"How?" Innowen said simply.
Razkili frowned. "Don't look at me. I've done my part." He gestured at Chohlit with the brand. "It's your turn to think of something."
"Thanks," Innowen answered wryly. "I would rather have tried to talk our way out."
Razkili held the brand a bit higher, spilling more light onto Chohlit's features. "Does this look like the face of a reasonable man?" he asked sarcastically.
Innowen bit his lip. Then he tapped one of the two guardsmen on the bare shoulder with the flat of a sword. "All those bodies we found at the edge of the plain," he said. "It was some kind of battle? Is Ispor at war?"
The soldier looked to his leader for permission to answer, but Chohlit's face was swollen and screwed with pain as he sucked for the little air that Razkili allowed him. At last, the soldier shrugged. "Civil war," he answered bluntly.
Innowen's jaw dropped. "Rebellion against Kyrin?" he said, incredulously. "Who would dare?"
"These days?" the soldier answered with a smirk. "Who wouldn't? The man can't scratch himself without making an enemy. And everybody seems to have an army. That battle? We don't know who they were. They just came at us, no banner, nothing. It's dog eat dog, I tell you."
"Innowen," Razkili said impatiently. "Time to go."
Innowen drew a deep breath. He looked aside for an instant, then savagely smashed the pommel of his right-hand sword against the temple of the guard who had remained silent. That one fell with a groan face down in the dirt. He turned, ready to strike the second man, but the soldier held up his hand for mercy.
"I answered your questions, didn't I?" he said reasonably. "Suppose I just agree not to call out?"
"I trust you," Innowen answered, and he looked to Razkili, who nodded. The soldier grinned as he lowered his hands, and Innowen hit him with all his strength. "Like hell, I trust you," he muttered, gazing down at the sprawled form. He gestured at Chohlit with the point of a sword. "What about him?"
A wicked smile spread over Razkili's face as he looked down into Chohlit's eyes. "Time to die," he whispered, and his fingers dug into the soft flesh around the windpipe. Chohlit's already bulging eyes widened with pure terror, and he made a faint gasping wheeze. Too late, he grabbed for Razkili's wrist. In only a moment, he went limp.
"Dead?" Innowen asked.
Rascal shook his head. "Just out," he answered. "But I bet he'll be surprised to wake up in this world." He grinned unpleasantly. "He had that look in his eyes at the last minute, you know? His whole life flashed before him."
Innowen gave him one of the swords. "I think you enjoyed that."
Razkili winked. "Take your pleasure where you find it."
"More philosophy," Innowen mumbled with mock distaste. "Spare me."
"I might." Razkili answered, nudging Chohlit with a toe. "But he won't. I suggest we leave."
Carefully, they crept to the tent flap and peeked out. Razkili hissed between his teeth. A dozen fires burned in a wide circle. Bare-chested, kilted warriors moved in twos and threes, talking in low voices, chuckling over unheard jokes. Beyond the immediate clearing, smaller fires burned, and tents dotted the dark landscape as far as could be seen.
"It's still your turn," Razkili whispered. "Thought of anything yet?"
Innowen shrugged doubtfully. "Run?" he suggested.
Razkili pursed his lips tightly. "Let's try the back way," he said.
They towered the tent flap, stepped over their unconscious former captors, and knelt down. Innowen drew the edge of his sword through the thin tent fabric. "We're lucky someone didn't see our silhouettes through this stuff," he muttered. "That fire's bright enough to show everything we're doing in here." He tugged open the slit his blade had made and peered out. Tents and campfires surrounded them, but there were fewer men awake and no brightly lit clearing to cross.
"Run?" Innowen said again.
"Walk," Razkili corrected. "Just like we belong here." They glanced at each other for a long moment. Razkili's dark eyes glimmered in the firelight, the sockets made deeper and more shadowy by the red glow. Beads of sweat gleamed in the valleys of his throat and chest, and his lips parted slightly. Innowen could almost taste the tension his friend tried so hard to hide.
Excitement,
Rascal would call it,
and thrill.
And if they got out of this and lived, Innowen thought, he might even agree.
"What's wrong?" Razkili whispered. "You have a peculiar look."
