Elyon (4 page)

“Guardian,” Marak repeated.

“I highly doubt you wish to be the one holding that amulet when the queen, Derias, comes for it.”

The general’s eyes narrowed, as if considering whether or not that was a threat. He turned to leave. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

DARSAL WAS ALONE IN THE GENERAL’S CHAMBER. SHE HAD eavesdropped a few minutes before hearing more than she cared to, and now wished to consider her options in private. She studied the room. A bedroll. A table. Two journals, side by side—one Martyn’s war journal, one Rona’s. They were the two sides of her Scab general. One cunning and tactical, stoic and cold. One warm and full of barely restrained passion.

She fingered Jordan’s necklace.

Everything began to sink in. So much to reclaim. So much lost. Romania and the Black Forest and old Middle Forest haunted her, whispering specters in the back of her mind.

“Where are our vows now?” she grumbled, her eyes narrowed. The shock of hearing Johnis talk like that had worn off, and now the summer’s heat of anger stirred up inside her.

Follow your heart
, Thomas, then Johnis, had always said.

“My heart wants to beat some sense into him.”

Frustrated, she groaned. Part of her remembered she was a slave and would be summoned at any moment. But for now she was free to rage.

A gentle laugh tittered through the room. Darsal whirled, landed in a crouch. Marak had extra knives in a small trunk. How to get to them?

Her eyes widened.

A furry white bat with round, green eyes was laughing at her. It took her a second to realize who and what it was.

Darsal’s arms fell to her sides. “Gabil?”

“Well, yes, I believe that is my name. I trust you haven’t forgotten me.”

“Forgotten—Where have you
been
?” she snapped at him.

“That isn’t important, and it isn’t why I’m here.” He hopped toward her, wings slapping the air.

“Do you know the half of what’s been going on over here? Johnis and Silvie, and—”

“Oh, yes.” Gabil turned serious for half a second. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s been a dreadful time.”

“You didn’t bother warning us. Didn’t bother to tell us we all had to drown!”

Gabil waited until she was looking at him again. “No, I suppose we didn’t.”

“Johnis and Silvie are rotten through because no one told us we had to—” She stopped.

“Well, Darsal, you knew you had to find water, didn’t you?”

“But not to drown. No one would just decide to do that.”

“You did, didn’t you?”

She scoffed. “I had Jordan.”

“So why do you assume it’s all a loss?”

She didn’t answer.

“What did Elyon tell you, Darsal?”

“‘Return to the Horde, and love them for me. For Johnis.’”

“Yes, for Johnis. Ultimately, though, Darsal, it isn’t about you. It’s about Elyon. This saving the Circle—most of whom you’ve never met—learning to love a Scab . . .”

“Elyon.” She let the name spread over her tongue and fill her mouth. Her fury subsided. Whatever happened, Elyon was here, and Gabil was in front of her, destined to drive her crazy.

She dropped down and hugged her old friend. Ran her fingers through his fur.

Gabil laughed. “That’s a much better welcome, if I do say so myself. And that tickles.”

Darsal sat down. Pulled one knee up and propped her chin on it. “Well, it’s been awful. Where’s Thomas, the Forest Guard—I mean, Circle? Why is the Horde in Middle?” The flood of questions continued. She couldn’t help it, now that someone with answers was right in front of her. “We lost the books, Gabil. We had to leave them in the attic. I don’t know how we’ll get them back. All that trouble for nothing.”

The Roush shook his head. “Maybe the books weren’t meant for you, child. Did you consider that?”

No, she hadn’t.

Darsal let that thought sink in. Then, “So what do I do? Why here, now? How does loving the Horde—Marak—save the Circle?”

“That is a mystery. I suppose you keep doing what you’ve been doing.”

“Fight with Marak, and pray Johnis and Silvie come to their senses? Yes, that’s helping so much.” She started thinking out loud. “They’re Horde. They’ve turned their backs on everything, Gabil. Everything. Johnis went to the priest. To Sucrow. I swear, he’s possessed.”

Gabil became very, very quiet. Unnervingly so. “So he is.”

“What’s wrong with him? His eyes and skin are all wrong. And please don’t tell me it’s the scabbing disease. It’s beyond that.”

A long pause.

“Gabil, please.”

“Patience. I’m trying to decide what I can tell you. Yes, in a sense Johnis is possessed, by a Leedhan. She calls herself an entity . . .” His expression was unreadable. “Half-Shataiki, half-Horde.”

