The Motive for Massacre (The Kinless Trilogy Book 2) Page 11

  "I can't—" Chelsea was cut off as the small window exploded outward. The flash of a projectile whizzed past in the night air, sending Chelsea reeling. Mal could see her head was cut. The blood flowed fast. Umaryn watched as a crossbow bolt impaled itself into the wood of the doorway she stood in, just a few scant inches from where her shoulder was. For a moment her mind played a trick on her. She thought the bolt should've hit her.

  "Mal, get their heads down in there they've got crossbows!" Umaryn barked.

  Mal turned and Umaryn watched for the briefest moment as Mal tried to think of what to do. He was still a novice at using The Way against the living. But as she knew, he formed a plan quickly.

  The spell caster couldn't use Necromancy, so he resorted to a different tactic. Mal summoned a fair amount of The Way from thin air, creating a Neomantic effect. "Sprazzat!" Mal spoke as he fanned the fingers on his left hand out. Umaryn watched as a near invisible wave of energy erupted from the tips of his fingers and funneled through the window. The energy Mal summoned kicked up all manner of airborne debris inside the car, creating a maelstrom in the air, blinding eyes and whipping the air so as to make the flight of any arrow or bolt go astray.

  "Move aside!" Umaryn shouted, guiding Chelsea around and to the rear so she could address the gash at her temple caused by the crossbow bolt. It seemed there was never a shortage of head wounds in their lives. Umaryn quickly pried at the handle of the train car, and after it failed to yield for her she dropped to her knees and summoned The Way. "Open. Lives are at stake."

  The Artificer felt an awareness inside the steel handle of the door acknowledge her and her request, and she heard a clicking noise. The door had unlocked itself for her. She yanked down on the handle as she got to her feet, lunging through with the hammer head held forward like a battering ram.

  "Sprazzat!" Mal hollered again, summoning The Way. Clothing, bags, food, anything not tied down was tossed in the air and sent flying at the end of the car where a group of the thieves had assembled. They were barricaded against the front of the car behind sturdy luggage bags. This was a car that had held slightly more affluent passengers. The twins noticed the car had been emptied of those people as well. Why would thieves move all the passengers out of just this car?

  The debris Mal's Way had tossed up reached the air just in time for a small suitcase to catch a crossbow bolt. Had it been a second earlier or later, Umaryn's throat would've been pierced. With no Apostle in their group, she would've been dead for certain.

  With a roar the Artificer lowered her shoulder and charged like a rutting Gvorn. Her well-muscled frame smashed into the stacked up suitcases and knocked them backwards, ejecting two of the brigands from their safe position and against the wall of the train car. Over her bellow Umaryn could hear their breath being knocked from their lungs.

  Mal slipped a dagger from his waist sheath as a man finished reloading his crossbow. As the man lifted it to his shoulder to fire it at his sister, Mal flicked it strongly at the man's midsection, burying the knife straight to the hilt above the naval.

  "Guh!" The man said as doubled over and pulled the trigger on his crossbow. The bolt sank into the floor harmlessly and the man fell, his hands going to the spike of steel wormed into his guts.

  Umaryn was upright by then, and had the hammer swinging sideways at the shoulder of the man to her right. The enchanted steel head impacted the bone of the man's arm and broke it like a wet log. His grief was instant, and he tumbled sideways at the other man Umaryn had knocked into the wall. As Umaryn started to sidestep to address him, Mal lunged forward, knocking an attack away that would've hurt his sister. He parried the blow downward, and with his left fist put a punch into the man's face that forced him to swallow more than one tooth. He spat blood at Mal and struggled to lift his blade in defense, but Mal ran him through with his sword, and the man never spat again. As the twins took a second to celebrate their bloody victory, a voice called out from behind.

  "That'll be enough bloodshed you two," a gruff voice said.

  The twins spun, weapons held at the ready. Mal turned second as it took him a moment to get his blade out of the last train thief. The man held a staggered Chelsea with two dirty and smelly accomplices at his back. The side of her head was covered in blood from the crossbow bolt wound, and the man held a gleaming dirk at her throat. Mal saw in the dim light that her eyes refused to focus. Her head must've taken more of a shot than they'd realized for her to be taken so easily.

