Warrior's Touch (Deadly Touch book 2)

Jonas beat a less than jaunty rhythm down the corridor, his boots hitting the concrete slab like lead weights. Ever the ray of sunshine was Braph’s brother. Braph eased himself from the cell bench to greet him by the bars.

More than a week. Jonas had waited at least a week to visit again. Eight days, maybe, by Braph’s guess. A lonely time. Certainly, he had guards, but they weren’t much for talking. It had left him with a lot of time to think, along with much to think about.

If Llewella and Jonas’s children had been Immortal like they suspected, could that mean Braph’s own son might also be Immortal? Granted, Braph was Karan, not Syakaran, but surely simply the mixing of the Karan and Aenuk lines achieved something. And Orinia was Syaenuk like her daughter. The chance had to be there.

And if in killing that child Aris had regained his Immortal powers, what would that mean if Braph could help his son kill Aris? An impossibility, perhaps, but worth considering with such a prize on the line.

Was the fact Aris had used a Syakaran blade significant? Braph suspected so. Which meant Braph had to get his hands on a Syakaran blade somehow. Watching his brother’s silhouette, with that telltale handle jutting up from his hip, such a task didn’t seem much of a challenge.

Jonas dropped down the low step into the chamber housing Braph’s cell and dismissed the guards.

A week. More. Braph sighed. It hurt to mean so little.

Not as much as it hurt to be hungry. And they were keeping him hungry.

“You wanted to help. So, help.” Jonas stood a pace back from the bars, arms folded over the knives strapped to his torso, a stern set to his features, and the family blade by his hip. “What are your thoughts on Aris?”

Braph didn’t try to suppress his smile. There was something about his little brother taking charge that stirred a certain pride. Taking charge and coming to Braph for advice. The perfect little brother.

“And what has our adoptive father done to climb your priority ladder? Oh, wait. Yours, and yours alone. What has your adoptive father done?” Braph had never bothered to hide his feelings regarding Aris’s claiming Jonas while leaving Braph to flounder through his later adolescence. Perhaps he hadn’t turned out to be the greatest father-figure, after all. Knowing that didn’t take much of the edge off, though.

“He’s huntin’ Aenuks.”

Braph laughed. “You? Jonas, The Mighty Syakaran of Quaver, are concerned about a few Aenuks? Why? Surely it makes you smile, doesn’t it, to see a blight on the world near its extinction?” Braph dialed his humor back to contempt. “Or has something, or someone, changed your mind? What does Quaver think of that, then?”

“If you ain’t got a straight answer for me, I can leave you here to rot. Quaver ain’t got time for you.”

Not for Jonas’s sake, Braph sobered. He’d snuck his one-armed way through Quaver, right under the nose of its army for a reason. He’d taken the beating Jonas had in store for him and relented his short-term freedom for one purpose. Aris confused the matter, presenting another problem, or opportunity, depending on how you looked at it. But that still left the original matter.

“Alright. Let’s assume the worst, shall we? Let’s assume Aris is now Immortal and he’s planning on killing each and every Aenuk.” Braph liked the taste of Aenuk power, but he suspected Immortal power was even better. Llew’s blood, when her pregnancy had established, had been especially sweet. There was only one consummate negative, then. “Orinia?”

Jonas stared back, vacant.

“Llewella’s mother.”

“Alive. ’S far as we know.” Jonas spoke with a twist to his lips.

The fact that Aris had left Jonas floundering was not lost on Braph. He needed someone to guide him. Of course, his older, wiser brother could fill that void.

Jonas would fail in a fight with the Immortal. Physical power might keep him alive longer than the average, but he would still fall. To defeat Aris, Jonas would need all the help he could get. And the kind of help he needed was the kind of help Braph could offer. For a price, of course.

“Aris.” Jonas brought the conversation back to his target. “I wanna know what to do about Aris. He can heal, but he don’t need to drain. How do we fight that?”