Darsal furrowed her brow.

“Her name is Shaeda.”

“The Leedhan.”

He nodded. “She wishes to conquer the Horde and the Circle as part of a plot to exact revenge on Teeleh. A spiteful, evil creature.”

Darsal’s eyes narrowed. “That won’t happen.”

The Roush tensed. Hesitated. “I would focus on what you can do, not what you can’t, Darsal.”

“You aren’t helping, Gabil.”

“Well, keep talking. We’ll come up with something, I’m sure of it. Certainly a plan will take form. I have all confidence.”

She was back to wanting to smack the oversized white bat.

“Well, go on,” he urged.

Darsal took a long, deep breath. “If I help Johnis and Marak, the Circle dies. If I take out the priest, it’ll fall on Johnis, Marak, or both.”

“Or you.”

“I’m beside the point!” she snapped. “If my death serves the mission, so be it.”

“Now you sound like Johnis.”

Darsal ground her teeth. “I need an immediate solution.”

Even as she said it, she knew what she would do. She was Elyon’s emissary, sent to bring him the hearts of Scabs. Marak was one. Now there were two more.

“I need to see Johnis.”

Gabil eyed her but offered no indication on her course of action. “Well, whatever you decide, hurry, as I believe your general is returning. And he’s in a foul mood, I might add.”

Darsal fingered her pendant, eyes narrow. “We’ll see.”

three

S
ucrow retreated to his chambers and completed the ritual to undo his facade of the young scout. Then he started for the palace to meet Marak and Qurong. As he neared the palace, he spotted Cassak up the road, taking orders from Marak. He sneered, pleased at the obvious rift in their friendship. The captain turned to summon the commanders. Anxious. And foolish to think that he could keep Teeleh’s priest out of the officers’ hall with a simple barricade.

How easily the loyal dog of the general was enticed.

Sucrow cackled. “Ambitious little captain, is he not?” He watched Cassak until the captain broke away from the others. Warryn was in place for his next assignment.

Now for the next item of business. What was that old saying? “That which bends not, break shall.” Marak would bow before Lord Teeleh—one way or another.

“Let us see what can be done for the captain’s ambition,” Sucrow muttered to himself. “Surely he has better thoughts of glory than his brazen general.”

Cassak broke off from the commanders outside Marak’s quarters and started back up the street as the others went inside.

Sucrow followed, slowly catching up. At last he was abreast of the man. Cassak glanced over, a scowl on his face.

“What do you want?” the captain snapped.

So angry, this one was. Pleased, Sucrow withdrew a sidna and took a bite. He twisted his staff. A strange light seeped out—noticeable only to those with eyes to see.

“Warryn maintains you provoked the Eramites,” Sucrow said, still looking ahead. He chewed slowly and swallowed, watched Cassak tense as the spell took root. Oh, yes, already the little charm was doing its work, crawling beneath the skin into the captain’s heart. “But we both know my chieftain has a tendency to exaggerate, don’t we?”

Cassak’s scowl hardened. His eyes briefly landed on his own palm. Most excellent. Sucrow could barely contain the excitement, the thrill of the hunt, the rush of adrenaline involved whenever his spell fell over a new victim.

“Of course, I will have to inform Qurong.” Sucrow raised a brow. “What say you?”

The captain remained edgy. Tendrils of shadow swirled around his throat and constricted. The others never seemed to notice. Curious. Blind, all of them.

“What’s your game, Priest?”

“It is not for holy men to engage in petty games, Captain. Rather, we strive to bring instruction and exhortation, to train the sons of men.” Mentally Sucrow recited an incantation, a mantra opening the captain’s mind further to suggestion. Treacherous thoughts that could drive a wedge between Marak and Cassak. A wedge not even an albino wench could remove.

Marak of Southern wasn’t really all he seemed, was he? Loyalty, integrity, and honor, he’d taught. And yet his loyalty betrayed his family to his supreme commander, then his supreme commander—and his own people—to an albino. What did that say of loyalty, of integrity? And what did his arrogance say of honor?

Self-imposed honor, perhaps. Naught else.

Cassak’s gaze fell again to his hand. Of course, by now the little star had migrated to his throat, the jugular. “And what might your teaching to a warrior be, Priest?”

