16. Chapter 16 #3
Cyrus’s original plan had been for Orion and his small team to sneak in first, quietly taking down as many of Bravat’s men as they could. Then Cyrus and the rest of them would follow as stealthily as possible in a second wave. The hope was to find Bravat before he even knew they were there.
But Cyrus didn’t wait for the second wave.
Nor did he make any effort at stealth.
He strode down the center of the mainway, Orion’s crossbow in hand.
He also couldn’t help the rich satisfaction in having Essandra, the goddess of destruction herself, walking beside him.
He’d seen her level whole sections of the Raelean capital to the ground, and he was very interested to see what she might do with this band of miscreants.
Bravat’s men drew back when they saw him—a wise choice, although it wouldn’t save them. Every one of them was going to die. Just like Bravat. The drifters who’d joined the blighted band fled immediately, as he’d expected. Cyrus let them go. He wasn’t here for them.
As he drew nearer to the burning temple, Bravat stepped out from inside. When the fighter saw Cyrus, he smiled.
“I didn’t think you’d come,” Bravat drawled out in a graveled voice. “Some balls, I’ll give you that.” He chuckled. “But I’m glad you did. Wait until you see—”
Cyrus drew up the bow and loosed an arrow, sending it beautifully through the hollow of Bravat’s neck. Almost immediately, he released another, slightly higher, sending the second arrow right through the center.
The large fighter staggered back, the whites of his eyes thick and round. Sputtering, he grasped at his throat as he swayed before finally falling forward onto his knees.
Cyrus stalked to him, wrapping his hand around the shafts of the arrows and pulling them free.
A large chunk of Bravat’s throat came with them.
He watched for a moment as the fighter fell back, writhing on the ground and drowning in the blood from the gaping hollow.
Then Cyrus turned and strode back to Essandra.
Her own eyes were wide with surprise. “You didn’t want to hear what he had to say?” she asked.
“No.”
He handed the arrows to Orion, who stood just behind her. “Here,” he told him. “I know you wanted to keep these.” It was probably the first time he’d seen the assassin stunned.
Realizing their fated judgment, Bravat’s men pulled their swords. Some of them scattered.
“Thirty-three!” Cyrus ordered. “I want every single body. And find the women!”
Cyrus’s team was outnumbered, but it didn’t matter. They swept after Bravat’s men with ruthless abandon. Kord, Everan, and Jaem moved to meet those who tried to stand and fight, with Essandra making their work even easier. Orion and his team went after those who fled; Cyrus sent the dogs with him.
Cyrus coursed the village, looking for the captives Bravat had taken.
Essandra joined him. “Do you really think they’re here?” she asked as they ducked in and out of buildings.
“Bravat likely brought them with him. Where else would he keep them?”
“Well, maybe it would have been good to ask him before you killed him,” she said shortly.
He paused. “Are you angry with me?”
“It was a little sudden.”
“But that’s what I came here to do.” And Orion had told him to take a kill when he had it.
She only stared back at him.
Suddenly, her eyes darted behind him, and before he could fully turn, she flicked her hand and summoned a fist-size rock, hurling it with her power over his shoulder and felling one of Bravat’s men.
The fighter staggered as the split above his brow poured blood down his face.
He stumbled and fell backward, hitting the ground hard.
His sword hand twitched for a moment, then stilled.
A second man leapt in attack from behind a stone hovel, but Cyrus twisted, ripping his blade along his midsection before slicing back for the kill.
Closer to the central temple, Kord and Everan had taken on a small group of men, dropping them one by one.
“Cyrus, here!” Jaem called out at the entrance to a thatch-roofed house, where he locked swords with another of Bravat’s men. They both crashed inside.
Cyrus quickly followed. However, as he rushed in, he paused abruptly when he saw a group of women huddled in a corner. Their hands were bound.
Jaem still fought Bravat’s man. Cyrus recognized the fighter—Bevin.
Jaem wasn’t strong enough to best him. Cyrus barreled through with a hard shoulder, slamming Bevin into the far wall.
The fighter shoved off with his elbows, then launched a counter, but Cyrus caught him straight through the shoulder with his blade.
Bevin fell back against the wall again and sank to the floor.
It wasn’t a mortal blow, but as Cyrus moved to finish him, he stopped abruptly as one of the women cried, “It’s the lord justice! ”
He whirled, and his stare locked with hers.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had the blade of his sword to her neck.
“Cyrus!” Essandra called out in alarm from where she stood in the doorway.
His breath shook. “I’m not your lord justice,” he said to the woman.
Tears sprang from her eyes as she fervently shook her head.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, “but I can’t be known here.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered shakily. “I’ve seen nothing! I don’t know who you are; I’ve seen nothing!”
Cyrus cut his gaze across the rest of the women.
“You saw nothing,” he said to the woman.
“I saw nothing,” she repeated. “ We saw nothing.”
A shuffle sounded on his left.
“Cyrus!” Jaem shouted.
Cyrus spun just in time for the blade that Bevin had thrown to narrowly miss him. He whipped his own dagger from his belt and flung it, hitting Bevin squarely in the center of his chest and instantly killing him.
One more man down. Only twenty-something more to go.
“Cyrus,” called Essandra. Her voice was barely a whisper.
When he turned, he froze.
She still stood in the doorway, staring down at Bevin’s blade lodged in her lower abdomen as dark blood seeped through her dress.