“I’d be willing to wager a Syakaran knife would do the trick.”

“But how do I get close enough to use it? We don’t know he can’t drain like Llew, and if he’s as fast as me …” Jonas scowled at his own thoughts. Fair enough, too. They would be bleak.

“You want my advice? Then say you’ll take me with you.”

Jonas didn’t go so far as laughing, but the show of his teeth was enough.

“They’ll kill me, Jonas. They’ll starve me out. All they see is a traitor—”

“Because you are.”

Braph took a breath to calm himself. He’d thought his brother ready to see beyond the black and white. “The way I see it, with Aris gone, you need someone. Someone to confide in, to discuss plans.”

“I got Llew.”

“A sweetheart is rarely the best sounding board for our deepest fears. You need someone you can talk to; someone you can trust …”

Jonas did laugh at that, a cut-off hiss through his teeth.

“What am I going to do to you, Jonas? I am but a Karan with a Syakaran brother, now even more disadvantaged, or disarmed, as it were.” He lifted his shortened arm, flexing the elbow.

Jonas showed the same reaction as many: wide-eyed fascination with that slight twist of revulsion. But in Jonas, there was something else. Pity? Disappointment? Some mixture of the two? Something, anyway, that only a man seeing his brother brought so low could feel. “How did you lose it?”

A change of subject, but one Braph expected would work in his favor.

“The President of Turhmos took his frustrations out on me,” he said. “Turhmos’s engineers have failed to draw magic from Aenuk blood, despite me giving them detailed instructions. They believe I’m keeping something from them. So, they took my own device. The arm was merely collateral.” He looked down at his stubby end wryly. “Why is it gone? No real reason. How did I lose it? To a cleaver.” He looked at his brother letting some mix of anger, self-pity and a laugh twist his features. “I lost it to six bodyguards and a hot cleaver, because I tried to help my friends in Turhmos, and failed.”

Six men he might normally have been able to fight his way free of, if he hadn’t been still recovering from the blade Llewella had stuck through his gut.

Jonas chewed over Braph’s words. “Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Keepin’ somethin’ from them.”

Braph held Jonas’s gaze and shook his head. “No. I gave them everything.” True. The only thing he hadn’t told them was that he was beginning to suspect only a Karan could use an Aenuk’s power the way he had. They already tolerated him only because of what they thought they could get from him. If they suspected he had nothing to offer, he would be evicted from Turhmos altogether.

Jonas nodded contemplatively. “Sorry.”

The word stirred something in Braph, but he shook it off. “They also took my home. My workshop.”

Nothing from Jonas.

“Look, Aris must be dealt with,” Braph continued. “He must be ended. Let me help you, and I won’t fail you.” Mislead. Betray. But not fail. “I know Turhmos. You’ll need a guide.” Adding fuel to the fire. “I know where they keep Orinia. I could take you straight there. And your son is there, too.” Braph trailed a finger up a cold, steel bar. “It might be hard to see now, Jonas, but you need me. With Aris gone, and few real friends …” He looked up, meeting Jonas’s eyes and knew he’d read him right. Jonas was very much alone. “A man needs his brother. If you leave me here, you can’t know I’ll still be here when you get back. They hate me. They hate me simply because I think, Jonas. I think. And I go where my thinking takes me. Few have tolerance for that. Especially those content to follow, and those who desire to lead.”

Jonas shook his head, but his eyes shifted to the floor, along with his conviction. “Llew wouldn’t like it.”

“She wouldn’t have to.” Braph stepped back from the bars, beyond arm-reach. “Merely tolerate. She’s a smart girl. She’ll see reason. And if she loves you …”

Jonas scowled, still staring past the concrete flooring. “I’ll talk to her.” He looked up at Braph. “That’s all I can promise. I’ll talk to Llew, and I’ll talk to Kane. But you’re gonna have to show me your hand. I can’t go to them with a bluff. Tell me what you’d do about Aris.”