Sucrow retrieved a fruit from his robes. “Would you care for a sidna, Captain? They are quite delicious.” A simple fruit, nothing more. The true magic was in what he had already done. The fruit was merely a personal joke, a private symbolism. Marak would have understood it, oddly.

Cassak, however, did not. Dumb ox.

“A sidna?”

“It is from the north forest.” He extended the fruit in his hand. For a second the captain looked offended at the offer, then seemed to think better of his own offense. He accepted the sidna.

Sucrow watched Cassak bite, turning his staff in his hand, keeping the end level with Cassak. The captain’s eyes changed, and he tugged the collar of his tunic. “Is your general displeased with you?”

“I grow weary of your questions, Priest. Don’t you have a reckoning with Qurong?”

Bitter fool, wasn’t he? How terribly disappointing to catch a smaller fish because the larger one refuses to be caught. But still, the smaller could be set to catch the larger.

Cassak’s pupils shrank to needle points. His eyes took on the same greenish-yellow cast as Sucrow’s other serpent warriors, a cast they themselves could not see. Yes, this captain would become a great general, one who heeded the servants of Teeleh rather than his own foolhardy ambitions.

There we are, my fool.

“I was merely curious,” Sucrow said. “You manage to prevent a war, and yet the general finds no cause to promote you? Many less experienced have already surpassed you.”

Cassak’s face hardened. Ah, the great captain’s underbelly. He’d done so much for Marak, only to be left behind while Marak climbed the ranks.

“That is not your concern. It is you who almost caused it.”

Incompetent serpent warrior
, Sucrow thought. “All of Middle is my concern. We all serve the Great One, no?”

More hesitation. Sucrow knew most of Marak’s men didn’t directly serve Teeleh, but all feared him, even more than their general.

“Think on it, Captain. I must be gone now. I have a high position available, one more suited to you, and I have favor with Qurong. Come and see me should you reconsider.”

THIN LIGHT STREAMED FROM A CRACKLING TORCH. THEY were in an office converted into a bedroom. No windows, only a single torch stand. Two cots and a trunk made up the whole of the furnishings.

“Ba’al Bek,” Johnis said to Silvie. She leaned against the wall, arms folded. Marak had ordered a servant to give them clean clothes and allow them weapons. A show of good faith, so it seemed.

And now Shaeda disclosed the next stage. Her patience was running thin. Her thoughts opened, and he saw barren desert and the high place she called Ba’al Bek and a throng of Shataiki led by Derias . . .

“We need to go to Ba’al Bek.”

“Why?” Silvie shifted forward. “That takes longer, Johnis.”

She lifted a brow. “We need a plan, love. We aren’t pretending to do her will if we never work to undermine her.”

He hesitated.

“Is she listening?” Silvie asked.

“I . . . can’t tell. She’s not strangling me right now.”

“What’s your heart say?”

Johnis swallowed. “She’s likely always in my head, and occasionally allows me enough rope to hang myself if she so chooses. She’s manipulative.”

Silvie scoffed, but didn’t comment. They couldn’t plan an escape if Shaeda was always listening. He had but two advantages: Silvie alone could command his attentions over Shaeda’s. And Shaeda’s wishes were always open to interpretation.

“But you can’t stop trying. And she can’t possibly be everywhere at once.”

“I don’t think she has to be, anymore than I do.” His focus shifted. “We’re going to Ba’al Bek because it’s one of Teeleh’s holy places, which is why Shaeda feels compelled to desecrate it. She hates him, Silvie. Despises him. You’ve never felt anything like it.” Johnis paused. “We just have to assume her power before . . .”

Shaeda cinched her grip on him. Silvie’s eyes narrowed. For a long minute the Leedhan glowered at Silvie through Johnis, and Silvie returned the glare.

“Johnis. Silvie.”

Johnis’s hand went for the sword that one of Marak’s men had given him. He and Silvie exchanged glances—no one here knew them by those names. An albino entered—Marak’s slave. She wore a scarf over her head and face. Clanking metal. A length of chain ran between her ankles. Dark eyes searched their faces.

Darsal
.

Darsal was an albino. An enemy. She would try to stop Shaeda’s plans. Johnis’s plans.

No, that wasn’t true. Darsal wasn’t the enemy.

The talons clawed at him. Yes, yes, she will do all to thwart them, should she know . . .

Silvie scowled, hands falling to her knives. “What do you want?”

Darsal pushed back her hood, revealing smooth skin painted white with morst. Long, dark hair, braided in Horde fashion.