King (24 page)

Hushed within a thicket bordering the narrow valley, Akabe drew back the bowstring, anchored his shot, then aimed at a fine eight-point stag that had paused to scent its surroundings. As the light breeze slipped past his face, Akabe released the arrow and watched it strike his quarry just behind the shoulder. The creature dropped, thrashing.

At once, his men charged from their hiding places toward the fallen beast, jubilant. Akabe wished he could share their exultation. All morning, he’d been uneasy. Instead of hunting and isolating himself from Caitria to protect his heart-wounds, he ought to be with her. Infinite? Was I wrong to leave today?

His conscience mocked. Why not? You’ve been wrong about everything for most of this year.

From the trees behind Akabe, Scythe’s low, restless destroyer-rumble rippled through the air, increasing his disquiet. Decision made, Akabe left the wood and strode toward his men. “We’ve two. It’s enough. Let’s prepare this one and be finished for the day.”

The leader of Akabe’s guards nodded. “Yes, sir. We’ll hurry.”

Just as well. Evening would be fast-approaching by the time they returned to the fortress. His home. Tonight he would talk with Caitria again. And again. Until he wrested information from her lovely, stubborn soul.

Planning their conversation, Akabe marched back into the shadowed trees, where Kien waited with Riddig Tyne and Scythe, who was laden with their earlier prize, a smaller six-point stag. Akabe lifted a mock-serious eyebrow. “My friends, why do I hear destroyer-grumblings?”

“He’s caught my mood,” Kien admitted, shifting the quiver of arrows on his back. “I’m wondering if five guards were enough to protect the fortress.”

“Trust you to raise my concerns to fear, Aeyrievale.” Yet he must admit he was uneasy. During his years as a rebel, this same unease urged him to decamp in haste, often saving rebel lives—a blessing he could only attribute to the Infinite. “Well-enough. We’re leaving as soon as the men tether the stag.” He crossed to his horse, checked it, and mounted. Kien and Riddig followed his example and then waited. Just as Akabe turned his horse to ride past Scythe—a mouse beside the monster—his guards yelled in the meadow beyond. One of them dashed into the wood, hissing, “Sir, there’s a host of men approaching from beyond, ready to fight! Leave now!”

“I will not!” Akabe drew his sword.

“Sir!” the guard pleaded. “You needn’t fear! We’re evenly matched—they must not capture you!
Go—
hide yourself and your lady!”

Caitria! Because she’d brought Siphra the temple’s lands, she was indeed a target. Infinite— “They’d kill her!” Akabe turned his beast once more and rode through the wood, followed by Kien and Riddig, their weapons drawn.

Leaving the shouts and clamor of a warlike clash in the meadow.

 24 

S
hifting his horse’s reins, Akabe tensed, acutely aware of Riddig, Kien, and Scythe’s unnatural quiet as they followed him upward through the trees, approaching the fortress.

Too quiet. Akabe gripped his sword and looked around, studying every shadow. Listening. No tree frogs croaking, no birds calling, no bugs rasping as on the night before. Not even a breeze rustled the trees’ leaves. Stillness closed around Akabe like a shroud.

Unnerved, he glanced at Kien and Riddig. Both men rode amid the oppressive shadowed hush, swords readied. Akabe exhaled, praying. Infinite? Protect Caitria! Though it’s my fault, she’s in danger for the sake of Your Holy House. Please, to honor Your Name, save her from our enemies!

As Akabe neared the fortress, Scythe snorted, sounding prepared for battle. Akabe’s steed balked before the gate. Akabe dismounted, staring at . . . skulls. Weapons. Ashes.

Sword in hand, Riddig dropped from his own skittish mount. “Sir, do you recognize anything? Any of their swords or badges?”

“No. We’ll check as soon as I’ve found my wife.” He turned as Kien swung himself off Scythe, who’d stilled. “Surely the Infinite has done this!”

Kien stared at the skulls, weapons, and ash-strewn bones, then at Akabe. “Ela!”

Akabe hurried toward the gateway, giving the two smaller horses ample room for their growing panic. More vertebrae. Ribs. Hands. Feet. More skulls. And daggers, buckles, arm guards, greaves. . . . Surely an entire regiment was strewn at his feet amid ashes. Where was Cait?

Heart thudding, Akabe picked a path through the tumbled skeletons and charged inside the yard. Caitria and Ela’s horses were gone. Where were the five guards? Infinite . . .

Kien rushed after him through the sagging gate, calling out again, “Ela?”

Praying his fears would be disproved, Akabe sped across the wide, dilapidated yard and rushed up the stairs, into the tower. “Cait! Are you here?”

