Blood of the Guardian (20 page)

“We’ll have to make do without him,” Emery said, his face tired and pale. “I’m sure the General will have Perception Rol’dan tracking them soon.”

“I can run ahead and have a look—”

“No, Alec. You can barely stand.”

Alec’s fists tightened. He remembered what that monster tried to do to her. It might already be too late.

“We’ll do everything we can,” Emery said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Will you?” Alec shrugged his hand away. “Like the way you helped my mother?”

Emery sighed. “Alec, that was a long time ago.”

Alec knew Emery didn’t deserve his harsh words, but the horrible memory was too fresh in his mind. He couldn’t go upstairs and calmly lay there—no matter how much Emery tried to convince him everything was under control. As Emery opened his mouth to make another irritating comment, Alec flared his Speed and sped away.

He rushed past the armory, zipping in to grab a sword. His father was equipping a group of soldiers and barely noticed Alec’s arrival and departure. He waved as Alec left.

Alec headed for the gate; a group of Rol’dan tended to the dead. Greer stood among them, apparently healing someone who’d been lucky enough to survive. He eyed Alec as he passed but said nothing to stop him.

The moon hung lower in the sky than what he’d remembered when going into the castle. Ekon and his friends had probably gained some distance. Alec detoured, heading toward the gypsy camp. He doubted the others had bothered to think of them. They might’ve seen Ekon. If not, maybe they’d seen Nolan leave.

When he reached their camp, wagon tracks led away. The gypsies were nowhere to be seen.
Useless gypsies
. The one time they could’ve been helpful, they’d made themselves scarce. He’d have to search for Rayen and the traitorous Rol’dan on his own.

For the next several hours, Alec scoured the forest around Faylinn. He had to stop frequently. His head would cloud over, and his knees trembled. Most of the time, he could only walk, not using Speed at all.

When he found nothing, he headed west. The forest grew thicker, obscuring any sign of travel—not that he’d be able to tell. He’d never been good at tracking, even during the day.

Lightness hovered in his brain, as if he’d had too much drink. He wondered if Emery had been right after all. He hoped he wouldn’t collapse in the forest. He’d hate to have survived the soldiers only to be eaten by a wild animal while lying unconscious in the woods.

Finally, he spotted light: a campfire. He reluctantly blew out his lantern and set it at the base of a tree. He took a step and a branch cracked under his feet. He cursed under his breath and crept forward with as much stealth as an ox in heat. Voices drifted, followed by a round of raucous laughter.

Alec pushed aside a branch and saw a group of Rol’dan soldiers gathered around a campfire. Most of them had discarded parts of their uniforms. One threw his red cape into the fire, nearly snuffing the flame. The flames broke through, licking higher, lighting the area brightly until it returned to its normal flame. Alec scanned the camp, noticing only five soldiers. For so few of them, they’d certainly caused a lot of deaths and trouble for Faylinn.

On the outskirts of the fire’s light, Alec saw her. With hands and feet tied to a tree, Rayen couldn’t move. She tried to speak around the gag shoved in her mouth, but she hardly made a sound. At least she was dressed. Hopefully, they hadn’t yet done anything to her. Her eyes were red, as if crying. Apparently it had been too much; she’d let her Talasian guard fall.

Ekon tossed his cape on top of the other one, and a roll of dark smoke rose into the air. He slapped his hands together, cleaning off the dirt.

“Wonder what’s going on at the castle?” a man said.

Ekon grinned behind his shaggy beard. “We’ll go check in the morning when we leave the little wench’s body there.”

The men laughed.

“Too bad the boy interrupted us. We could’ve gotten it all over with by now.”

Ekon ran a hand over his beard, pulling. “Aye, true. But now we can take our time.”

Alec gripped a branch, anger rolling inside him. His land sickness and lightheadedness were gone. Or, if they were still bothering him, he couldn’t tell. The emotions pulsing through him were far stronger than anything else.

Ekon undid his shirt and turned toward Rayen. She whimpered and yanked against her bonds. Alec pushed down his panic, remembering too well what happened last time. He doubted he could survive another crush to the skull, especially now when he had so little left to bleed.

