Elyon (3 page)

What Teeleh’s intentions were, he didn’t know. But that was not his place. Marak had the amulet, the young chosen one, and his arrogance. Soon all would be Sucrow’s. Soon. Josef wouldn’t even know what to do with such power.

“If Marak cannot be bought or intimidated, another must take his place,” he said to himself.

Sucrow took a bird from its cage and put the tiny creature on the altar. Using a sharp blade with a heavily jeweled handle, he pierced the bird in its heart. Blood seeped out and around the small fowl, forming a pool on the altar. Sucrow slid the knife down the bird’s chest, exposing its twitching organs. He withdrew a vial and mixed its contents into the bird’s blood, mingling with the entrails, and read from the book the proper spell.

“Who shall succeed you, most foolish of generals, so lofty, so proud? From such great heights you have fallen, O infidel!”

Fog and haze slithered over the room like so many snakes. He breathed deep the pungent aroma and shut his eyes a moment . . . then opened them. Sucrow lifted his staff over the concoction and stirred the empty air until a greenish-red light appeared.

He used a bone to mix the blood and entrails, careful not to let the substance touch his skin. Sucrow’s mantra continued. Teeleh’s eyes formed in the shadows, glaring at him. He dipped his head.

“Tell me, my seeing eye, my great wonder from the sky, who shall succeed our general who must die?”

The eyes swelled, growing together into a single, enormous orb that opened into a reddish mirror, a pool’s reflection in midair. Soon a face appeared, one in desert tans and browns who stood at his general’s side.

“Ah, Captain, so you are the next in line.” Sucrow chuckled, watching in the mirror as Cassak led the prisoners to their captor.

He stirred the entrails again.

A stream of greenish-yellow light drifted from the end of his staff. It formed a spiral, coming ever closer to the captain’s image.

The light snaked around and grew brighter. It burst into a thousand stars, blinding him for a moment. Then a glittering blue star appeared in his palm, resting on a short cord.

Of course, the good captain would never willingly fall in league with his general’s enemy. But Sucrow had already compromised him once during the ordeal regarding Jordan and Rona. Still, he could not afford for anything to go wrong.

Sucrow raised his staff and spun it, reciting another incantation, ignoring the pain that always came with transformation. His body screamed as it twisted, bent, and stretched into the form he desired.

He took a deep breath and waited. It was finished. He walked to the ornate mirror, framed by wooden snakes, and looked into the glass. A young scout greeted his reflection. Good.

He changed his clothes and stuffed them in a bag over his shoulder. His staff became a sword. This would not take long. He would have plenty of time to change back before the meeting with Qurong and Marak.

One last look in the mirror. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him—much less Cassak.

two

T
he march back into Middle was quiet. No fanfare, no fuss—the way Cassak preferred it. He barked at the gatekeeper, who let him through, then took his prisoners down the main road, past vendors and merchants, toward the officers’ hall where Marak had barricaded himself. The lake came up on their left, and the palace was ahead on the right.

He mopped sweat, morst, and grime from his forehead and silently maligned the priest, his Throaters, the rebels, and finally Marak for the indecision that had forced his hand, for being so bullheaded with all of this.

The entire mess was simple, but Sucrow, Marak, Qurong, and Eram seemed bent on complicating things. Hang them all. It was only midmorning, and he’d already ridden all over Middle and a good portion of desert.

“Captain, a word,” Josef said.

“What is it, runt?”

Josef kept his eyes up the road. The young man was strange, his skin shimmery white against his black horse, and his gray-white eyes tinted with that strange purple hue. “I know how those three albinos got in and out of the attic in the palace. Interested?”

Cassak frowned. “How is that?”

“That’s for me to know.” Josef gave a wicked grin. Now his eyes almost glowed. His skin was nigh translucent. Unnerving. “You’ve heard of albino magic, haven’t you?”

Cassak considered this. He wasn’t sure what he thought about the albino sorcery, but this nobody had the attentions of the general, the priest, and now Qurong himself. He waited.

“They have books in which they’ve written their spells and incantations,” Josef continued. “It’s where things such as the amulet come from.”

Curious. Marak might find the information useful.

Cassak’s eyes narrowed. “And?”

