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By daybreak they had gained significant ground. Unfortunately they were too late to help a small group of border guards, who were on patrol and had encountered Rye.

  “Report,” Ari ordered the four men. They nursed various gashes and ugly slices left by Pemba.

  “We stopped a Lieutenant for a routine check and to hear any news from the castle, sir,” one of the men said. He pressed a bloody handkerchief to his forearm. “He wasn’t one of ours, and he didn’t have any transfer papers on him.” The man stared at the Sandseed.

  Janco leaned close and said, “He’s my grandfather. He dressed himself this morning and we don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

  Now the soldier gaped at him. Fun.

  “Janco,” Ari warned. “Continue.”

  “We followed regulations and tried to take him into custody for further questioning, when—”

  “He pulled a wickedly sharp blade and disarmed you all.” Janco flourished his arm as if striking with an invisible sword.

  The man nodded.

  “How long ago?” Ari asked.

  “Two hours.”

  Ari nodded as if he already knew. “Direction?”

  “East.” Janco pointed to the spot where Rye had pushed through the underbrush, breaking a sapling’s branch.

  “How do you know our quarry caused the damage and not these soldiers?” Stripey asked him.

  Janco paused. Interpreting trail signs and reading clues from his surroundings was second nature to him. In his mind’s eye, Janco saw a vision of Rye still gripping the bloody scimitar as he navigated the tight trail. It took him a moment to translate what triggered the vision into physical details.

  “The damage to the brush is limited to three feet, suggesting one man’s passage. And the break-off of the branch has a point on this side, meaning he went east,” he explained.

  “If he heads northeast, there’s a small town along the edge of the forest, sir,” the soldier said.

  Ari ordered the men to return to their station for medical treatment. Janco once again led the way, following Rye’s trail, which turned to the northeast.

  “Pemba has fed on the blood of those soldiers, and her strength has grown,” the Sandseed said. “We must hurry.”

  “What do you think we’re doing? Going for a stroll?” Janco snapped.

  Ari didn’t say a word, but Janco sensed his partner’s displeasure. He increased his pace, and soon they arrived at the edge of the town. Before stepping from the forest, Ari pulled him back.

  “Let’s not be too hasty,” Ari said, consulting a paper. “Rye probably knows we’re after him.”

  “Pemba will alert him to intruders, and to any magic use,” the Sandseed said.

  Janco considered. Ambushes and magical illusions wouldn’t work, but more mundane tactics might. “We have darts and sleeping juice. How close is too close?”

  “You have a plan?” Ari asked in surprise.

  He bristled at the insult. “Who saw through Stripey’s illusion? Me. Who thought of using Curare—”

  “Of course,” Stripey said. “I had forgotten. We can use Curare to paralyze Rye and sever any magical connection with Pemba.” He smiled, flashing white teeth.

  Janco exchanged a look with Ari. Should they fess up? Ari nodded.

  “About that Curare stuff,” he said. “We…ah…lied. We don’t have any. Would sleeping potion work?”

  Stripey’s smile died. “It depends on how strong Pemba is. If she has complete control of Rye, nothing but Curare will work.”

  “Magic sucks,” he said.

  Stripey stilled as he gazed at Janco. “The benefits far outweigh the abuses,” he said. “You, for example, could benefit from a session with me.”

  “Hold on there, Stripey Boy. Don’t you try any of that story-weaving mumbo jumbo on me. I’m perfect just the way I am.”

  A strangled cry emanated from Ari. He covered it by clearing his throat. “Let’s focus on the problem at hand. The house Rye grew up in is on the southeast side of town.” Ari peered at the paper in his hand. “We need to confirm he’s there first.”

  “He’ll recognize us right away,” Janco said. “Unless we recruit one of the town’s guard?”

  “Good idea. Once we know where he is, we can entice him out, but how?” Ari rubbed a large hand on his head as if he could force a plan to form.

  Janco tried to put himself in Rye’s place. It wasn’t difficult to do. “He’s a young hot shot. We just need some loud mouth braggart at the local pub to claim he’s the best swordsman in town. Word spreads like fleas in tiny communities. Eventually Rye’ll get bit. He’ll show up, wanting to prove the big mouth wrong with his magic scimitar.”

