Blood's Pride (Shattered Kingdoms) by Evie Manieri Page A

Jachad’s ears ringing. His hands itched with warmth, but he didn’t dare intervene. With a serpentine writhe she slid under the Norlander’s shoulder and skipped out behind him. The soldier dropped his weapon and staggered back, blood spurting from his arm and pattering in silvery-blue droplets on the sand: she had drawn the edge of her blade across the back of his arm as she’d passed underneath it. The guard’s feet became entangled in one of the cast-off capes and he crashed to the ground. Meiran wrapped her wiry arm around his throat and held on until his eyes rolled up into his head.
    Meanwhile, Faroth had been trying to organise his followers: terse commands were given and men slipped away through the city streets; the wounded were helped up and whisked into the dark houses.
    Jachad walked across the street to where Meiran stood looking down on the two unconscious Norlanders. He could see her chest rising and falling with the exertion of the fight. Just as he reached her she tossed the borrowed sword to the ground, brushed past Jachad and the Shadari converging on her and disappeared into the tavern. He followed her inside. By the time he had relit the lamp she was sitting at the bar once again, draining a jug of wine to the dregs.
    A few moments later Faroth returned leading a small troop of shocked Shadari. They were dragging the two unconscious Norlanders along with them, carrying the guards’ unsheathed broadswords carefully to keep the sharp edges from slicing their own flesh. The Shadari dumped the Norlanders on the floor.
    Faroth checked on Dramash and then limped straight up to Meiran. ‘Are more of them coming?’ he asked, brandishing his unstained sword.
    ‘They didn’t call out to anyone.’ She paused to take another drink. ‘Maybe no one was nearby. Maybe they wanted to kill me themselves. They wouldn’t be the first to make that mistake.’
    Faroth glanced over at the unconscious guards. ‘But you didn’t kill them. Why not?’
    ‘Why should I?’ She wiped a splash of wine from her mouth with the back of her disfigured forearm. ‘I don’t work for you, remember? You didn’t like my terms.’
    Jachad leaned back against the bar.
    Faroth turned to the man beside him and exchanged his battered weapon for one of the captured broadswords. Then he hobbled over to the two Norlanders. Without pausing, heplunged the blade into the back of the first guard. Blue blood swelled around the wound. The body twitched for a moment and then lay still. Faroth awkwardly changed his grip on the sword and yanked it out of the dead man’s body, then methodically repeated the procedure on the other man. He turned and handed the dripping sword to his follower, who dropped it as if it were red-hot.
    Only then did Jachad notice the boy standing next to the bar, gazing at his father with the grave expression and the round, unblinking eyes of an owl. There was something truly terrible in that look. It had never occurred to Jachad that a child’s innocence could be lost in a single moment, but if it were possible, surely he was seeing it now.
    ‘You could never understand how much I want this,’ Faroth told Meiran.
    Jachad saw her smiling back at Faroth. He shut his eyes.
    ‘Then we have a deal?’ asked Meiran.
    ‘We have a deal,’ Faroth replied.
    ‘Faroth, I think Dramash just ran outside,’ said Elthion, poking around noisily behind the bar.
    ‘What? Why didn’t you stop him?’ Faroth’s eyes flashed. ‘Sami, go and find him. He can’t have gone far.’ To Meiran, he said, ‘The mines, then. Our people will be there, waiting for your signal. Before sunrise.’ He limped out of the tavern with his retinue, leaving Jachad and Meiran alone with the two corpses.
    Jachad took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. ‘Meiran, if you don’t—’
    He had intended to plead with her to call off this arrangement– or at least tell him what it was all about – but he never got the chance. Before he could