Chapter Twenty-two The Prince of Oxen #2
“Kill me,” Tomaz whispered in the Prince’s ear.
The Prince recoiled in shock, but what little strength remained in the great hulking body was enough to easily hold the Prince’s arm and keep him close.
“I’m dying,” Tomaz said. He coughed and blood came to his lips.
“You can recover!” the Prince cried. “You can!”
“I don’t want to recover in a world where there are no Kindred,” Tomaz responded with a simple, earnest pride that made the Prince’s heart ache. “Look… look at that man!” His rumbling voice had been reduced to a mewling whisper.
The Prince looked, and he saw Ramael sauntering down the broad avenue, killing all who dared to cross his path. He was laughing now, and he swung his axes with the indolent arrogance of a spoiled child cutting the heads off of poppies.
“You can stop him,” Tomaz said, tears coming to his eyes with the effort of speaking. “You can stop him!”
With a grunt of effort, the big man forced the valerium sword, discarded and lying on the ground, back into the Prince’s hands, placing the point above his heart. “Do it!” he said harshly.
The Prince raised the sword over his head.
No! Find another way—there has to be another way!
Tomaz’s eyes begged him to do it. The Prince’s hands shook.
How can I… how can I… FIND ANOTHER WAY!
“Please,” Tomaz said.
The sword plunged down, and Tomaz died.
Strength flooded his limbs, strength and power like the Prince had never felt before.
Tomaz by himself seemed to be as strong as ten men.
His heart began to beat so quickly that he felt certain it could be seen through his chest. The wounds he had sustained in the prolonged battle ceased to exist; the hole in the side of his chest from the arrow felt no more serious than a fleabite.
Where seconds ago he had felt too weak to stand, he now felt as though he would never need to rest again.
The memories came as well, but the Prince pushed them to the back of his mind, all of the memories except for the Blade Master training and his own rage at Tomaz’s death. He would need that now.
“RAMAEL!”
The Prince of Oxen stopped and turned slowly to the see the Prince of Ravens, unsheathed valerium sword in hand, standing over the now lifeless form of Tomaz.
Ramael began to slowly walk back, ignoring the chaos of battle that surrounded him.
Two men crossed his path, but black and red axes flashed, and they were no more.
The Prince’s hand was clutching the hilt of his sword in a cramped fist, his entire body throbbing with energy and life. The task of killing Ramael was impossible, but he had to try. For Tomaz, the only true friend he had ever had, he would die trying.
Ramael stopped. “You called, little brother?”
“There’s something we need to talk about,” the Prince growled. Ramael chuckled and raised his axes.
“Whatever could that be?”
With a snarl of rage, the Prince of Ravens charged. His speed and strength carried him across the intervening distance in the blink of an eye, and Ramael barely had time to bring his axes up to deflect the valerium blade.
They exchanged a series of blows, the Prince moving through the Blade Master forms so quickly he barely had time to think.
His sword was a white blur in his hands.
But, unfortunately, so were his brother’s battleaxes.
Every thrust was parried, every riposte turned aside.
The Prince felt sweat break out all over his body, but his speed never flagged.
Something flashed past his cheek, and he was forced to disengage.
Another arrow shot toward him, and he had just enough time to dodge to the side.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw his brother swing one of the axes, and with a desperate leap the Prince jumped to safety through an open doorway, just as more arrows hit the ground where he had been standing.
I need to get him away from the battle.
That much was clear: he had no chance of defeating his brother when he couldn’t give his full attention to the task.
He took a deep breath and shot off across the road, directly at the Imperial archers that had been firing at him. In three quick motions he cut them down, but saw more soldiers making their way forward.
“Why, little brother,” Ramael said, “have you been killing? I seem to remember how pathetically against that you were.”
The Prince turned back.
“Why, brother?” he asked. “Are you afraid of what I can do?”
Anger crossed Ramael’s face, and he brought the axes crashing down again. The Prince managed to dodge away but had to use all of his speed to do so.
“What was that, Ramael?” he taunted. “I almost had time to take a nap during that swing!”