“I have one of their books,” Josef explained. He withdrew a leather book bound with red twine from beneath his tunic and showed him the worn, bloodstained cover. “They were after the rest of them, left inside the palace. Without them they cannot complete a ritual that they must—within the next week.”

“How do you know these things?”

“I was slave to them for a time. Did you search the attic?”

“Of course.”

“Search it again. Look everywhere, inside everything. Bring them to me. Then you will see.”

Of course he would. Marak would be irritated if the priest found them first. In fact, the priest was likely the reason the books were missing. But he didn’t want this youth knowing his interest.

Cassak pushed away from Josef. “I have things to do.”

“Just go look, Captain.”

The captain mulled it over. Finally, “If you’re lying, I’m telling Marak to slit your throat.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“We will see.”

Cassak rode ahead. Idly he scratched at a spot on his arm. The sunlight grew hazy and strange, making it difficult to see. He shielded his eyes and pressed on. Soon footsteps drew his attention. He squinted to see, one hand on his sword.

A young scout approached and dropped to his knee. Cassak stopped his horse and nodded. Relaxed.

Something sweet wafted in the air. For some reason Cassak felt disembodied, dizzy. He shook off the numbing sensation. His eyes fixed on those of the scout. Curious, this was.

His eyes narrowed. The scout rose, offering a small blue star. Cassak inspected it. “What is this?”

“A gift,” the scout replied. “From my son.”

Cassak continued to stare at the little star. His skin prickled.

He should send the scout away, tell him to take his silly trinket and leave. But as he watched, the star shifted, turning into the eye of a serpent before melting into his palm and becoming part of his skin. Then it disappeared.

He rubbed his palm, unnerved and riveted by the sight.

“What does it do?” Cassak’s own voice sounded distant, constricted. He looked again at his palm. Cold to the touch.

The scout’s lip curled into a strange smile. Cassak found it difficult to breathe and more difficult to break eye contact with this scout, whom he suddenly realized he didn’t recognize.

“Allows your eyes to see.”

Cassak shook his head, trying to clear it.

When he looked up, the scout was gone.

What in the world just happened?

They were coming up on the officers’ hall, surrounded by fifty men, windows sealed with iron bars. No one could see in or even get close enough to try. Cassak caught himself staring at his hand.

Josef was watching him.

“What?” Cassak barked.

“Just wondering who that was.”

“A scout.”

“Well, yes, but could it have—”

“I’ve had enough of your mouth.” They approached the guard. “In.”

CASSAK’S WARRIORS PRODDED JOHNIS AND SILVIE THROUGH the halls and into a dark war room where Marak stood waiting. The haze intensified. A salty, copper taste flooded Johnis’s mouth. He needed to further the mission. Further their revenge.

With the end of the Circle came the end of the Horde.

With the conquer of the Horde came the end of Teeleh. The end of Teeleh and the beginning of something new.

“Kneel.” A rough hand shoved Johnis to his knees. Silvie thumped to the ground next to him. Cassak brushed past him and gave Marak the amulet.

The general turned it over in his hand. Studied the small thing that had caused so much trouble. Looked perturbed.

“You two have caused me a lot of grief,” he said.

“It’s not my fault the rebels attacked.”

“It’s your fault the priest went on this cursed fool’s hunt.”

Johnis bristled. Shaeda didn’t like this. Neither did he.

With Shaeda’s heightened senses, he became aware of every-thing: The long, oval table surrounded by chairs. Pillar candles casting eerie shadows. Torches on six-foot stands, unlit. The place made him think of a Shataiki lair, made him edgy. Or was that Shaeda?

He could set the place ablaze, storm into the thrall, and demand Sucrow comply. He could end this now. He could . . .

His eyes fixed on the amulet. Shaeda’s focus soaked into his flesh, rushing over his body like a waterfall, a broken dam spilling into the ocean and sweeping him away in the riptide.

Marak held the medallion.
He hinders the mission.

No. Offer a truce first. Waste not, want not. Shaeda couldn’t argue with that.

Johnis looked Marak straight in the eye. The man found honesty impressive. So Johnis would give him impressive. They had no time to waste with all this.

