Lead Demon

Blood, Rage, Heat!

Alain and Daniel stood silently against the opposite wall. The ground around them looked like a pincushion, bristling with a variety of discarded weapons stabbed into the packed soil. Both of the de Clermont servants were acutely aware of what was happening around them, including my arrival. They lifted their eyes a fraction to the loft and slid a worried glance at each other. Seven was oblivious. His back was to me, and the other strong scents in the barn masked my presence. Michael, who was facing my way, seemed either not to notice or not to care.

Seven’s blade went straight through Michael’s arm. When Michael winced, his son gave him a mocking smile. “‘Don’t consider painful what’s good for you,’” Seven muttered.

“I should never have taught you Greek—or English either. Your knowledge of them has caused me no end of trouble,” Michael replied, unperturbed. He pulled his arm free from the blade.

Swords struck, clashed, and swung. Seven had a slight height advantage, and his longer arms and legs increased his reach and the span of his lunges. He was fighting with a long, tapering blade, sometimes using one hand, sometimes two. The hilt was constantly shifting in his grip so that he could counter his father’s moves. But Michael had more strength and delivered punishing strikes with a shorter sword that he wielded easily in one hand. Michael also held a round shield, which he used to deflect Seven’s blows. If Seven had held such a defensive asset, it was gone now. Though the two men were well matched physically, their styles of fighting were entirely different. Michael was enjoying himself and kept up a running commentary while he sparred. Seven, on the other hand, remained largely silent and focused, not betraying by so much as the quirk of an eyebrow that he was listening to what his father was saying.

“I’ve been thinking of Stephanie. Neither earth nor ocean produces a creature as savage and monstrous as woman,”

Michael said sorrowfully.

Seven lunged at him, the blade whooshing with amazing speed in a wide arc toward his father’s neck. I blinked, during which time Michael managed to slip beneath the blade. He reappeared on Seven’s other side, slicing at his son’s calf.

“Your technique is wild this morning. Is something wrong?” Michael inquired. This direct question got his son’s attention.

“Christ, you are impossible. Yes. Something is wrong,” Seven said between clenched teeth. He swung again, the sword glancing off Michael’s quickly raised shield. “Your constant interference is driving me insane.”

“Those whom the gods wish to destroy, they first make mad.” Michael’s words caused Seven to falter. Michael took advantage of the misstep and slapped him on the backside with the flat of his sword.

Seven swore. “Did you give away all of your best lines?” he demanded. Then he saw me.

What happened next took place in a heartbeat. Seven began to straighten from his fighting crouch, his attention fixed on the hayloft where I stood. Michael’s sword plunged, circled, and lifted Seven’s weapon out of his hand. With both swords in his possession, Michael threw one against the wall and leveled the other at Seven’s jugular.

“I taught you better, Matthaios. You do not think. You do not blink. You do not breathe. When you are trying to survive, all you do is react.” Michael raised his voice. “Come down here, Stephanie.”

The blacksmith regretfully helped me to another ladder. You’re in for it now, promised his expression. I lowered myself onto the floor behind Michael.

“Is she why you lost?” he demanded, pressing the blade against his son’s flesh until a dark ribbon of blood appeared.

“I don’t know what you mean. Let me go.” Some strange emotion overtook Seven. His eyes went inky, and he clawed at his father’s chest. I took a step toward him.

A shining object flew at me with a whistle, sliding between my left arm and my torso. Michael had thrown a weapon at me without so much as a backward glance to check his aim, yet it had not even nicked my skin. The dagger pinned my sleeve to a rung of the ladder, and when I wrenched my arm free, the fabric tore across the elbow, exposing my jagged scar.

“That’s what I mean. Did you take your eyes off your opponent? Is that how you nearly died, and Stephanie with you?” Michael was angrier than I’d ever seen him.

Seven’s concentration flickered to me again. It took no more than a second, but it was long enough for Michael to find yet another dagger tucked into his boot. He plunged it into the flesh of Seven’s thigh.

“Pay attention to the man with the blade at your throat. If you don’t, she’s dead.” Then Michael addressed me without turning. “As for you, Stephanie, stay clear of Seven when he is fighting.”

Seven looked up at his father, black eyes shining with desperation as the pupils dilated. I’d seen the reaction before, and it usually signaled he was losing his control. “Let me go. I need to be with her. Please.”

“You need to stop looking over your shoulder and accept who you are— a manjasang warrior with responsibilities to his family. When you put your mother’s ring on Stephanie’s finger, did you take time to consider what it promises?” Michael said, his voice rising.

“My whole life, and the end of it. And a warning to remember the past.” Seven tried to kick his father, but Michael anticipated the move and reached down to twist the knife still embedded in his son’s leg. Seven hissed with pain.

“It’s always the dark things with you, never the light.” Michael swore. He dropped the sword and kicked it out of Seven’s reach, his fingers tightening on his son’s throat. “Do you see his eyes, Stephanie?”

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Take another step toward me.”

When I did, Seven began to thrash, though his father was exerting a crushing pressure on his windpipe. I cried out, and the thrashing worsened.

“Seven is in a blood rage. We manjasang are closer to nature than other creatures—pure predators, no matter how many languages we speak or what fine clothes we wear. This is the wolf in him trying to free himself so that he can kill.”

“A blood rage?” My words came out in a whisper.