  "We came 'ere for riches, not death. And we'll be 'aving 'em. You're the two from Daris, aye?" The gruff voiced man said. His appearance was obfuscated by the darkness, but he was tall, and both twins could see he had a beard.

  "We're not from Daris. We've traveled from Daris, the same as nearly all the souls on this train. Why would you do this? Why would you take from these people? They've worked hard to earn what they have. You've no right to simply take what's theirs because you're armed," Mal said sharply. The contempt was thick in his voice.

  "They've no right to keep what they can't prevent us from taking boy. War is the way of the world, same as it ever was."

  "You're a damned savage," Mal shot back at him, gripping his sword's hilt tightly.

  "And right proud of it. Now you, girl. You're wearing a pretty corset tonight. I'll be 'aving it. Take it off and put it on the floor. I'd rather not 'ave to run your friend's neck through with this 'ere blade."

  "What?" Umaryn said taken aback.

  "Your armor. Take it off, and give to us. Leave it alone on the floor, and we'll be on our way. No more blood or broken bones. Now take to me words 'fore I shank your friend, and the dead rise to give us back the pain you just gave them."

  "My armor is mine own. Made with my hands, my sweat, and my tears. You'll need to take it off my dead body."

  "That's a shame. You're surrounded, you know? There's nowhere to run to, and eventually you'll tire. My boys will get the best of ya."

  Umaryn snorted. "Surrounded? You think that scares us? All surrounded means is that everywhere I swing this hammer, a fucking skull gets broken. You tell your men they can try us. We're more than ready to take on your ill skilled lot." Umaryn hefted her hammer showing its weight.

  "Your little 'ammer can deflect arrows lass? Will it keep your brother's body free of 'oles that he'll bleed out from? I think not. Be the smart one 'ere. Give us the armor."

  Umaryn's mind put the puzzle together suddenly. Umaryn whispered to her brother, "Mal they knew we'd be here. They knew we are brother and sister. They knew I'd be wearing this armor. This was a setup to get at us."

  Mal turned and looked at her, his own anger rising, "You're right. That fucking bitch. It was Alisanne."

  "ENOUGH!" The tall man screamed. Chelsea flinched from the noise against his blade and Mal saw a new rivulet of blood run down her neck from a fresh cut. That was enough.

  Mal's eyes narrowed and Umaryn felt a sudden vacuum in the world. Mal drew in a tide of The Way from the dead bodies in the room using just the power of his will. The mystical energy converged on him, surrounding him with an invisible cloak of power. She feared for what he'd do with that energy, but she was also thrilled at the prospect of it. There was so much potential about to be released.

  "Kill them. Before they kill us," Mal said loud enough for the three villains to hear. His voice was laced with malice.

  "So be it lad," the tall man said sadly just before yanking viciously on the handle of the dirk held against Chelsea's neck.

  But his hand held immobile. Impotent. His eyes flared in the dark as he realized Mal's magic on his body. The tall man was paralyzed by The Way.

  Umaryn was moving before the men could make up their mind on how to react. She'd seen the momentary flinch in the center man, and she knew Mal was doing something to him with The Way. Some kind of paralysis. She focused on the two men at his sides. Several long strides and she'd crossed the distance between, her hammer coming up from her ankles in a massive underhanded arc.


  Her target, the man to the left of Chelsea, saw the flash of moonlight off the head of Umaryn's weapon and managed to take a step back just in time to avoid having his jaw smashed up through his face. The tall man holding Chelsea lost an elbow to her hammer as the steel head glanced off the bone. Mal's mental control over the man's body didn't prevent the arm from smashing apart and hanging loose, the dirk now dropped and lost. The tall man screamed loud enough to wake the dead as Chelsea dropped to her knees on the floor of the narrow train car.

  His spell now no longer needed, Mal stepped forward into action against the others. His sword darted about like a scorpion's tail, injecting a steel tip into the upper leg of the man who'd just held a knife to Chelsea's throat. Combined with the pain of an annihilated arm, the man was overtaken, and he fell down to the floor beside the staggered Varrlander sergeant. Mal wasted no time and cocked the fist holding his sword back, and hit the man in the face so hard he blacked out. Mal felt his nose pop and spit out a hot runner of blood. He collapsed down onto his broken face beside Chelsea. She looked down at his limp body with a look of wonder on her dazed face.

