This time, they’d only gone a few steps before Phelan jerked his arm away from Thom. “No.”
“What do you mean no?”
Phelan’s eyes narrowed. “No, we’re not going to go discuss this in private so you can convince me to forget about helping you, fear fiach, and worry only about your wife. That’s not going to happen.” His gaze flicked toward Marin. “You’d never forgive me if I agreed to that.”
“You’re right,” she said, coming down from her perch and crossing the open ground between them and the gate, boots crunching in the ice and snow. “I wouldn’t forgive you—either of you. Either we stand and fight together or we don’t stand and fight at all, Thom.” She glanced at Phelan. “Though we could trick him. Would it impinge on your honor too much if you just went out there and killed him under the pretense of quitting the field?”
Phelan rocked back against his heels, blinking at her. Did she just—bloody hellfire and monsters. “Did I just hear you correctly?”
Thordin rumbled a laugh. “Bloody-minded, isn’t she?”
“Shut up,” Marin said, half glancing toward Thordin before her gaze returned to Phelan’s, rock steady and serious. “Would it?”
“I don’t know that he wouldn’t see through it as a ruse,” Phelan said. Still. The idea’s got merit. His camazotzi will probably turn into a disorganized rabble at that point and we’ll have the advantage if it comes to a straight fight.
Of course, either way, we just kill until the fighting is over. All we can hope is that they’ll decide that standing and fighting isn’t as attractive as living to fight another day.
“It’s worth a try,” Kellin said quietly to his left. He glanced at her and saw determination mingling with fear in her eyes. The camazozti had almost killed her once, left her the scar on her throat as constant reminder. “If we can get them to turn and run rather than stand and fight? It’s worth a shot. We can’t afford not to take it.”
“Time’s wasting,” Matt said. “We have to give him our answer.”
Phelan looked at all of them and drew a deep breath, then held out his hand to Thordin. “Give me the dagger in your boot.”
Thordin crouched and freed the knife, handing it over to his friend. His eyes narrowed slightly as Phelan checked the blade. “Don’t lose it. I made that myself and you’ve got no idea how hard it was to retrieve after what they did to me.”
Phelan didn’t miss the traces of pain in Thordin’s eyes and voice, traces that no one else would have noticed. It’s more important than just that. He brushed his thumb over the wrapped hilt. He didn’t make this knife alone. “I’ll make sure I come back with it.”
Thordin nodded and stepped back. Phelan took another breath, looking at Thom and Marin first, then Kellin and Matt.
“Wish me luck,” he said.
Marin smiled weakly. “Luck. Let Matt and I get into position again before you head out there. If something does go sideways, we need to be able to react.”
Always thinking. Phelan nodded, turning to Thordin. “If the worst—”
“It won’t,” Thordin said. “Those bitches of death aren’t coming for you today.”
“They might,” Phelan murmured. I just don’t fear it the way I used to.
“Then they’ll have to get through me first.” Thordin clapped Thom on the shoulder. “I have a feeling I’m not speaking for just me, either.”
“Probably not,” Thom agreed. “We’ll throw the gates open and fill the gap. We’ve got your back, Phelan.”
“You always did,” Phelan murmured, then nodded to himself. “Right. Let’s do this.”
Thom and Thordin preceded him to the gates, opened them so he could step out into the killing fields beyond. Phelan took another deep breath and lifted the hand not gripping his staff in greeting to Cariocecus. He moved forward across the frozen ground, watching as the dark shadow of the war god turned and moved forward to meet him, shadowed himself by a pair of rather large bat-monsters.
He suspects something. Phelan couldn’t help but look pained as he stopped twenty feet from the gate and let Cariocecus meet him there. He shifted his staff from one hand to the other, fingers closing around the knife beneath the cloak he wore against the cold.
“Did they send you out to tell me they were surrendering the camp?” Cariocecus called as he approached.
“They’re still deciding,” Phelan lied. “But they prevailed on me to save myself and take up your offer. But I would know what price Aoife has paid for the boon of my life before I go.”
Cariocecus’s smile was a flash of white in his dark, tanned face. “Not so high as it could have been, but valuable nonetheless.” He was nearly within striking range, now.
Just a few more steps. I don’t want to risk throwing it. I can’t get enough power on it to penetrate that armor with a throw. He’d have to stab Cariocecus himself. Something about doing it that way made it feel less cowardly, less dishonorable.
Then again, I didn’t walk out here under a parley flag, either. I just walked out. He’s the one that’s presuming nonviolence.
“What was it?” Phelan asked.
He smiled even more broadly. “Seamus the Black had children. His bloodline lives and I’m set to find them.”
One of the camazotzi twitched.
Phelan fell back a step, staring at Cariocecus. Bloody hellfire and ashes. What interest would he have in—
My cousin—
Aoife, why didn’t you tell us?
The second of the camazotzi shadowing its master darted forward, around Cariocecus. It plowed into Phelan with the force of a charging bull and carried him to the ground.
His head bounced off the frozen ground and he saw stars. Ribs cracked, sending white-hot pain shooting through his chest. His staff bounced free of his hand, but he maintained his grip on the knife. He brought it up to plunge it into the creature’s eye.
Cariocecus was shouting.
Even as Phelan stabbed the first in the eye and it reared back, roaring in pain, the second was on him, claws bared. It grabbed him by the face, razor-sharp talons digging into his flesh, and dashed his head against the ground again.
He spiraled down into darkness and knew no more.
