He stares at the buckled limb. Disbelieving. A crippling blow. Even for him.
My staff blurs again and takes him on the wrist; he drops his weapon and stumbles and falls backward, and suddenly the darkness is bleeding from his eyes. Leaving only confusion and fury.
“You are notnasceann. You were never one of the worthy,” he snarls.
I lean down. Pick up his spear in my silver hand. “Neither were you,” I tell him softly.
I drive it through his heart.
He stares up at me. Gives a little wheeze of surprise. Almost a sad sound.
He lies still.
I leave the spear in him. His empty eyes gazing up at the brightening sky. It is important that his warriors see him this way.
I start toward the gate, walking rather than running, and Fiachra’s men part like water before me. Many have started to flee, a scattering of men and women sprinting away across the fields and into the surrounding forests, the madness of the battle frenzy changed to panic.
It is a trickle. Then a stream. Then a flood. Those too far away to realise that Gallchobhar had fallen see me now, look back from their wary watching of the enemy and see his massive form on the ground, spear jutting plainly from his chest. He was not their king, not beloved, but he was still the greatest warrior among them.
Fiachra may not be here, but I do not think he will survive the consequences of this day.
I am so badly injured that it is hard to move, the extra wounds Gallchobhar gave me slowing me. Even with my father’s medallion, even with whatever extra strength Lir has lent me, I don’t know how much longer I can stay conscious. It is all I can do to stride, to look confident, to not show how close I am to collapse. Even now, I think if the charade is revealed, things may turn.
But I make it to the gates. The last of Fiachra’s warriors either surrendering or retreating, chased by exuberant, whooping defenders. And I am escorted quickly inside. Men I do not know but who treat me with reverence. I am too tired to tell them to do otherwise.
I find my way into a corner, out of sight from others. I sit against a wall.
I close my eyes, and know no more.
LXXVI
I RASP AWAKE, HACKING BURNING LIQUID FROM MYlungs and gradually realising that I am naked, lying on something cold and hard. The pain in my chest and mouth has vanished from the rest of my body. I’ve been stripped. Scrubbed, judging from the lack of stinging against my skin. I’m sprawled not far from the edge of the underground canal, in sight of the massive wreckage of twisted, rusting metal and just out of reach of the nearest cloud of toxic mist.
“When you said ‘meet,’ you could have mentioned the work that entailed.”
I roll and prop myself up on an elbow. Netiqret is sitting a short distance away against the wall. Watching me wearily. Kiya stands a little farther along, the child’s gaze as absent as ever in the faint green light.
“You pulled me out?” Netiqret raises an eyebrow, the motion asking how the hells else I thought I’d ended up here, and I grunt. “Thanks.”
“It seemed safe to assume you weren’t planning to float all the way back out again.” She nods toward the pipes I used only days ago to escape the city.
I struggle into a seated position. “How long?”
“A few minutes. Maybe ten. I came as soon as I heard the screams, got here just in time to see you get spat out. What in the hells did you do up there?”
“I damaged the bridge. We need to go.” I’m on my feet, urgency replacing the energy that pain and tension have sapped. “My weapons?” A flash of panic as I realise they’re nowhere to be seen.
“You damaged the …” Netiqret trails off her repeating of my words. “What weapons?”
Vek. “A crook and a flail.”
“They don’t sound very useful,” notes Netiqret doubtfully. “They might be down there, I suppose.” She nods to where the nearest waterfall crashes into the canal from the darkness above.
Wonderful. “I’m going to need something to wear. Do you have anything nearby?”
Netiqret thinks, brow still furrowed. “Maybe five minutes away?”
“Then meet me back here in ten. I need those weapons, and we need to hurry.”