“I’m the reason they were there, then. Drawing attention to your men.”

“Josef,” Silvie whispered.

His mind shifted. Silvie was the key to subverting Shaeda, to harnessing the Leedhan’s power on his own. And he was almost positive he knew how.

Marak studied him. He dragged a chair with his foot and shoved it in front of Johnis. “Sit. Your girl can take the other.”

There were only two chairs.

Johnis scowled. He helped Silvie stand, then let her have the chair. A second one was dragged from the table, and only then did he sit.

“Why is Sucrow interested in this medallion?”

Johnis laughed. A husky laugh that came from Shaeda. “General, that amulet is the key to your trouble. Think of it.”

Marak eyed him. For a moment his eyes went to his captain. Then back to Johnis. He didn’t look convinced. “This amulet.”

Shaeda took over. Johnis could feel her magic course through him. Her eyes, it was all about her eyes . . .

“Yes. That amulet. Come on, Marak. Surely a general knows appearances are deceptive.”

Marak’s expression became unreadable. What was she doing to the general?

“Press the matter.”

“Release us. Make alliance with myself and Arya. Once the priest has outworn his uses, we’ll be rid of him.”

Marak’s gray eyes searched both of them. “And why should I be interested in an alliance?”

“Because you can do it my way, in the time frame Qurong wants,” he said. Shaeda said. Was there a difference anymore?

Silvie touched his arm. Shaeda bristled.

“You already made your bed,” Marak reminded.

“Warryn and his men were uninvited guests. Sucrow turned me down, and I came alone. The Throaters decided to tag along anyway.”

“I’m not interested. You change loyalties too quickly.”

For some reason that stung. He shoved it aside. “Come now, General, we both know that isn’t true. You don’t like the priest, and you won’t let him have the credit for getting rid of the albinos, either.”

Marak fell quiet.

Alliance or death.
“Which will it be, General?”

Shaeda chuckled in Johnis’s head. Her power of influence had no limitation, save that of a human conductor.

“You have a plan, then.”

“I always have a plan, General.” He and Silvie had discussed this, and Shaeda’s foresight had let him see all the way to a place called Ba’al Bek, from whence they would unleash the Shataiki on the albinos.

Marak’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t require you to use it.”

“You assume you have all the pieces. Would I have asked for the priest’s help if I didn’t have to?” The general seemed not to remember the harach fruit. Johnis didn’t intend to remind him of it until he’d secured him as an ally.

Marak still didn’t seem quite convinced. He hadn’t forgotten that Johnis had gone to the priest first. He stood. “Cassak, keep these two under guard.”

Johnis jumped up. “General, if you keep us in custody, we remain a liability. If you release us, we can help you defend this place against the Throaters.”

Marak glared at him. Shaeda was working, but he was so stubborn.

“Do you want the amulet that close to Sucrow?” Johnis watched. Could Marak be manipulated? “I can’t help you if I’m tied up. And Sucrow is likely to intercept that medallion the second you walk out of there.”

Marak still didn’t look ready to play ball. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “When I return.”

“Trust begins somewhere, General. And neither of us has any sentiments toward the priest. He took your family, I heard.”

Marak’s fist curled into a hard knot.

“We could do something about that, you and I.” It was out before Johnis really had time to think about it, but now he was glad Shaeda’s foresight had come through.

The general passed the amulet to Cassak. The shackles fell from Johnis’s wrists. He resisted the impulse to rub them. Bit back a pleased smile. So Shaeda had uses beyond physical strength as well. Surely he already knew that.

“Don’t lose sight of the amulet, General.”

Shaeda’s vision overpowered Johnis, turning his focus toward the desert, toward Ba’al Bek. He required blood and sacrifice . . . Blood so full of iron he could taste the metal in his mouth. The Circle and the Horde would die by this plague, and a new era would begin. One of power and might. One where all bowed to—

“Josef,” Silvie interrupted.

He blinked. Marak was waiting for an answer to a question Johnis hadn’t heard. Shaeda was in a hurry; she was always in a hurry. The slower her movements appeared, the more haste she required.

“We don’t have time to waste. The window of opportunity grows short. The amulet’s guardian will come for his trophy.”