The party consisted of three Strength Rol’dan, one Precision Rol’dan, and one with Speed. He didn’t know this Speed fellow, but he knew he’d be the one to strike first … after he stopped Ekon.

Just as Ekon reached for Rayen, Alec summoned his Speed.

Time slowed.

Alec burst from the trees, catching the eye of the Speed Rol’dan. He raced to Ekon, jumping over the reclined figures of the other two Strength men. Swinging back—Ekon hadn’t seen him yet—he thrust his sword into Ekon’s ribs. His arm vibrated like he had struck his father’s anvil.

It should’ve skewered him like a wild boar. Instead, it only gouged him. Ekon yelled out, growling, and turned. Their eyes met.

Rayen yelled behind her gag.

Alec spun, yanking his sword from the groove in Ekon’s flesh, and he met the Speed man’s blow. Fear flicked in the man’s eyes with recognition. There were positives to having a reputation.

The battle didn’t last long, for the man had few skills. Alec killed him quickly, trying to make it hurt as much as he could.

He paused only briefly, but enough to allow an arrow to slam into his side. Alec screamed, and his Speed abruptly left him.

“Kill him!” Ekon said.

Alec turned toward the Precision soldier who frantically loaded his bow. Alec flared his Speed and took him out quickly, slashing him across the throat.

The three remaining soldiers, all bearded and ugly, glared at him, lining up side by side. Their eyes glowed brightly with red light.

Ekon smiled. “Didn’t we kill you, boy?”

Alec snorted. “You
tried
.”

With a flick of his hand, Ekon signaled the other two men. They separated, surrounding Alec.

Alec’s side twinged with pain, the arrow wound now oozing red. It would be hard to fight them like this. He broke the protruding arrow shaft off—he’d deal with it later. Turning toward his attackers, he assessed the situation. Their Strength-enhanced skin was too strong to take them all down. He locked sight on Ekon. He’d at least take this one.

Diving toward Ekon, he put everything behind the strike. It hit and deflected off his throat, leaving a nasty scratch.

Ekon’s eyes flicked upward, over Alec’s shoulder. Alec ducked as a Rol’dan fist came toward his head and then he enjoyed the view as the man slammed into Ekon instead.

Alec flashed into normal speed, watching the spectacular crack as the soldier’s Strength-enhanced fist struck bone. He flared Speed again, observing in slow motion as Ekon’s nose flattened. Blood spouted, cascading, staining his shirt in brilliant red.

Remembering the third soldier, he turned and gasped as a large rock swirled toward him. He dodged, barely, and it passed him—heading straight for Rayen.

Alec closed the distance to the whirling rock and pushed against it, ignoring the pain erupting in his side. He deflected the rock from its course, and it tumbled past her head, smashing into the brush behind her.

The soldiers regrouped. One clutched a large hammer while the other lifted a second rock. With time, Alec could take them. He could manipulate them into killing each other. But his vision faltered. He only just held on to consciousness.

Holding back his regret—this might be the only chance to avenge her father—he sliced the bindings at Rayen’s hands and feet. As the three soldiers came toward them, he lifted Rayen—staggering as he did—flared his Speed, and disappeared into the wilderness.

Chapter Eighteen

NOLAN SHIFTED HIS ATTENTION to a flickering campfire as light danced off nearby trees. Laughter broke through, and a fiddle played a quiet, merry tune. Nolan squeezed his hands into fists, wishing he could strike some of the happiness out of them—whoever they were.

He forced himself up, grabbing the iron bars for support. As soon as his hands touched the cold metal, the bars glowed. Yanking his hands away, he closed his eyes. What in Brim’s light happened to him?

The last thing he remembered was trudging off to his room on the eve of Emery’s wedding day. A bottle of ale sat on his desk with a thick-handled mug next to it. He had drunk some to drown away his pathetic sorrows, but he’d only had one glass—not even a glass—and everything after that was gone.