The first axe slashed through the air so quickly it was no more than a blur of motion that the Prince just managed to avoid.
“That’s all you can do, big brother? Now I remember why I never looked up to you!”
Ramael let out a snarl of rage, swinging the second axe—another miss.
“You miserable Nameless wretch! I could tear you to pieces with one hand!”
“Do you really think you could manage to lay even a single finger on me?”
Ramael lunged, but the Prince was gone, racing up the street away from the battle. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Ramael was following him.
Now he’s chasing you. Was this a good plan?
He took a running leap, pushed off a wall with his enhanced strength, and landed like a cat on the roof of a house.
There was a rumbling sound, and he looked down to see his brother pulling himself up the side of the house, tearing chunks of brick and mortar out of the wall with his gauntleted hands.
The Prince took off running along the top of the building, then jumped from roof to roof as fast as his feet could carry him.
There came a heavy crash behind him, and he shot a look over his shoulder. His brother had made it to the rooftop and was still following him, leaving deep gouges in the wood and stone with his enormous weight, gaining ground with each of his immense strides.
“Is that all you can do?” the Prince called back, doubling his speed, leaping almost ten feet with every step. The only answer he received was a roar of rage. Ramael picked up his pace as well, and soon he was right behind the Prince.
“Where do you think you’re going, boy?”
A battleaxe swung down and tore into a section of rooftop where the Prince had been not a second before. The second axe swung and actually brushed the Prince’s head, shaving off a chunk of his hair and missing his scalp by the barest fraction of an inch.
Good question—where are you going?!
He rolled under his brother’s feet and dove through an open doorway that led down a staircase to the main level of the house. With a crash of smashed plaster and powdered stone, Ramael tore through the opening and followed.
Where do I take him, where do I take him, where do I…?
He made it out onto the main level of the street, looked left and then right, and saw off in the distance a large building that looked like a temple, up on the third tier of the city.
Aemon’s Temple. It was completely away from the battle in an open area where he could face his brother alone.
He took off running with all of Tomaz’s strength—shadows and light, Tomaz!
—fueling his legs, and just in time, as the next instant his brother crashed down behind him with a bellow of rage.
“STOP RUNNING!”
That was all the encouragement he needed to run faster. He lowered his head and focused with all of his might on getting to the temple.
I should be running away! I should leave the city!
“SHUT UP!” he yelled at himself. He spun around a corner, going so fast that he overshot and ended up running along a wall for a few paces before being pulled back down to earth.
He shot a look over his shoulder and saw that his brother, going just as quickly, couldn’t help but smash into the wall, and was forced to extricate himself before he could continue the pursuit.
It cost him barely a second, but it was enough that it gave the Prince an idea.
He kept running along the street, and his brother came up behind him alarmingly fast. He swerved again around a corner, and when his brother followed, he crashed into the opposite wall once more.
He shot around another hairpin turn, but this time his brother checked his speed just in time to keep his distance. The gap between them narrowed.
He looked up and saw his destination behind the large gate of the third tier, which was still open in the event the Kindred needed to retreat.
He flew through the opening and veered immediately to his left, where rose before him a wall of the large temple.
He ran toward it with all of his might, casting frightened looks over his shoulder.
Ramael, seeing his fear, let out a snarl and began to gain once more. The wall was coming closer… closer… there!
At the last moment, the Prince turned and ducked away.
With a resounding crash, Ramael shot past him and straight through the side of the building. As the dust settled, the Prince followed, sword drawn and ready to fight.
They were in a dark rectangular enclosure with unlit torches lining the walls. Numerous pillars went from floor to ceiling, and in the middle of the room was a large marble tomb.
All right, now I’m here, what do I do?
He looked left and right, but his brother was nowhere to be found. How did someone run through a wall and then have the clarity of mind to hide?
His nose wrinkled: he smelled blood and sweat and oiled metal. He dropped to the floor and once again felt the heavy wind of a battleaxe pass over his head, inches from beheading him. He rolled behind a pillar, got to his feet, and ran for the other side of the Temple.