Hearts and Stones - Robin D. Owens Page 0,39
nose twitched from soothing scents. To calm the man? Ash didn’t know. He did stand close to the guy and inhaled deeply to get the smells into his own lungs. His mind cleared a bit and he stood quiet enough to let his heart rate steady.
But as he breathed, Holm cleansed his sword with a simple spell, turned and headed back into the narrow Downwind warrens.
Ash lagged behind the Holly, as usual, and Passage fever swarmed through him.
A few minutes later, his nostrils caught smells of fried food ladening the air and his stomach growled. He didn’t recall when or what he’d last eaten.
He followed Holm as the guy slipped into a man-wide walkway between two buildings leading into a small cul-de-sac with a good cafe that stayed open late.
A woman’s scream came from the small roundish courtyard ahead. Shouts, slamming doors, Ash rushed through the crack.
The clash of sword on sword. Good metal.
Whooshing of outdoor grills, of a bonfire somewhere near.
His fury merged with the fever and the atmosphere took on a thickness where smoky air seemed to clog his lungs and he moved slow. Too slow to survive.
The swings of his sword arm lagged behind his instincts, as if waiting for a foggy brain to direct blows instead of acting. He lumbered around with no grace as if pushing through fluid instead of air. But hot. Feverish. Billowing blinding clouds of soot.
He’d open his mouth to speak and nothing emerged but a quiet hiss or grunt.
Meanwhile he heard fighting, the shuffle of Holm’s quick steps, his fast but even breathing. A fighting Holly, no one would beat him.
Then he cried out.
So did Zanth. TRAP. AMBUSH.
As if the back of Ash’s brain hadn’t known that. Ash pulled his dagger, weapons in both hands. Blindly waded in, slashing, keeping his sense of Holm on his right, the ambushers on his left. One stride, two.
Viscous. Vis-cous, molten lava, pushing through air like that.
Vicious. Vicious. Cruel men attacking, ambushing, firing T’Ash Residence, killing all Ash’s Family.
Yes, that torched Ash’s mind, and sharpened it.
Fire, smoke, soot, all things that reminded him of the worst night of his life, fears he’d have to face and triumph over during this SecondPassage.
Terror-sweat rolled down him. He’d be too late to save Holm, as he couldn’t have saved his Family. He’d be somewhere else than where he needed to be.
Thinking TOO MUCH! ACT!
He ran forward, blinking hard, clearing the fog-fever film from his eyes, jerking his head to fling sweat away. Hell, he had a spell couplet for that. Through hot-cracked lips he shouted it.
Smoke smothered him and he couldn’t tell whether it was behind or before his eyes, pressing against his nostrils and filling his lungs, or already inside him, swirling from fires set by his enemies to confuse and destroy.
Maybe. Maybe all the fires flamed in his head.
Who knew? Passage.
Fire. He feared and hated fire.
And worked with fire every-damn-day.
He let flames burn through him.
The forge of his fever.
The forge of his Passage.
The forge of his Flair.
Heat seared, burst from him in one massive spell, more an inchoate shout than Word. “Fire!”
A huge ball of flames exploded into existence, hung like a low sun, brilliantly exposing all in the courtyard.
Holm Holly against a wall, sword flashing.
Four men on him ... three Rue guards and one mercenary.
A man of the Rue Family, young like Rand and Holm, mouth stretched in a feral grin, raised a blazer gun and aimed at Holm.
With one leaping stride, a sweep of Rand’s blade, and the Rue would die. Rand flexed to jump. Heard a shout from Holm, two paces away, saw all the other men pressing him. Holm took two blows—one to his swordarm that would paralyze nerves; the other to his head from a sword pommel.
Vengeance or friendship?
Couldn’t hesitate more. Ash leapt, plowing into two villains to the left of the Holly—who’d grabbed his blade with his left hand, and thrust and parried more from instinct than thought.
Ash hitting the group pushed all of them back. Holm spun away naturally, out of swordlength, and Rand concentrated on kicking and striking to damage as he staggered to keep his balance.
The young man who’d planned to blazer Holm leapt before Ash, weapon still raised. Rage flashed through Rand and he beat it back, loosened his teeth that had clamped together. This time he would kill.
His hated enemy. Without thought Ash lunged forward, stabbed. His good sword went slick through poorly bespelled armor. The blade hit the boy’s heart and Ash jerked back,