would show those effete nobles in Aenu what their mocking was
good for, that I would be Ceura’s king. I did not fight Khalidor, and now my ceuros is lost. Thus has Lantano Garuwashi reaped
death for faithlessness.” He turned. “Night Angel, will you be my second?”
A brief look of confusion passed over Kylar, then his eyes showed recognition. After Garuwashi made a lateral cut through
his own stomach with a short sword, his second would strike his head from his shoulders to finish the suicide. It was an honor,
if a grisly one, and Feir couldn’t help but feel slighted.
“Feir, nephilim, messenger from the gods whom I ignored, I would have you serve another way,” Garuwashi said. “Please, carry
my story to my warriors and to my family.”
A chill went down Feir’s spine. Not only would every sa’ceurai in the world know that Lantano Garuwashi had died here, but
they would know Ceur’caelestos had been thrown into the Wood. No matter how Feir told the story, it would be retold until
it fit Ceuran beliefs. The best swordsman, the best sword, and the deadliest place would be tied together forever in Ceuran
myth. Every new sixteen-year-old sa’ceurai who thought he was invincible—in other words, most of them—would head for the Dark
Hunter’s Wood, determined to recover Ceur’caelestos and be Lantano Garuwashi reborn.
It would mean the death of generations.
Kylar’s face changed. It started as black tears pouring from his eyes. Then his eyes themselves were covered in black oil.
Then in a whoosh, the mask of judgment was back. Black eyes leaked incandescent blue flame. Studying Lantano Garuwashi, he
cocked his head to the side. Feir felt a chill at the sight of that visage. Any shred of childhood that had been left in the
young man Feir had met six months ago was gone. Feir didn’t know what had replaced it.
“No,” the Night Angel pronounced. “There is no taint in you that demands death. Another ceuros will come to you, Lantano Garuwashi.
In five years, I will meet you at dawn on Midsummer’s Day in the High Hall of the Aenu. We shall show the world a duel such
as it has never seen. This I swear.”
The Night Angel slapped the thin blade to his back, where it dissolved into his skin. He bowed to Garuwashi and then to Feir,
and then he disappeared.
“You don’t understand,” Garuwashi said, still on his knees, but the Night Angel was gone. Garuwashi turned wretched eyes to
Feir. “Will you be my second?”
“No,” Feir said.
“Very well, faithless servant. I don’t need you.”
Garuwashi drew his short sword, but for once in his life, Feir was quicker than the sa’ceurai. His sword smacked the blade
from Garuwashi’s hand and he scooped it up.
“Give me a few hours,” Feir said. “The Hunter is distracted. With five thousand flies in its web, one more may go unnoticed.”
“What are you going to do?” Garuwashi asked.
I’m going to save you. I’m going to save all your damned stiff-necked, infuriating, magnificent people. I’m probably going
to get my damn fool self killed. “I’m going to get your sword back,” Feir said, and then he walked into the Wood.
11
A high, tortured howl woke Vi Sovari from a dream of Kylar fighting gods and monsters. She sat up instantly, ignoring the aches
from another night on rocky ground. The howl was miles away. She shouldn’t have been able to hear it through the giant sequoys
and the deadening morning mists, but it continued, filled with madness and rage, changing pitch as it flew with incredible
speed from the Wood’s center.
Only then did Vi become aware of Kylar through the ancient mistarille-and-gold earring. She’d bonded Kylar as he lay unconscious
at the Godking’s mercy. It had saved Cenaria and Kylar’s life, and now Vi and Kylar could sense each other. Kylar was two
miles distant, and Vi could feel that he held something of incredible power. She could feel him reaching a
good for, that I would be Ceura’s king. I did not fight Khalidor, and now my ceuros is lost. Thus has Lantano Garuwashi reaped
death for faithlessness.” He turned. “Night Angel, will you be my second?”
A brief look of confusion passed over Kylar, then his eyes showed recognition. After Garuwashi made a lateral cut through
his own stomach with a short sword, his second would strike his head from his shoulders to finish the suicide. It was an honor,
if a grisly one, and Feir couldn’t help but feel slighted.
“Feir, nephilim, messenger from the gods whom I ignored, I would have you serve another way,” Garuwashi said. “Please, carry
my story to my warriors and to my family.”
A chill went down Feir’s spine. Not only would every sa’ceurai in the world know that Lantano Garuwashi had died here, but
they would know Ceur’caelestos had been thrown into the Wood. No matter how Feir told the story, it would be retold until
it fit Ceuran beliefs. The best swordsman, the best sword, and the deadliest place would be tied together forever in Ceuran
myth. Every new sixteen-year-old sa’ceurai who thought he was invincible—in other words, most of them—would head for the Dark
Hunter’s Wood, determined to recover Ceur’caelestos and be Lantano Garuwashi reborn.
It would mean the death of generations.
Kylar’s face changed. It started as black tears pouring from his eyes. Then his eyes themselves were covered in black oil.
Then in a whoosh, the mask of judgment was back. Black eyes leaked incandescent blue flame. Studying Lantano Garuwashi, he
cocked his head to the side. Feir felt a chill at the sight of that visage. Any shred of childhood that had been left in the
young man Feir had met six months ago was gone. Feir didn’t know what had replaced it.
“No,” the Night Angel pronounced. “There is no taint in you that demands death. Another ceuros will come to you, Lantano Garuwashi.
In five years, I will meet you at dawn on Midsummer’s Day in the High Hall of the Aenu. We shall show the world a duel such
as it has never seen. This I swear.”
The Night Angel slapped the thin blade to his back, where it dissolved into his skin. He bowed to Garuwashi and then to Feir,
and then he disappeared.
“You don’t understand,” Garuwashi said, still on his knees, but the Night Angel was gone. Garuwashi turned wretched eyes to
Feir. “Will you be my second?”
“No,” Feir said.
“Very well, faithless servant. I don’t need you.”
Garuwashi drew his short sword, but for once in his life, Feir was quicker than the sa’ceurai. His sword smacked the blade
from Garuwashi’s hand and he scooped it up.
“Give me a few hours,” Feir said. “The Hunter is distracted. With five thousand flies in its web, one more may go unnoticed.”
“What are you going to do?” Garuwashi asked.
I’m going to save you. I’m going to save all your damned stiff-necked, infuriating, magnificent people. I’m probably going
to get my damn fool self killed. “I’m going to get your sword back,” Feir said, and then he walked into the Wood.
11
A high, tortured howl woke Vi Sovari from a dream of Kylar fighting gods and monsters. She sat up instantly, ignoring the aches
from another night on rocky ground. The howl was miles away. She shouldn’t have been able to hear it through the giant sequoys
and the deadening morning mists, but it continued, filled with madness and rage, changing pitch as it flew with incredible
speed from the Wood’s center.
Only then did Vi become aware of Kylar through the ancient mistarille-and-gold earring. She’d bonded Kylar as he lay unconscious
at the Godking’s mercy. It had saved Cenaria and Kylar’s life, and now Vi and Kylar could sense each other. Kylar was two
miles distant, and Vi could feel that he held something of incredible power. She could feel him reaching a
Similar Books
