A Call for Brighter Days: Aeriel Trilogy #2

He renewed his assault on Janak and his remaining lackeys, trying to keep them engaged and focused on himself.

A knife was plunged into his shoulder from behind. With a startled cry, Ruban fell to his knees; just in time for a bullet to whizz past inches above his head. Had he been standing, the bullet would have gone straight through his chest.

He pivoted on his knees and shot his knife-wielding assailant point blank. Then, he rose unsteadily to his feet, scanning the hall for the shooter. It was only then he realized that Simani, now free of her bonds, was trying to remove the sharp-edged rod in Ashwin’s wings.

Ruban reached back and pulled the knife from his shoulder, grunting with the effort. It was small and bloody, but sharp enough. He pulled his uninjured arm back and hurled the knife at Janak’s head.

He’d only meant it as a distraction, but the weapon connected with Janak’s ear, slicing it in two. It then struck the wall between two windows and clattered noisily to the floor.

Janak screamed, blood gushing from his injured ear. It served only to compound the confusion in the room. Grabbing the opportunity, Ruban went on the offensive once again. If only he could buy Simani enough time to free Ashwin and get him safely out of here.

His training kicked in, adrenaline dulling the pain of his injuries as he faced off against his opponents. The few men still standing were disgruntled and panic-stricken, but the lone Aeriel remained a threat. It hovered a few feet above the ground, its impassive silver gaze fixed on Ruban.

It was stalling, biding time.

Ruban knew better than to play that game.

He flung half a dozen sifkren at the Aeriel, one after the other, keeping it too busy to form an energy shell. He then took the opportunity to shoot down the heavily armed guard hovering over Janak Nath.

Slumped against a windowsill, Janak clutched his bloodied ear with both hands, paying little attention to anything else that happened around him.

Ruban ducked behind a decorative, arch-shaped alcove, taking cover before the men could return fire.

The Aeriel swooped in, circling his hiding place, enveloped in the amorphous power of a nascent energy shell. Ruban lunged at it with his sifblade. It darted back, moving out of his reach, just as a shot rang out from the doorway. The bullet struck the wall less than an inch from Ruban’s head.

Men and Aeriels flooded into the hall, the clatter of their boots deafening against the bare stone floors.

The reinforcements had arrived.

Ruban fell back into the alcove just as another bullet whistled past. The Aeriel he’d been sparring with smirked, an energy shell blossoming in the outstretched palm of its hand.

Too late, Ruban realized his tactical error. He’d backed himself into a corner, surrounded on three sides by high stone walls, right in the Aeriel’s line of fire. If he tried to leave the alcove that sheltered him, he’d be gunned down. If he stayed where he was, the energy shell would obliterate him, anyway.

Electricity crackled in the background.

Knocked out of the air, the Aeriel crumpled to the floor, the burgeoning shell aborted out of existence.

Ruban blinked.

Ashwin stepped forward, standing over the prone Aeriel, his expression blank.

He spared a glance at Ruban, before turning his attention to the new arrivals. A dozen armed thugs (and a couple of Aeriels), likely summoned from another part of the castle, had just stepped through the stately double doors.

His movements casual – almost languid – Ashwin held out a hand, palm raised.

The newly-arrived gangsters trained their weapons on him. Ruban saw the two Aeriels move surreptitiously back, as if unwilling to engage.

Ashwin didn’t give them the opportunity to choose. Eyes glassy, wings unfurled, he let loose a volley of shells that blew half the front wall to smithereens.

When the smoke cleared, less than half the original squad was still standing. One of the Aeriels was down. The other clung unsteadily to a jagged, crumpling piece of wall, its wings beating frantically as it tried (albeit without success) to take flight.

Sudden movement near the back of the room caught Ruban’s eye. A tall, tattooed man – who’d earlier been part of the group surrounding Janak Nath – lunged at Ashwin. A sifblade gleamed in his outstretched hand, poised for attack.

Before Ashwin could turn, Ruban raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The tattooed thug crumpled to the floor like one of Hiya’s top-heavy model airplanes.

The sifblade clattered away from his slack fingers.

Finally noticing the clamor, Ashwin turned. He stepped lightly on the sifblade to keep it from skidding further away. If his proximity to the sif discomfited him, he showed no sign of it.

Instead, he bent down, grabbing the weapon by its intricately carved hilt.

“That–That’s not possible,” Janak croaked from his corner, less than twenty feet away. “You’re not–” he wiped his blood-soaked hands on his embroidered silk tunic. “How can you do that? The sif–”

Ashwin looked at Janak with a combination of pity and disgust. “You know, if you hadn’t wasted the last of the enhanced sif ores indulging your sadistic little fantasies, you might’ve lived through the night. You’d at least have had a chance at survival.

“As it is, the addled and disaffected Exiles you’ve manipulated into your service,” his gaze passed over the dead and dying Aeriels lying prostrate around the hall. “They wouldn’t last half a second against me in a fair fight, and they know it.” He twirled the sifblade between his fingers, smiling faintly. “And I have a feeling your men aren’t all that eager to lay down their lives for you tonight, either.”

“Look, it’s not–” Janak swallowed visibly, shuffling backward as he spoke. “You don’t have to do this. We can come to an understanding…”

Ruban frowned, eyes darting between Janak and Ashwin.

It was clear as day that Janak was trying to buy time. But for what? Half the Qawirsin were dead, and those that lived had scattered, fleeing for their lives as soon as Ashwin came into the picture and blew half the great hall into oblivion.

Janak wasn’t a fool. He wouldn’t really expect any of those lowlifes to come back and rescue him. So what exactly was he expecting? Who was he waiting for?

The distant sound of beating wings drew Ruban’s gaze to the wide, arched windows behind Janak. The sun had set some time ago, and he didn’t have the best view of the rocky, unkempt landscape beyond the castle walls.

But as he watched, a silvery shadow passed over the nearest hill, followed closely by another.

Janak tracked his gaze, turning slightly to glance out of the window. His lips twisted upwards in a mockery of a smile, before his eyes focused on Ashwin once again.

“Only one of us will leave this castle alive, come morning.” He touched his injured ear gently, some of the usual arrogance returning to his voice. “And honestly? I wouldn’t put my money on you, little prince.”