Hettie was on him like a cat, twin daggers in her hands as she launched at him from the side. He met her attack squarely, stepping inside the first sweep of the knife; he caught her wrist. In a movement as fast as a blink, the dagger fell to the earth and she was wrenched around, arm twisted behind her back, hand bent at an excruciating angle.
Annon coughed and wheezed, trying to clear his vision. The Kishion continued to tame Hettie, sending the other dagger flying, and then his arm wrapped around her neck, stopping her from breathing. Her eyes went wild with fear, her mouth gaping open as she struggled in vain to breathe.
“Where did he go?” The Kishion turned to Annon for the answer and spoke with a whispering voice as Hettie’s legs thrashed and flailed.
Annon knew she had moments left to live. The Kishion would continue to choke her and see if Annon would watch her die. Then he would come at Annon again and torture the answer out of him. Either way, he would tell it. Perhaps they would all die.
This was the man hunting his uncle. This was the one he had fled to avoid facing. The Quiet Kishion, the Arch-Rike’s personal protector. He knew the man would likely have a ring, one of the cursed black rings of Seithrall. But he also knew his uncle. His uncle, who was wiser than other men. He had given Annon information to reveal, knowing he might be taken.
“Silvandom,” Annon answered pleadingly. “Please, do not kill her.”
The Kishion’s eyes were blue. The cowl had dropped back. There were other scars on his face, as if some beast had ravaged him with its claws. His hair was a shock of dark, his cheekbones high and cut like stones. He stared at Annon with pure indifference. Life had no value to him. Not even his own. Annon could see it in his dead blue eyes.
The Kishion released Hettie and let her drop to the ground. He rose and approached Annon forcefully.
“Where in Silvandom?”
Annon licked his lips, knowing he was facing a deadly snake that could destroy him with one bite. His heart shuddered in his chest with fear.
“Prince Aran. I do not know where he is, other than Silvandom.”
“He has the dagger. The blade. Iddawc.”
It wasn’t a question.
Annon nodded.
The Kishion glanced at Annon coldly and then walked back to where Paedrin lay unconscious on the earth. Erasmus knelt still, hands up and staring meekly at the Kishion, who ignored him. He crouched down by Paedrin, gripped him by his shirt, and said in a clear voice, “Kenatos.”
There was a flash of blinding light, a murmuring spatter of thunder, and they were both gone when their vision cleared.
Purple bruises decorated Hettie’s neck. Her expression was twisted into a sour frown, one hand holding her injured wrist. “So that was a Kishion,” she muttered. “Even the Romani fear them.”
Annon examined her neck, tilting her jaw to one side. “Where else does it hurt?”
“My wrist, mostly. It hurts, but I do not think he broke it. I feared he did at first; it hurt that much.”
Annon nodded, rubbing his stomach. “The flame did not touch him.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Obviously, or uncle would have used it to kill him.”
He sighed. “I did not think of that.”
Erasmus shook his head and whistled. “You are both lucky to be alive. Few defy a Kishion and survive. They are absolutely loyal to the Arch-Rike. They do his bidding and no other’s. This one was sent to kill your uncle. He rarely speaks. The Quiet Kishion. They say he is cursed in a way that no magic will harm him.”
Annon took her arm and examined her wrist. She flinched when he touched it, but he stared at the wound. Now that he no longer wore the blade Iddawc, he put his talisman back on. The forest was alive with chattering from the spirits who had witnessed the scene of violence. Many were sympathetic.
Is there a sylph near? he asked, projecting his thoughts. We are injured.
Hettie’s scowl furrowed deeper. “Why did he take Paedrin?”
Erasmus sighed. “The Bhikhu are also loyal to the Rikes. I would deduce they will get what information they can from him and then send him back to the temple. I do not know how he travels or by what means, but we can judge the following. Either he could only take one person with him…presumably he meant to take your uncle’s corpse. Or he did not consider us a sufficient threat to bother with.”
“Not yet anyway,” Hettie said through ground teeth. “It hurts, Annon.”
“Be still,” he said, hearing a reply to his thoughts. A timid spirit approached, though he could not see it. Annon closed his eyes and focused his thoughts, feeding them with intense gratitude. The sylph responded to his emotion, hovering in the air between him and Hettie.