now?” Thurvishar asked. “Do you want me to take care of these two while you search the tombs for Urthaenriel?”
Gadrith cocked his head and gave Thurvishar a look of intense dissatisfaction. “… yes.”
Kihrin walked forward, trying not to stagger. He concentrated on pulling what strength he could from the ground, the trees, the surrounding grass. “Is that what this is all about? Recovering Kandor’s sword, Godslayer?” Kihrin paused, and his eyes narrowed. “I had this wrong, didn’t I? We all had this wrong. You weren’t trying to become Emperor. You could have been Emperor years ago. You could have been Emperor whenever you wanted, but you didn’t care about that crown until you realized it was the only way you could step a foot inside those ruins— without the Empire’s magic blasting you to pieces. This isn’t a coup … it’s a … it’s.…” Kihrin laughed. “This is a burglary.”
“Yes,” Gadrith agreed in a flat, dry tone. He looked over at his “son.” “He’s smarter than his brother.”