  Umaryn and Mal pressed past the fallen leader and moved against the remaining two soldiers. One immediately turned tail and bolted for the exit of the car. Mal reacted immediately and rifled his short sword in a vicious throw at the back of the man. The blade whirled tip over pommel in a lethal arc before slamming into the back of the man between the shoulder blades. The blunt steel handle of the sword struck like a carpenter's hammer and launched the man into a stumble that ran him into the wall of the train car. He dropped to the floor, weakened and staggered by the unexpected strikes.

  The lone man on his feet took two steps away from the twins as they pursued him. Mal fished a dagger from his boot as Umaryn spun her hammer in her hand threateningly. She smiled in a way no man ever wants to see a woman smile, and darted forward. In perfect unison Mal tossed his dagger in an underhand throw right behind where the man stood.

  To defend against Umaryn the thief stepped back, moving directly into the path of Mal's dagger. The blade sank into him half to the hilt and he doubled over in pain just as Umaryn got her hammer into a swing. She'd intended to hit him in the midsection but when he bent over his skull moved directly into the path of her hammer, and it was too much for her to change the course of the hammer. His head split apart like a dropped egg and he fell to the floor like a bag of garbage.

  "Fuck," Umaryn said.

  "Sorry. I didn't want him to die either," Mal said genuinely.

  The man who collided with the door of the train car whimpered, and the twins went on alert again. There were still many of the brigands left on the train. Mal walked over the man and picked up the sword that had fallen near his back. He thumped the man on the top of the head and he went down for the last time unconscious.

  He swiveled over to Chelsea. "Are you okay?"

  She looked up with wide, wet eyes. Mal could see she struggled to focus on his face. "I'm a little out of it Mal. I took a thump to the noggin. Thought I was okay. I need a few minutes to gather my wits. Go, protect the others."

  Mal leaned in and gave her a kiss on her forehead, right near the wound the crossbow bolt had left. A little bit of her blood got on his lips, but he didn't care. She smiled up at him and put a hand on his leg affectionately.

  Umaryn snorted. "Ancestors rescue me. Middle of a life or death fight and you two are kissing like lovestruck fools. Save it. Mal let's roll."

  "You're just jealous," Mal said as he stood.

  "You're just foolish. But I get it. Let's roll. There are villains nearby that need to be hit with my hammer."

  Several cars down the line heading towards the locomotive, James the Apostle had taken a stand to protect several of the passengers. He'd watched as one of the desperate thieves had gotten a passenger to their feet and roughly frisked them. He'd swallowed his urge to protect the small man who'd been stolen from. He told himself over and over that the greater good was to remain unseen, and allow for this to pass. He was on this train to follow the twins. Everything else was secondary.

  It had killed him as he sat there. The final straw was when a young teenage girl was taken roughly by the arm and dragged into the aisle of the car. In the dark lantern lit confines of the rail car the girl's face was starkly alight with fear, and when one of the men suggested that they take her flower, James stood.

  "Unhand that girl or by the Ancestors you shall rue this day," James said with a priest's finality and conviction.

  "'Oo are you?" The man holding the girl roughly said. He had a dagger in his other hand that looked like it had never been cleaned. The stain of old blood was clearly upon it.

  "I am Minister James Hawthorne of the Cathedral of Kincaid. Unhand that young woman immediately or I shall call upon the Ancestors. I speak this warning once." James was already fingering the small bits of material in a sleeve pocket that would allow him to summon The Way to call on the Ancestors. He hadn’t cast a spell in anger in some time, and he hoped to the dead elders he wouldn't fail.

  "You think there are Ancestors out 'ere priest man? You think your threat scares us youngin? You're but a summer boy, with soft 'ands and no 'ardness. We're 'ard priest. You're not. Sit down and shut up or we'll give you a wicked cut."