Nolan attempted to sit again, smacking his dry tongue on his lips; his mouth tasted bad. There must’ve been something else in his drink. Poison, maybe? But who would’ve poisoned him? And why? He strained, trying to see in the dim light. He’d attempted to use Perception, to see who his captors were, but the effort had left him unconscious. His power was too low.

Tentatively, he raised a hand to the bars, touching a fingertip to the metal. Once again, it softly glowed. His Shay pulled away from him, leaching into the metal. He yanked away, rubbing his fingertips together. Guardian steel.

Nolan scanned his environment. Woods bordered his cage. Dark, shadowy Nass danced around a campfire, shooting up and disappearing into the night sky. Other cages, similar to his own, lined a small clearing. Light flickered off more shapes in those cages, which rested atop wheeled wagons.

In one enclosure, a two-headed bear slumped in a corner. Another held a woman with four arms. Reading a book by lantern light, she used two of her arms, while the other two petted something furry in her lap.

Nolan turned and found another cage. This one held … Nolan sucked in a breath. A Guardian stood, and their eyes met. Not Greer, Malik, or Sanawan.
Another
Guardian. As he opened his mouth to speak to this new Guardian, a figure approached from the shadows, slinking toward Nolan’s cage. He sat straighter; finally, he’d see his captor.

Long, olive legs and numerous braids stepped into the fire’s light. The metal from her bracelets clinked on her slender wrists. It was Jezebelle, the gypsy.

“Ah! He is awake, at last.”

Suppressed anger made Nolan’s body tremble. Jezebelle had poisoned him? He ran a hand over his chin, realization fermenting. Was he now a part of some sideshow, some freakish gypsy attraction? He’d heard of them before but had never seen one … until now. How could he have let this happen?

A memory, Jezebelle’s words, rang in his head. “
This isn’t over, freak. You will be mine
.”

Nolan stood, and his world lurched. He grabbed the bars to catch his fall, but once again, the bars glowed—Shay light leaked from his hands to the steel. He flared his Strength, pulled against the bars, and his vision darkened.

***

Nolan awoke to a chorus of singing birds. Sunlight splashed through the bars of his cage, sending stripes of shadow over him. He sat, or tried to at least, feeling weaker than he had before, his powers nearly depleted. He punched the floor to his cage. What was he thinking? He wasn’t strong enough, didn’t have enough Shay, to break through a cage made with Guardian steel. He’d been too angry, so intent on breaking her traitorous neck, he’d forgotten to restrain himself.

He couldn’t use any more. Brim had told him he would die without the stones or the light. At his full strength, he might be able to break free. But he’d gone to his room weak—it was stupid of him to allow his power to get so low. He’d used too much when the Talasian ships appeared. He’d sapped most of his power soothing people, trying to keep the peace. He should’ve taken the stones right after, but instead, he’d opted to sleep. Where were the stones? He needed them.

He scanned the other cages again and met the stare of the Guardian. Who was he? How did they keep him locked away? Maybe they’d imprisoned him in another cage of Guardian steel. Nolan could speak to the Guardian with his mind, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t use any more power.

A metal plate clanked to the floor of his cage and scraped across the ground, passing under the bars. A gypsy man with hair knotted in thick, sausage-like links stood at the side of his cage. He shoved a glass of brown water in after.

“Miss Jezebelle is still trying to come up with a name for you,” he said.

“I already have a name,” Nolan snapped.

The gypsy strode away, his gait relaxed and bouncing. He headed to the fire and threw a bucket of water on the flames. The blaze hissed and smoke rose into the air. A few gypsies climbed onto their horses while others piled into a wagon filled with women and young children. For the first time, he noticed the wooden plaques affixed to the top of each cage.

Two-headed bear.

Octopus Woman.

Lizard Man.

Lizard Man?
On the Guardian’s cage?

His prison cart lurched, knocking the glass over and spilling a trail of water on the dirt-caked floor. The plate of food slid, and Nolan caught it before it could slip under the bars. The smell of food wafted, making his stomach complain in a low grumble. How long had it been since he’d eaten? It was a hunk of deer meat, he suspected, along with a pile of wild greens. With more impulse than thought, he ripped into the meat, swallowing it before he chewed.