The Stagsblood Brother: Book Three of the Stagsblood Trilogy by Gideon E. Wood

Author:Gideon E. Wood [Wood, Gideon E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ex Asperis, LLC
Published: 2022-12-18T05:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

To Tel’s ears, Nib’s gasp rolled like thunder to fill the tent.

“Quiet,” he hissed. He had planned nothing. He had moved to take Nib’s knife by pure reflex. “Make more noise, and I will kill you.” The same instinct that had inspired him to snatch the dirk bade him end Nib’s life, but he found he could not. He cursed himself for it, but he liked the boy. “I will.”

Nib whimpered but clamped down on himself. Tel waved the dirk, and the boy moved a couple paces back from the chair. He held his position, trembling. Tel lifted a black brow to emphasize his threat.

Tel had thought nothing through. Not sure I’m strong enough to get out of here. Fuck. Nothing for it. He decided to allow reflex and instinct to continue to guide him.

He bent in the chair to cut through the cords binding his legs. Although Nib kept a keen blade, it took more time and effort than he would have guessed or preferred. He paused between the right leg and the left, wondering if he had miscalculated—and remembering he had not calculated at all. He could not believe how sore and tired he felt. Go, he told himself.

His second leg free, he rested in the chair, chest heaving. He regarded Nib, horrified by the pity carving the soldier’s features. Waiting for evenness to return to his breathing, he made peace with his situation. Better to die tonight trying to escape than to find myself bound at Lag’s feet. He rested Nib’s dirk across his lap, gritted his teeth, and dragged the bloodpine needle from his left earlobe. His bandaged back protested every movement. He pulled the bloodpine from his right ear. Enlivened by the tingling return of his magic, he pushed himself to his feet.

He ignored his wobbliness, his weakness, all the physical agony. Go.

Then Nib shouted, “Hul! Help!”

As lightning leapt from his palm to end Nib’s life, Tel whispered, “Why?”

A young woman preceded Hul into the tent. Clearly inexperienced, she burst through the flap, waving her smallsword in front of her.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” said Tel, but Hul shoved the woman from behind. She and her blade stumbled forward. Tel loosed a bolt of energy to stop her. Her body sizzled on the rug.

“You killed him.” Hul crashed to his knees at the sight of his brother’s smoking corpse.

“He’s only here,” said Tel, “for you.” He sent lightning into Hul’s chest and listened. Confused shouting had raised the camp to alarm. As he stepped to Hul’s corpse to retrieve his own dirk, Tel brought his mind as low as he could.

He created tethers of wind and rain magic and curled them through camp, locating the dynasts his brother had somehow made. To all save Turo, he sent a pulse of paralyzing fear. It should keep them from acting against him—for a while. The psychic connection instantly told him their stagsblood was but a shadow of his brother’s. Still, in his weakened state, he preferred to avoid facing them.

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