  “Pubs are busy places, lots of people so Pemba’s magic won’t pick us up,” Ari said. “We can disguise Bour to blend in better.”

  Bour? It took a moment for Janco to realize Ari referred to Stripey.

  “Once you shoot him with the sleeping potion, I can use my magic to help,” Stripey added.

  “Only use magic if we give you permission,” Janco said.

  “One problem to our plan,” Ari said. “There will be other challengers before Rye shows, and the loud mouth must be able to prove himself.” He gazed at Janco. “I doubt a local guard will have the skills to thwart all opponents, and I have better aim with the dart gun.”

  Janco groaned. He had walked right into this one.

  His partner cocked his head, studying Janco with a thoughtful expression. “I think you’ll look good as a blond.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Ari suppressed the desire to smack Janco upside the head. Sitting in a dark corner of the Rouillard tavern, he watched his partner scratch his scalp for the millionth time. Janco’s new blond hair and goatee blended in amid the local bar dwellers. With a uniform change and a touch of make-up, Janco’s facial appearance had also been altered. The dye they used on his hair, though had caused an allergic reaction and if Janco didn’t stop scratching, he would ruin his disguise.

  The Sandseed magician waited for them outside. His dark skin was impossible to mask so he found a shadow near the tavern’s back entrance to hide in.

  Janco gestured with his beer mug and boasted of his swordsmanship to any and all. A bunch of the town’s soldiers lounged nearby. Ari had briefed the guards, and Captain Kenton had confirmed Rye was inside his mother’s house. Rye flashed the Captain an old leave form, but the Captain ignored the expiration date on the papers.

  The guards then introduced Janco to the tavern’s occupants as their newest recruit. In Ixia, only guards were allowed to wear swords. However, many of the younger Ixians had joined the reserve forces. In case of a war, the Commander would call the reservists into active duty. One of the perks to being a reservist was permission to carry a weapon.

  Guards and reservist tended to frequent Ixia’s taverns. Friendly and not-so friendly scrimmages would erupt from time to time, but with so many guards around all the matches stayed clean.

  With everyone in position, the bait had been set. Now all Ari and Janco needed was the fish, but, so far, Rye had failed to appear.

  “…no one is faster than me,” Janco said. He slammed his beer mug on the bar, splashing yellow liquid onto his neighbor’s arm.

  “With what? Your mouth?” someone called out as snickers erupted.

  “No, he’s the fastest pants wetter in all of Ixia,” another voice added. More laughter.

  Janco reached for his mug without looking and knocked it over, dumping the contents into the same man whose sleeve he had doused. The Lieutenant stood. He towered a foot over Janco.

  “Okay big mouth.” The Lieutenant growled. “Time to prove yourself.” He pulled a broadsword from his scabbard.

  The top of the bar was cleared off, and everyone stepped back. Silence descended. The Lieutenant hopped onto the top of the narrow bar. “Come on.” He gestured rudely to Janco.

  Janco scratched his head. Ari silently encouraged his partner to move. While fighting on top of a
bar was rather unusual, he knew Janco could adapt.

  “That certainly explains it,” Janco said as he joined the Lieutenant.

  “Explains what?”

  “The stains.” Janco pulled his sword.

  “Stains?”

  “I thought the brown stains on the wood had been caused by beer, but now I know they were caused by fear.”

  The Lieutenant’s face creased in confusion. The man wasn’t smart enough to make the connection. It didn’t matter though. Once Janco moved, the Lieutenant had bigger worries.

  Ari thought the narrow surface would hinder his partner. Janco enjoyed side-stepping his opponents. But Janco made creative use of the bar stools and unarmed the larger man in two moves.

  “That’s pathetic. I’m beginning to think I’m too good for this town.” Janco continued to gloat to an obnoxious degree. Even Ari wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. The rest of the Lieutenant’s buddies lined up to teach the new guard a lesson.

  With Janco busy, Ari scanned the crowd, keeping an eye out for Rye. The wait staff carried trays full of mugs to the patrons now the bar’s surface was being used. A few people scurried from the bar with their eyes lit and animated expressions on their faces. Ari hoped they would spread the word about Janco’s challenge.

