for the next five years.”
A gasp rippled through the clan. Ilyenna blinked in shock. Five years of giving up half of everything? They would starve.
Protests rose from Shyle throats.
Undon caressed his axe hilt. “For my eldest son, who would’ve been clan chief after my death, I claim tiams to serve five years.” He stepped toward Ilyenna’s father. “You first and foremost among them, Otec.”
Her father—the clan chief—a tiam? Until his debt is paid, a tiam must serve and submit. The Balance demanded it.
Somehow, her father managed to remain standing, though his body swayed. Ilyenna longed to run to his side, to offer him a steadying hand and tend to his wounds. “Undon, the Argon clan has been next to kin to the Shyle for generations.” Otec’s gravelly voice sounded strong. “We helped defend them and offered aid when you sacked them. This is no crime.”
Undon took a menacing step forward. “This was between me and Clan Chief Seneth. You made it between me and you as well.”
Her father shrugged away Undon’s warning, a dangerous thing to do when his enemy held an axe and he held a broken arm. “You’ve no claims here.”
Undon slowly turned to the men beyond sight of the door. “Seal the clan house. Bar the doors. Bring in the torches. Burn everything.” Embers of hatred smoldered in his eyes. “Everything.”
Cries and gasps erupted. Ilyenna’s eyes widened and her throat went dry. Bratton’s grip tightened around her, as if the strength of his arms could shield her from the flames.
“You do this, and the Council will band against you! Your wheat will grow red with Tyran blood,” her father cried.
Undon stepped forward. “The Council can’t even agree to plant potatoes in dirt. They won’t risk a war with my clan. Accept my terms. Only then will I forgive your betrayal.”
Ilyenna didn’t believe it. The Council would never stand for this treason. But the Council wasn’t here. The pounding of hammers rang in Ilyenna’s ears. Slowly, the light was being snuffed out. They were boarding up the windows. She gripped a fistful of Bratton’s shirt.
They had no choice. “All but the tiams and land,” her father finally whispered.
“You can burn.” Undon lifted his axe to slice off her father’s head.
“No,” Ilyenna cried as she tore herself from Bratton’s grip. Leaping forward, she threw herself at Undon, her fingers straining to scratch out his eyes. Her father’s good arm reached out and jerked her back just as Undon’s axe arched toward her skull. Bratton was moments behind, trying to pull her deeper into the crowd. She fought against him, struggling and cursing Undon.
Somehow, she managed to break free. She grabbed Undon’s axe handle just as he swung it. He wrenched it back, but she managed to hold on by her fingertips, knowing she’d die if she let go. “Honor to the Shyle! Honor to the Shyle!” she shouted her clan’s war cry.
Within moments, her clan surrounded her, bare hands against bare steel. They wrestled Undon’s axe from his grip while others took down Darrien. A scream tore through the air—the sound of a soul torn from its body.
Tyrans flooded the room by tens, axes shining with fresh blood. A Shyle woman dropped. And another. They were falling like lambs before wolves.
“Back!” her father cried. “Back!”
With fresh wounds, her clan retreated. It had barely begun, and it was over.
Breathing hard, his glare murderous, Undon gestured for his men to bring Ilyenna to him. Bratton stepped between them. More of her clanmen blocked their path. The Tyrans pushed them back with their shields and bashed them with the butts of their axes.
“Stop,” she commanded her clanmen. “Let them through.”
Bratton grabbed her arms. “No! I’ll not let them harm you!”
She felt the bruises forming under his grip. “The clan needs one of us to live,” she whispered. He didn’t move. “I’m marked,” she reminded him. Unless she somehow
A gasp rippled through the clan. Ilyenna blinked in shock. Five years of giving up half of everything? They would starve.
Protests rose from Shyle throats.
Undon caressed his axe hilt. “For my eldest son, who would’ve been clan chief after my death, I claim tiams to serve five years.” He stepped toward Ilyenna’s father. “You first and foremost among them, Otec.”
Her father—the clan chief—a tiam? Until his debt is paid, a tiam must serve and submit. The Balance demanded it.
Somehow, her father managed to remain standing, though his body swayed. Ilyenna longed to run to his side, to offer him a steadying hand and tend to his wounds. “Undon, the Argon clan has been next to kin to the Shyle for generations.” Otec’s gravelly voice sounded strong. “We helped defend them and offered aid when you sacked them. This is no crime.”
Undon took a menacing step forward. “This was between me and Clan Chief Seneth. You made it between me and you as well.”
Her father shrugged away Undon’s warning, a dangerous thing to do when his enemy held an axe and he held a broken arm. “You’ve no claims here.”
Undon slowly turned to the men beyond sight of the door. “Seal the clan house. Bar the doors. Bring in the torches. Burn everything.” Embers of hatred smoldered in his eyes. “Everything.”
Cries and gasps erupted. Ilyenna’s eyes widened and her throat went dry. Bratton’s grip tightened around her, as if the strength of his arms could shield her from the flames.
“You do this, and the Council will band against you! Your wheat will grow red with Tyran blood,” her father cried.
Undon stepped forward. “The Council can’t even agree to plant potatoes in dirt. They won’t risk a war with my clan. Accept my terms. Only then will I forgive your betrayal.”
Ilyenna didn’t believe it. The Council would never stand for this treason. But the Council wasn’t here. The pounding of hammers rang in Ilyenna’s ears. Slowly, the light was being snuffed out. They were boarding up the windows. She gripped a fistful of Bratton’s shirt.
They had no choice. “All but the tiams and land,” her father finally whispered.
“You can burn.” Undon lifted his axe to slice off her father’s head.
“No,” Ilyenna cried as she tore herself from Bratton’s grip. Leaping forward, she threw herself at Undon, her fingers straining to scratch out his eyes. Her father’s good arm reached out and jerked her back just as Undon’s axe arched toward her skull. Bratton was moments behind, trying to pull her deeper into the crowd. She fought against him, struggling and cursing Undon.
Somehow, she managed to break free. She grabbed Undon’s axe handle just as he swung it. He wrenched it back, but she managed to hold on by her fingertips, knowing she’d die if she let go. “Honor to the Shyle! Honor to the Shyle!” she shouted her clan’s war cry.
Within moments, her clan surrounded her, bare hands against bare steel. They wrestled Undon’s axe from his grip while others took down Darrien. A scream tore through the air—the sound of a soul torn from its body.
Tyrans flooded the room by tens, axes shining with fresh blood. A Shyle woman dropped. And another. They were falling like lambs before wolves.
“Back!” her father cried. “Back!”
With fresh wounds, her clan retreated. It had barely begun, and it was over.
Breathing hard, his glare murderous, Undon gestured for his men to bring Ilyenna to him. Bratton stepped between them. More of her clanmen blocked their path. The Tyrans pushed them back with their shields and bashed them with the butts of their axes.
“Stop,” she commanded her clanmen. “Let them through.”
Bratton grabbed her arms. “No! I’ll not let them harm you!”
She felt the bruises forming under his grip. “The clan needs one of us to live,” she whispered. He didn’t move. “I’m marked,” she reminded him. Unless she somehow
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