“Very well.” Braph stepped forwards again. “In good faith, I will tell you how I think you, we can defeat Aris.”

Jonas waited patiently.

“My Gaards.”

“Your what, now?”

“My Gaards. The devices the soldiers took from me my first night here. Like what I used to …” Braph wiggled his fingers at Jonas’s chest, where Braph had fired two pellets, killing him a couple of months earlier. “It’s a neat trick, isn’t it; Being able to heal off a Syaenuk while she carries your baby?”

Jonas glared flatly.

Braph returned to topic. “Thundersticks. Pellet Punchers. Death Dealers. Whatever you want to call them. I’m rather proud of the latest model, so I thought I’d lend our name to it …”

“Gaards.” Jonas tried the word for fit.

“Has a nice ring, don’t you think?”

Jonas shrugged, although, Braph thought he caught the hint of a smile. Jonas wasn’t entirely devoid of humor.

“With my latest design you can fire seven pellets from each Gaard without reloading. And, if you have several cartridges already loaded, it takes but a moment to fire another round. Now, Aris may be able to heal incredibly fast, but I’d be willing to bet fourteen, or twenty-eight pellets in him would slow him down. And then you could simply throw your knife. If, like Llew, he can’t heal from a Syakaran blade wound, then you’ve got him, right there.”

“And what if he can? What if he can always heal unless the right person is holding the knife? What if it has to be another Immortal?”

“Indeed. From what you’ve told me, the knife channels the power into the attacker, if they’re an Immortal.” Braph shrugged. “What if the person holding the knife is an Aenuk, Karan or, miracle of miracles, not magic at all?” He gave Jonas his best proud-big-brother smile. “You are the thinker today, aren’t you?” He shrugged again. “You are right. There are too many unknowns. Which is exactly why you need me. My workshop is filled with gadgets and experiments that could prove useful to you when the time comes to face Aris.”

“I won’t help you get your magic back.”

A smile tugged at Braph’s lips again. “I don’t have a replacement if that’s what you’re thinking. Never thought I’d need one, to be honest.” He looked down at his stump again, regret settling in. “Look,” he looked at Jonas again. “All I can offer is all I have. Brotherly companionship and a dazzling intellect.” He smirked. “Tell me you couldn’t do with those at your side when it comes time to face Aris.”

Jonas shifted his weight. “And if that’s not enough?”

Braph narrowed his eyes. Jonas was giving nothing away.

“I would be inclined to take a back-up. A nice sharp sword, perhaps. Old fashioned as it may be, I understand decapitation has been reliable in the past.”

“Then why does Aris still have his head?”

“Good point. Now, who suggested there was but one brain in our family?”

“You, as I remember it.”

“Oh. Well, then. I suppose that’s something I should apologize for one day. But I digress, and must admit that I don’t know. One can only assume he lived because he lost his powers. As to how that happened, well, that would be stretching my knowledge of Immortals.”

Jonas rolled his eyes around the dark of the dungeon gaol. “So how many of these Gaards do you have?”

“I brought two with me. And a couple of spare cartridges. I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to the soldiers who stripped them from me to find out where they are.”

Jonas nodded, thoughtful. “And we wouldn’t need you to use them.”

“Now, wait a minute.” Braph took a step closer to the bars. “It’s not just the Gaards. I told you, you need me. I am your brother.”

“Half-brother.”

“I’m the only family you’ve got left.”

“My son is alive. And Llew was going to be, and still can be, my family.”

Braph watched Jonas, and Jonas stood staring back at him in some sort of battle of wills.

“No one understands you like I do. You need your brother. I …” Braph swallowed, blinked, brought a slight burn to his eyes. “I need you.”

Jonas nodded, though he didn’t look convinced, and chewed a lip. Then he turned and started walking.

“Jonas.”

He cleared the end of Braph’s cell.

“Jonas? Let me help you. Jonas!”

He stepped through the door.

“Shit.” Braph grabbed the bars, pressed his cheek to them. “Jonas!”