  "I told you, I would warn you once," James said softly. "Dry him from the inside out, those who came first," James said, tossing a small bit of desert sand in the air. Most casters didn't need the sand, but he did.

  The man laughed out loud, and the other goons in the train echoed his sentiment. James simply reached under his simple white robes and produced a dagger. As he made eye contact with the laughing rapist to be, the ancestors had finished their task, and The Way hit him.

  All the moisture inside the man suddenly began to evaporate. His eyes became jaundiced in a blink, and all the muscles in his arms and legs suddenly cramped up powerfully, rendering him knotted in pain and doubling him over. The girl yanked her arm free and scurried back to her seat to find shelter. The Protectorate villain coughed hoarsely as his lungs failed to work properly. The spell would not kill him quickly, perhaps not at all, but it gave James the time to step close and slit the man's throat. He blood fell to the floor hitting his robes and shoes with a thick, viscous consistency. The man's body followed a moment later.

  James snapped his wrist sharply and flung the thick blood off. He looked up at the three other men who were in the car to rape and steal. "Who would like to be a Spirit first?"

  "Fuck 'em! Kill 'em!" One of the men hollered as he launched forward at James. He too had a filthy dagger.

  "Spirits protect me," James said quickly, summoning The Way in a protective aura around him. He felt his muscles ripple in response to the magical energy, toughening his body.

  James was thankful immediately. The hooligan was a skilled warrior, and despite his defensive measures and training, the man's blade slashed at him repeatedly, cutting down on the options he had. He stepped back and forth darting away from the point as fast as he could, but the man switched hands and soon he found his back pinned against one of the seats in the car, the occupant of it scrambling to get away from the violence.

  "Feel it Minstah!" The man screamed as he drove the dagger into James' stomach. James had never been stabbed before, and the experience was unpleasant to the say the least. There was a prick as the tip of the dagger pierced his clothes and stomach, then a feeling of pressure on his insides. Then, all at once a burning sensation radiated outwards from the point of penetration as the blade sliced everything apart inside him. He saw stars and felt agony beyond what could possibly be fair for a human to experience.

  But his faith held. There were a million Ancestors who stood at his back, and this was what he'd wanted to happen. James had let the man step into his space and with his left hand he grabbed at the assailant's neck. He yanked the man's head towards his own and bashed his forehead into the face of the killer, shattered teeth and bone. It helped
that the spell James had just cast made his strength a fair bit more potent. The man coughed up a wad of blood from a ruined mouth as he twisted the dagger in James' stomach, sending another wave of agony through the Minister. James held the man's neck firm and yanked it once more, this time onto a stab of his own dagger. The blade punched into the soft throat and slid upward into the brain stem of the man twisting the knife in his stomach, and instantly all the fight left him. His hand fell free and he crumpled, dead.

  The pain hit James again and he took a step sideways. He hadn't accounted for this much blood loss or pain, and he had a strong feeling of dread that he'd taken too much of a risk. His eyes darted around, seeing where his threats were now.

  But in their place were the twins he'd been sent to follow. The man was holding one of the brigands by the collar and was punching him repeatedly in the face, practically holding him on his feet.

  "Stop, you'll kill him," James struggled to say.

  Mal stopped and looked over at the bleeding Apostle. He nodded and let the man he was holding go. He too fell quickly.

  Umaryn was suddenly at James, and was helping him into a seat. "Is there an Apostle on this train? You wouldn't happen to be one? Your robes look like you could be an Apostle."

  James nodded, profuse sweat suddenly running down his face. He put his hands around his puncture wound and summoned The Way. "I am. Ancestors I call to thee to mend me from inside out. Give me back that slice of life that has been taken from me this night. Fill me with your mending blood."

  Umaryn stepped away and watched as the energy channeled from the invisible, benevolent spirits all about washed over the man's stomach, stopping the stream of blood and repairing the damage done to him. Within seconds the blood had stopped entirely, and his pain was almost forgotten. James was no longer sweating from pain. Now he sweat from nervousness triggered by the appearance of the twins.

  "I'm glad you're here. There are a dozen dead or more. Will you come with us and set free their souls before they reanimate? Thieves or not, they deserve an afterlife," Umaryn said hopefully.