  Janco threw one of the reservists into the group of spectators. A wild delight shone on his face as cheers and jeers rose to deafening levels.

  Ari rubbed his hand over his eyes. His partner would be near impossible to be with after tonight. To keep his gloating to a minimum, Ari hoped someone would give Janco a close match.

  The tavern’s door swung open and a group of men and women tramped in. By the way they strained their necks to catch the action at the bar; Ari knew they came to watch the show. Before the door shut, a hand pushed it wide.

  The fish arrived. Rye swaggered into the room as if he frequented the place on a regular basis. His casual and semi-bored expression failed to match the lines of tension in his neck and the vice-like grip on his sword’s hilt—Pemba’s hilt. The shape of the scabbard unmistakable. After finding a good position to view the fighters, Rye studied the action.

  Ari didn’t waste time. He knew Rye would soon see through Janco’s disguise. His partner controlled his fondness for bursting into a fighting rhyme, but his quick jabs and graceful footwork would give him away.

  Ari dipped the hollow metal tip of a dart into sleeping potion. Inserting the dart into a blow pipe, he aimed, drew breath and puffed.

  Pemba appeared to jump from the scabbard. In a flash of movement, the scimitar deflected Ari’s dart. Rye’s hand may be clutched to the hilt, but it was obvious by the stunned open-mouth gape the man had no idea what had just happened.

  Loading another dart, Ari tried again. No luck. Pemba blocked again, and now Rye’s gaze locked on Ari. He drew his weapon and stood as Rye strode toward him.

  “Resorting to an ambush, Ari?” Rye asked. “Ambushes are for the scared and for the weak. You’re smart to be scared.”

  “And you’d be smart to address me as sir.” Ari slid his feet into a fighting stance. He glanced pass Rye’s shoulder, hoping Janco had noticed them. His partner continued to fight an over-muscled guard, completely unaware.

  “Looking for reinforcements?” Rye tsked. “First an ambush and then you want to gang up on me. That’s not fair.”

  “And wielding a magic sword is?”

  “Did you figure it out on your own? Or have you hooked up with that Sandseed hovering about?” He inclined his head toward the back door. “I hope you’re not depending on him for plan B. He’s a bit…scattered right now.”

  Oh boy. A horrifying image of Bour chopped into pieces filled his mind as a cold fist of dread clutched his heart. Ari knew he couldn’t match Pemba by himself. “Since you like fair. How about you put the scimitar down and use a regular sword? We could have a nice fair fight on the bar.”

  A brief flash of panicked helplessness flamed in Rye’s eyes before the cold killer stare returned. “Nice try, but you’ve set the mood. A fair fight would be moot at this point.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll call for help, and you’ll have to fight every guard and reservist in the bar.”

  “Go ahead.” Rye gestured to the crowd of people. “Half of them are drunk. They will hinder you more than help you, and Pemba will enjoy cutting into their skin as much as she will savor drinking your blood.”

  He had a point. Ari didn’t want to endanger any one else. “Outside, then? Me and you?”

  Rye smiled. “I’d thought you’d never ask.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Janco had seen Rye enter the bar, which meant their plan to entice Rye there had worked. But from the brief glances he could afford, he knew Ari’s treated darts had missed Rye. Janco countered another lunge from his opponent. The clang of steel rang in the air and vibrated up his arm. The tired arm. He had been fighting one man after the other on this narrow bar for over an hour. He needed a break.

  Only one way to get a break. Lose a match. A blow to his pride. A blow to his ego. He hesitated until he spotted Ari and Rye leave the bar through the front door. Which wouldn’t normally be a problem; however Rye carried a magical scimitar called Pemba. Ari couldn’t counter Pemba alone. So much for his pride.

  Janco knew his opponent planned to unarm him with a thrust and parry combination. The guy wasn’t too bright. He had tried that move six times before and it failed each time.

  Suppressing a sigh, Janco allow his opponent the upper hand. He dropped his sword in defeat, then raised his arms and said, “Congrats, you won. Guess I learned my lesson.” He swept up his sword and hopped off the bar. “Gotto go, fellows.”

