Page 95 of Bloodwitch
“Yes,” the leader agreed. “And these people breed more raiders, who swell the Raider King’s ranks. We save thousands of lives by destroying just a few.” At these words, the outermost monks began to move—slowly, cautiously, rounding the edges of their line like wolves circling a lamb.
Aeduan and Lizl did not move.
“He,” Lizl dug the tip of her sword into the first monk’s neck, “said that you have orders from the Monastery. Who gave them?”
“The Abbot, of course.” The lead monk opened his arms, as if welcoming them to a party. As if they were the last to arrive, and he indulged them by inviting them at all. “These orders come directly from Abbot Natan fon Leid himself. You would defy him?”
Still, the monks inched nearer. Still, Lizl’s sword held true.
“We are notmurderers,” she said, and Aeduan found himself nodding. Found his fingers flexing and readying for a fight.
One they would lose, but one worth fighting all the same.
“Whose side are you on?” The lead monk lifted his bloodied sword at Lizl. “You are clearly monks like us. You wear the cloak and the opal and you”—he aimed his sword at Aeduan—“I know. Sostanddown.Obey your Abbot’s orders. Or admit you are insurgents and face the holy punishment.”
Aeduan’s eyes met Lizl’s. Hatred burned, and he knew it well. It pulsed inside his weakened veins. It wanted justice, it wanted vengeance, and it wanted blood. He so rarely let this darkness surface. He so rarely looked it in the eye and said,Yes, today you can come out.
This would mark the fourth time.
He would kill them all.
“Now!” barked the lead monk, sword curving high, and in a concerted charge, the Carawens moved.
But Lizl moved too. In a blur of speed, she slung something at Aeduan. He caught it, looped it over his neck, and the instant the Painstone touched flesh, the night sharpened around him. Blood-scents crashed against his magic, and with them came the power to control.
Lizl charged. Aeduan charged. The fight began.
With a single, fluid strike, Lizl killed the first monk. Her sword pierced his throat. In, out. Blood splattered Aeduan as he dove for the loaded crossbow. With his muscles fueled by fresh, painless power, he was unstoppably fast. He grabbed, he aimed, he shot.
Down went a second monk. A third lunged at Lizl, a fourth at Aeduan. He sidestepped, circling behind. A kick to the knee brought the monk to her knees. Then he grabbed her head and spun. Her neck snapped. He claimed her sword.
The next five deaths smeared together. Intestines and screams and blood to crush all senses. No emotions, only death. Until Aeduan found himself facing Lizl—and she faced the remaining four.
The lead monk wore a veneer of rage at the center. His head swung side to side, over and over as he growled, “You should not have done this. You should not have done this.”
Muscles fueled by magic, Aeduan vaulted at the nearest two monks. His blade sliced down, then up on a diagonal and across. Wide, circular movements that would have been too slow were he not a Bloodwitch.
But hewasa Bloodwitch, and the two monks fell a heartbeat later, ribbons of red streaking the air where they collapsed.
Aeduan rounded toward the remaining monks—except it was only the leader now, for Lizl had hacked apart the other.
“You should not have done this,” he repeated. “You should not have done this.”
Aeduan thrust. The monk parried, a clash of steel. Again, again, Aeduan attacked, and each time the monk defended. A good fighter—Aeduan remembered that from Veñaza City.
But good fighters did not always make good men.
Three more swipes, three more parries, and at last Aeduan caught the monk on his wrist. A spin, a yank, and he cut the man’s hand from his arm. Sword and hand hit the earth.
Aeduan reared back his blade, ready to stab the man through the heart.
Lizl beat him to it. In a graceful arc that carved through flesh and muscle and spine, she cut off the man’s head.
It flew several feet through the air before thumping to the soil.
Then the man’s knees crumpled beneath him, blood gushing, and his headless remains toppled over. One more body to add to the mass grave. One more death to feed the night.
THIRTY-NINE