"I was thinking about the horses," Innowen answered. "Especially the pack horse. I'll regret losing the contents of those bags." He forced a half-hearted smile, then crawled through the rip into the warm, open night. Razkili followed, and they stood up.
Side by side, they walked with their short blades pushed through their belts. They avoided the campfires that might have illumined their faces and kept their sandaled tread as soft as possible on the dry, flattened grass. They muttered to each other in low voices, meaningless words, mostly, spoken for the benefit of the ragged men they passed, men whose kilts were little more than scraps tied around their loins, men without sandals, men whose rib bones showed through their skin even in the dim firelight.
"These men are half starved," Innowen murmured to Razkili. "Farmers and shopkeepers. Not professional soldiers at all."
"Don't be fooled by their clothes," Razkili advised sternly. "Look at their weapons. And look at their eyes; they're full of anger. There's no love here for your King Kyrin, and no man hates as much, or fights as hard, as a hungry man."
Suddenly, the shrill note of a horn rent the camp's quiet. Shouting rose from the clearing and quickly spread among the tents. Innowen started to run, but Razkili caught his arm. "No," he said. "They'll expect us to run. Instead, move with purpose and authority, and draw your sword, as if you were hunting for escaped prisoners. Not all of these men could have, seen our faces."
The camp came alive. Three men rushed toward Innowen and Razkili, but Razkili bent around the corner of a tent, pretending to search. "Not here!" he called, waving the soldiers on with his sword. "Try that way!"
Innowen watched the three disappear around another tent, then let go a breath and touched his friend's shoulder. "Between us, I'd rather run for it," he confessed, "My knees can't knock when I run."
Keeping up their pretense, they made it past the last row of tents. They had steered a course away from most of the searchers, until the open plain stretched before them. But far to the left, voices were drawing closer. "Now we run," Razkili said, and he gave Innowen a push.
Innowen ran as fast as he could, and the wind rushing by his ears became a cry of desperation. He threw back his head and sucked air in great regular gulps. The pounding of his heart and the roar of his blood made a thunder in his ears so loud he feared his enemies could hear it. The land rose and fell to meet his tread. It rolled beneath him, lifting him gently, dropping unexpectedly. Each step was a precarious balancing exercise in the darkness.
By his side, Razkili ran easily. The sweat-sheen ignited strangely on his bare chest, his arms, on his back and his pumping legs. The moon had come up, a thin slash in the black heavens, and he glowed with its faint light. His hair made a black wake as he ran, and muscles flowed like a thick, hot liquid beneath his skin.
Innowen's breath came even more quickly as he watched Razkili. An odd burning filled his eyes. It spread down his cheeks to the corners of his lips, over his tongue and the roof of his mouth, down his throat. The burning went all through him, setting fire to all his muscles. Then a moment of vertigo seized him, and he tumbled through nothingness head over heels until the earth reached up and caught him.
Innowen felt Rascal's ragged breath hot in his ear as his friend knelt down beside him. "Get up, Innowen!" He grabbed Innowen's arm and tried to drag him to his feet. "Get up, come on!"
Innowen heard it in those words, the barely concealed note of fear that masqueraded as bravado, the tight control barely maintained in Rascal's voice. Rascal would deny it. Probably, he didn't even know it was there. But Innowen heard it, and because he heard it, he clasped his. fingers around his friend's bicep and let himself be pulled up. For an instant, they stood close enough to feel each other's heat; then they ran.
Behind them, though, he heard the pounding of horses' hooves and knew they had been spotted. Innowen poured all his will into his limbs, but the jagged edge of fatigue ripped at his chest, and breath came in desperate gasps. A red film seeped around the borders of his vision. Still, he didn't slow down, though he felt as if all his body were drawing into a smaller and smaller core, diminishing with every agonizing step.
Run!
The word beat through his brain like a cadence.
Run!
A pair of horses raced by them, turned suddenly, and stopped, cutting them off. Their riders leveled lances with polished, leaf-shaped points of bronze. Quickly, another pair of riders flanked them. Innowen spun about, frantically seeking a clear direction, but more of Chohlit's men surrounded them. He stumbled, fell, and the sword spun from his grasp.
