As Boriahs watched, the newcomer strode soundlessly across the floor, raised his arm and struck the tallest elf across the face with the back of his hand. The blow was so fierce, it tore open a recent gash on the other’s jaw. Boriahs wondered, with dry amusement, if the cut had been a gift from the human girl.
The injured mercenary held his hand up to his face, grimacing at the blood he found there. It would have to be re-stitched, but he said nothing and did nothing in retaliation. So, Boriahs mused to himself, this little upstart whelp holds more power than you previously thought. He narrowed his eyes. Who are you really?
The Source threw back his hood, revealing the handsome face of a young Resai elf. “Incompetent fool!” he hissed, his own pale blue eyes flashing. “I had her practically eating out of my hand! Led her directly to you, far away from that dragon and that pathetic excuse of an elf, into a clearing blocked on three sides!”
“Lord Keiron, she wasn’t entirely alone–” one of the other elves began.
The Source shot him a glance that was sharper than any verbal rebuke could be.
“A horse,” he gritted out, “are you telling me, Corsen, that ten of my father’s best trained guards were outwitted by a cursed horse?”
Boriahs’ eyebrows lifted infinitesimally. The regent’s son. His Source, the one who had offered up the human girl on a silver platter, was Morivan Fairlein’s own son? What sort of monster must the regent, or more likely, his son, be in order to orchestrate such treachery? The very thought made Boriahs grin with delicious malice. A young, spoiled boy wanting to overthrow his father? Oh yes, the Tyrant Lord would love to play with this one.
“No, I mean yes,” Corsen fumbled the words in his mouth like rocks churning in a riverbed, cutting into the commander’s thoughts. “It was a semequin, my lord. Not a mere, dimwitted horse.”
“And she fought back,” the one with the split cheek added.
Keiron clenched his fists, fighting hard to control his rage. His arms began to shake, and the elves standing around him shifted and discretely moved farther away. After several moments, the young elf seemed to get the worst of it under control.
“I’ll fix this,” the soldier with the bleeding wound insisted. “The girl’s been confined to her bed since the attack. It wouldn’t take much to sneak into that cabin and slit her throat.”
Keiron pinched the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand. “Ilian, are you naturally stupid, or do you have to work at it?”
Ilian blinked, his face growing red with anger, or embarrassment.
“That dragon has wrapped himself around her quarters and has tasked the elf to watch her like a hawk when he makes his aerial checks of the city and the road. If he even detects so much as a sneeze in the girl’s direction, the one issuing it will be dead before they can wipe their nose.”
Boriahs decided it was time for him to join the conversation.
“The girl was promised to me, if you have not forgotten, young lord.”
The rasp in his voice caused the delicate Resai elves some discomfort. They grew more alert, their somewhat easy stances turning rigid and primed for a fight. It was as if they had completely forgotten Boriahs and his own warriors were in the room with them. The Crimson King’s commander grinned as he stepped forward, his men closing in as well like dark, formless shadows.
The regent’s son, however, did not seem to notice the cloud of menace brewing in the room. Instead, he turned and lifted a haughty brow at Boriahs, as if answering to the Crimson King’s commander was beneath him.
“And I would have delivered her to you if my incompetent subordinates hadn’t fumbled over their own feet trying to grab her.”
His ‘incompetent subordinates’ stiffened at that remark.
Boriahs stepped closer to the young Resai elf, the high commander of the Red Flange standing an entire head taller than him. His hand shot out with the quickness of a viper, and his fingers closed tightly around the Source’s throat. Instantly, the other Resai came to life, drawing hidden steel and moving to defend their lord. The commander’s men, however, were faster. With little effort, the five turncoat soldiers of Cahrdyarein were disarmed and driven back.
“I do not accept excuses,” Boriahs snarled, his voice low and his eyes narrowed.
He pulled his own hood back far enough for Keiron to get a clear view of the brand burned into his face. The regent’s son stilled in his efforts to break free and paled.
“As you have most likely surmised, your failure may very well anger someone far more terrifying and merciless than me.”
He slowly loosened his fingers, but did not let go. Keiron drew in a ragged, sputtering breath, his face reddening from the effort. When he finally regained his composure, he shot Boriahs a deadly glare. The commander merely sniffed and crossed his arms over his chest once again. He was so tempted to squash this annoying little mosquito, but he still needed him.
“I can salvage this,” the regent’s son snapped once he’d recovered from Boriahs’ attack. “Give me a few more days, and I’ll orchestrate my escape. Surely by acting the part of the hero, that accursed dragon will now trust me. I could go visit the girl, offer to keep an eye on her so Raejaaxorix can scout the city’s boundaries, then slip a drug into her tea and carry her right out the door.”
Boriahs’ teeth snapped together with a click. “You had your chance, boy. We do this my way now. We strike tonight. It is not yet midnight, and I have fifty of my most highly trained warriors, mages and assassins waiting in the caves a mile from this point. My colleagues and I,” he motioned to the four men still holding the elves in check, “will slip away when this meeting is over and return to the rest of our retinue. In no more than three hours, we can be back in the city.”
Rage colored the Source’s face, and his jaw worked furiously. “This is my city, and my act of war!” he spat, cutting his hand through the air. “It is my face my father will see as I hand the girl over to you. My face he’ll gaze upon as my sword strikes to remove his pathetic head from his accursed shoulders.”
Boriahs stepped closer, his eyes once again narrowed, his voice a low hiss. “And just how do you plan on accomplishing that? With your incompetent bodyguards?”
He jerked his head to the side, acknowledging the disarmed elves.
Keiron, if at all possible, turned even redder.
Boriahs shook his head, then addressed everyone in the room. “We return to the caves and gather our troops there. In the darkest hours of early morning, we’ll slip back into the city and overtake the dragon while he sleeps. You, regent’s whelp,” he snapped at the Source.
Keiron looked at him with fire in his blue eyes.
“Here is your chance to redeem yourself. We will sneak in through the southeastern gate. You will need to remove the guards from that section of the wall.”
Keiron looked as if he was going to protest again, but Boriahs’ harsh glare kept him silent. The regent’s son nodded once, his lips pressed tightly together.
“Once we are inside, we’ll keep to the shadows until we reach the cabin where the girl sleeps. As a single entity, we’ll strike the dragon, not giving him the chance to waken. Once he’s dead, removing the girl will be easy. The whelp will be allowed to show the girl to his father, but she will be in my care the entire time. Once you have managed to prove to your father just how powerful you are,” Boriahs sneered, drawing light chuckles from his men and a burning scowl from Keiron, “we will leave your city in peace and head east with our captive.”