Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3) by Anderle Michael & Carr Martha & Knorr A.L

Author:Anderle, Michael & Carr, Martha & Knorr, A.L.
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: LMBPN Publishing
Published: 2017-12-24T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The injured Arpak opened his eyes, and Jordan breathed a sigh of relief. "Don't worry," she told him. "You'll be okay. Help is coming."

Jordan realized with no small amount of surprise that her harpy fight had been conducted in the open square not far from Juer's library. She hadn't registered her surroundings before, but now she recognized the street.

Locked up tight during the battle, the houses and shops around Jordan began to open. Rodania's citizens emerged, mumbling to each other in shock. The harpy carcass soon had a crowd ringing it. People held their noses at the smell and dared not go too near the body. A young female Arpak claiming to be a nurse appeared at Jordan's side and took over care of the injured male combatant.

Strix milled about the scene, shopkeepers cursing as they picked up fallen and broken merchandise. People talked in small crowds with raised and fearful voices.

"Jordan!" Sol skidded to a halt and swept her up in a fierce hug. "Have I ever told you how much I love your garish, fluorescent yellow feathers?" He said into her hair. "You're like a lighthouse in a dark and stormy sea."

"That was poetic." Jordan hugged him back. They were talking over one another, checking each other for damage, when a cry interrupted them.

"Hey!" barked an indignant voice, loud and bold. Faces turned and searched, necks craned. The crowd parted to reveal a young Nycht solder, his face upturned and contorted with anger. The crowd followed his blazing gaze, and a collective gasp swept the street.

A tall Arpak with broad but stooped shoulders was visible on Juer's tower balcony. He was gazing down into the crowd below, his face impassive. His eyes were pupil-less, a blank white glow. His face was lined and drawn, pale and miserable. A white beard lay on his chest, stark against the black velvet of his vest. Tight black sleeves of some shiny fabric encased long arms, which rested at his sides, his fingers just visible over the stone railing of the balcony. The Arpak's wings were tall and the color of the sky over Virginia on a very smoggy day, a sort of dim ochre. The long bones of the wings drooped sideways, like they were simply too heavy to keep upright, and had long since given up trying. The Arpak's head was topped by a plain black skullcap, almost like a burglar's knit hat. The whole effect—–the hat, the illuminated eyes, the Arpak's height, and drooping wings—–was disconcerting. He gave the impression of great power having been brought low by tragedy.

Jordan's skin rose with gooseflesh as she stared at this vision staring down at them, expressionless. It was difficult to say where he was looking, given that he had no pupils, but the angry Nycht soldier on the street was a likely bet.

"Who is that?" Jordan asked softly.

Before Sol could answer, the angry Nycht barked again.

"You could have prevented this," he yelled, baring his teeth. "What have you done?" The Nycht raised his sword in the air and pointed it at the Arpak on the balcony.

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