Godslayer to the task.
Then Corin understood why Oberon had sent him for the sword. It was not to save him from the traitor, but so the traitor might be cut down. Perhaps he’d meant that task for later, but Corin would take care of it right now. He knotted a fist in Avery’s shirt and jerked himself upright. Nose to nose, he growled, “Get the sword!”
Avery waved helplessly toward the gloom of the cavern. “It’s lost!”
“And without it, so are we. Find it!”
Avery blinked, then turned and fled into the cavern. Kellen caught Corin under the arm and helped him to his knees. “What about me? What do you want of me?”
“We keep him talking,” Corin answered quietly. “Bless his wretched heart, he loves to talk. So we buy time. And when Avery gets back with the sword, we do everything we can to bury it in Ephitel.”
Ephitel was on his feet now, prodding curiously at his uninjured chest. “That is…interesting,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever died before.”
Leaning on Kellen, Corin climbed to his feet. The motion drew Ephitel’s attention, and Ephitel took a moment to consider them. “So. He is a shrinking Violet. I can’t pretend I am surprised.”
“He has gone to warn the king,” Corin said. “He’s slipped your trap twice now.”
“Three,” Ephitel said, bored. “But that was before your time.”
“When was that? Is that why you knocked his house from favor?”
Ephitel waved an admonishing finger. “I will ask the questions. Who are you?”
“A manling vagabond,” Corin said. “No one of importance.”
“But the druids think that you are outside time. There are prophecies, you know.”
Corin frowned. “Prophecies. I thought they were just rumors.”
“When they come from the lips of gods, they’re all the same.” Ephitel stooped to retrieve the spent pistol. He weighed it in his hands and shook his head. “You taught the coward Kellen how to use his sword. You convinced a Violet to enter my domain. And you know what to do with this. The druids call you Corin Hugh, but that is a false name if ever I heard one. How did your father call you?”
Corin didn’t know the honest answer, but he seized the chance to confuse Ephitel. If there ever were a future, if Corin ever found his way back home, he didn’t want the lord protector to remember him. So now Corin hung his head and offered a dramatic sigh. “Very well. I hoped to preserve my family’s honor, but you have found me out. I’m Ethan Blake of House Vestossi.”
Kellen snickered. Corin didn’t kick him, but it was a close thing.
Ephitel missed that exchange. His attention was focused more closely on the gun Corin had shot him with. “Ethan Blake. I will remember that. You are draped in infamy. You’ve barely been inside my city for a day, and already you have firebombed a public house and assaulted royal guards. Back in the dungeons, you killed old brave Bryer in cold blood!” He chuckled. “But that only saves me the effort. His young partner Pau will be easy to destroy.”
“You monster!” Kellen shouted. “Traitor! Knave!”
“The coward Kellen speaks,” Ephitel said. “Wonder upon wonder. But if you call me knave again…” He grabbed the bundled barrels of the strange gun, turned them easily, then pressed a new barrel against the lock with a clear click. He caught a little leather pouch from off his belt and tipped a bit of powder in the pistol’s priming pan. Then he cocked the gun and lowered it at Kellen.
He smiled at Corin. “Well, you knew most of what to do with this.”
Kellen’s face was ghostly pale and his voice wavered when he spoke, but he said, “I will repeat again, you are a knave.”
Corin elbowed him. “You do not have to goad him.”
The yeoman raised his chin and addressed the prince still. “I marvel that you didn’t balk at traitor. Shall I call you worse? Bastard. Villain. Scientist.”
Ephitel screamed, enraged, and fired. The shot took Kellen in his right shoulder, spraying blood and bone. Kellen screamed and hit his knees. His body shuddered. He caught his breath to scream again and didn’t stop. Ephitel just rolled his eyes and spun the barrels of the gun.
“That was not a miss,” he said, raising his voice above Kellen’s wail. “I have been practicing. I could kill a frisky cat from fifty paces. I’ve three shots left. Enough for each of you.”
Corin forced himself to forget Kellen’s pain. He had to keep the prince talking.