He got up again and ran, actually managing to dodge the lances of the two blocking his way as he darted unexpectedly between their horses. But he heard their taunts and shouts as they rode down on him. Something stung him sharply across the back. The flat of a blade, he realized through a haze of pain. He nearly fell again. Somehow, though, he propelled himself onward.
Rascal, where was Rascal?!
He cast a glance around. A rider dashed by him, turned suddenly, and stopped. Innowen bounced off the animal's shoulder and struck the ground. Before he could move, a lance flashed down and embedded in the earth barely a hand's width from his groin.
Innowen scissored his legs and knocked the shaft into his hands as he rolled sideways and got his feet under him. Rising, he swung upward with the blunt end.
The blow caught a soldier under the chin. The man tumbled from his horse with a surprised grunt. Innowen didn't know if it was the man who'd thrown the lance. He didn't care. There were far too many to pick and choose. He whirled and struck again, but instead of finding a man, the bronze point bit deep into a horse's throat. The beast screamed and reared, but its rider clung on.
There was no time to finish that one off. Others were on him. From the corner of his eye he saw Chohlit astride a great steed, directing his men with angry shouts and curses. Innowen could spare him no more attention though.
The lance became a blur in his hands as he spun it end over end, deflecting a sword that whistled down at his head, and striking the kneecap of its wielder. Any scream was cut short as Innowen followed through and crushed the man's unhelmeted skull with a blow that flung him from his horse.
Then something exploded in the top of Innowen's head. White hot stars burned holes in his vision, and pain raced the entire length of his spine. His knees gave way, and the lance fell from hands suddenly unable to grip. A smaller explosion sent numbness crawling through the right side of his face and down his neck. A third between his shoulder blades blasted the air from his lungs. The ground raced up at him with startling speed, and dirt and grass filled his open, gasping mouth.
Someone rolled him over, and he saw Chohlit once again. From his horse, the man barked a series of orders, words Innowen couldn't quite understand for the ringing in his ears. Two soldiers approached from the right, dragging Razkili awkwardly between them. Innowen found breath, and managed to raise up on one elbow. Before he could do more, rough hands seized him and hauled him to his feet.
Chohlit slid down from his horse. With a satisfied smirk, he grabbed Razkili by the hair and jerked his head up so that they were eye to eye. Razkili's face twisted in pain, and his cry was a knife that stabbed Innowen's heart. Twice, then, Chohlit lashed out with the back of his hand, and a thick stream of blood poured from the Osiri's mouth. With an animal growl, Razkili tried to kick Chohlit, but the enraged soldier easily sidestepped the blow and threw a savage punch at Razkili's gut. "Hold him tighter!" he directed his two men.
Chohlit bent over Rascal. "You should have killed me," he hissed. His hands locked around Razkili's throat. "Now I'm going to finish what you started, just the way you started it."
Chohlit's finger tightened slowly. Razkili struggled, his eyes widening with fear. The guards held him with his arms outstretched, his back arched to the breaking point, as Chohlit forced him backward.
"Stop!" Innowen cried. With the strength of desperation, he pulled free of the hands that held him. "You cowards!" He had no sword, no lance, no weapon at all, and Chohlit's guards were reaching for him already.
But they were killing Razkili! "Damn you!" he screamed. "Damn you all!"
Before they could seize him, he flung his arms high and whirled, the toes of his right foot digging deep into the soft ground as he turned. "Bastards!" he muttered furiously. He swept his left leg high in a smooth arch, lunged his weight onto it, and sprang erect again, balanced on one leg, his left foot on his right knee.
Tears began to trickle from his eyes, fear for what was about to happen, fear for Rascal and for himself. But they were angry tears, too.
The wind seemed suddenly to rise about him, its voice a terrible melody in his ears. He whirled, snapped his head to the right, and rolled a shoulder up, back, down. He paused, looked about, and knew he had them now. Chohlit's soldiers seemed frozen as they watched him. Innowen touched his palms together over his head and slid one hand seductively down the other arm, leaning far to the side as he did. The wind sang a new note, and a timpani joined it, the heartbeats, he realized with a horrible certainty, of the men around him. Even Chohlit's eyes were on him now. Innowen met his rapt gaze and poured hatred for the man into his dance.