  Amid cries of outrage, Janco dashed out the back door. The Sandseed magician who had traveled from Sitia to reclaim the scimitar, and who had recruited Ari and Janco to help, was supposed to be guarding the entrance.

  Janco skidded to a stop. Deep slices criss-crossed Stripey’s prone form, exposing muscles and bone. He bent over the Sandseed and closed the dead man’s eyes. The lifeless gaze was scary, but what truly terrified Janco was the absence of blood. Not a drop oozed from the cuts, no splashes on the Sandseed’s clothes, and no puddles on the ground. Pemba had absorbed it all.

  Magic. Janco spat in disgust.

  He raced around the building. A crowd surrounded Ari and Rye’s fight, growing bigger as the bar’s patrons spilled into the street to gawk. Janco pushed through them until he reached the edge.

  One glance and he knew Ari wouldn’t last long. Gashes marked Ari’s thick forearms, blood stained his tattered pants, and sweat poured off his strained face. Before joining in the fight, Janco met Captain Kenton’s gaze and nodded.

  The bar had been filled with off-duty soldiers and reservists. Most were drunk, but the Captain had been informed about Rye. He and a few others had stayed sober. Since their first plan to prick Rye with a sleeping potion-laced dart failed, the Captain would be needed for plan B.

  Janco stepped close to his partner and aimed a blow at Rye’s mid-section. Pemba blurred into motion, countering the strike before Rye reacted. The scimitar controlled the man’s actions, and the insane hunger shining in Rye’s eyes meant the weapon also controlled his mind.

  Ari grunted a greeting. “What took you…so long?” His breath huffed with the effort.

  “I stopped for a snack, and ordered us a couple beers,” Janco said. “We should finish him soon. I hate warm beer.”

  A snort of amusement from Ari, but even Janco grew quiet as they fought Rye. The scimitar blocked every thrust, lunge and attack. Pemba ignored all feints. All the while she snaked under their defenses and sliced into their skin. Little by little the number of cuts grew while he weakened.

  The addition of Captain Kenton didn’t slow Pemba down. Three more soldiers joined in. But the scimitar’s movement created a zone around Rye. As if a bubble of glass surrounded him, protecting him. There seemed no way for their weapons to reach him.

  P
lan B sucked. Although it kept Rye and Pemba occupied, and gave each of them a turn to take a break, eventually one of them would make a mistake and die. They would be forced to give up and…what? Janco hated to surrender.

  Time for plan C. Too bad they hadn’t formulated plan C.

  When Ari’s broadsword flew from his grip, Janco called for a retreat. The soldiers engaged in the fighting stepped back as one. No longer under attack, Pemba stilled.

  No sweat coated Rye’s face. He wasn’t even panting from the effort of defending against six men. Interesting.

  “You can’t stop,” Rye said in a matter-of-fact tone. “A blood sacrifice must be made.”

  Time to slow events down and think. Unfortunately, thinking wasn’t his strength. Janco glanced at his partner. Perhaps Ari would have an idea.

  “Why do you want a sacrifice?” Ari asked.

  “We need it,” Rye said.

  “What for?” Janco asked. “You’re already unbeatable.”

  “Valek.” The word hissed out between Rye’s teeth.

  Pain jabbed Janco where the lower half of his right ear used to be. He rubbed the scar. “Now, I’m not a genius—”

  “Got that right,” Ari mumbled.

  He shot his partner a nasty look. “But how can increasing your magical power help you against Valek? He’s—”

  “Immune, I know. But if we’re strong enough to slow him down, all we need is one single drop of his blood and his immunity will be gone.” Rye advanced toward Janco.

  Janco backed away. It galled him, but he needed to stall. “Hold on there, puppy dog. What’s your beef with Valek?”

  “He put my mother and me through hell after my father disappeared. Our house was under constant surveillance, preventing my father from returning to us for four years.”

  Click. An important clue fell into place and answered a question that should have been asked. How did Rye get Pemba?

  “Your father has returned. Did he bring you Pemba?” Ari asked.

  Rye pressed his lips together, refusing to answer.

  Why would he give the scimitar to his son? He wouldn’t. Janco suppressed the desire to do a little dance. “His father returned, all right. But not to see his son. To retrieve Pemba.”