Riddig clattered in after them as Kien ran upstairs to the chambers above.

They searched the quiet fortress, calling everywhere for Ela and Caitria. No one answered. At dusk they returned to the main keep. Staring into his chamber, at his wife’s jumbled belongings, Akabe lowered his sword and hammered a fist against the wooden door.

Infinite? Have I cost Caitria her life?

In the kitchen, Kien half-knelt beside the hearth and clenched one fist to his forehead, resisting panic. Infinite? What must we do?

His Creator spoke into his thoughts, stunningly swift.
Wait.

What? No! But we must search for—

Parent-stern, the Infinite cut off his argument.
Wait here!

Reeling beneath the command’s physical impact, Kien planted both hands on the tiled floor, sucking in air. Blood thumped in his head, yet his thoughts protested to his Creator.

Infinite, as You say—we’ll wait. But why? What’s happening to Ela?

If she never returns, will you yet trust Me?

The response gripped Kien like a giant’s hand, stilling the breath in his lungs. However . . . Yes, even if Ela could never return. You are the one true God—my Creator. I trust You!

If she dies, even then, will you trust Me?

If she dies . . . if she dies . . . Kien forced himself to think beyond those words. He’d given Ela up for dead in Parne. Agony! And yet . . . In a whisper, he agreed. “Yes. Even then, I would trust You.”

Gather weapons and be ready.

Weapons? Kien sat up, dizzied, prepared to obey the confusing order. Confusing because the only weapons that needed gathering lay in the ashes near the fortress’s stone gate. Fine. He’d gather the dead men’s gear, before the sunlight vanished completely. Senses swimming, he stood and realized Akabe and Riddig were staring at him.

Akabe approached, wary. “You were praying?”

“Yes. And swiftly answered.” But Akabe wouldn’t like the Infinite’s command any more than Kien did. “The Infinite orders us to wait. We’re not to go looking for our wives.”

“You’ve heard from Him?” Akabe stared, clearly incredulous.

Kien pressed both hands to his aching head. “Yes. He orders us to wait.”

“That’s impossible!” Akabe clawed the air in a gesture of wild frustration. “You must be mistaken!”

“I’m not. And I’ve the headache to prove it. Furthermore—” Kien raised a hand to arrest Akabe’s protest. “If we disobey the Infinite and leave to search for our wives, we’ll die.”

Akabe halted. “How do you know this?”

“Because if a prophet disobeys the Infinite, the sentence is death. I’m not exactly a prophet, but I am His servant. Therefore, I’ll obey. Meanwhile, we’re ordered to gather weapons.”

Riddig nodded toward the smoldering grate. “Someone banked the fire.”

Kien studied the hearth. Someone had indeed covered live coals to save them, though it couldn’t have been nightfall when
this fire was banked. And if Kien had to guess between Ela and Caitria . . . “Ela! She must have expected something to happen if she banked the fire so early.” Kien stifled a growl. Headstrong little prophet! Why hadn’t she told him?

Akabe scowled. “I’m going to check those weapons!”

Beneath the blood-red sunset, they rummaged amid the bones, gathering swords, daggers, foreign coins, exotic clasps, and buckles and carried them in bunches into the tower.

As darkness closed in, Kien noticed Scythe circling them. Not grazing. Only circling, his destroyer-nostrils flaring as he issued occasional threatening snorts toward the woods.

Realization slid over Kien as Scythe tightened his pace, closing his restless, watchful circle around Kien—and Akabe and Riddig.

They were in danger. But from whom? Local thugs? Atean assassins? Or was another contingent of soldiers approaching from Belaal? “Sirs?”

Drawing his sword, Kien motioned Akabe and Riddig toward the tower.

Was this the place? Ela stared as they rode through the evening light into the military encampment. Yes. She winced, seeing those tents positioned exactly so amid this field. And the golden pennants, the moveable stands of shields and spears . . . All were as she’d seen.

Commander Vioc ordered his men to dismount. Ela followed their example, removing the branch from her saddle as well. While she shook out her robes and stretched, Caitria hurried to meet her, whispering, “If they haven’t guessed my rank by now, I’m certain they will. Ela, what might they do?”

“Commander Vioc will treat you with as much or more courtesy than ever. As for Bel-Tygeon, he is less predictable.” Ela felt her throat go dry. She was being watched, just as in her vision. She nodded toward a gathering pack of soldiers. “Lady, I’m about to be threatened by those men. Whatever happens, don’t run! Remain still and quiet.”

Caitria paled. “You’re going to burn them? Ela—”

“No!” Her voice emerged a pitiable squeak, nothing like a proper prophet’s voice should be. “I’m not going to burn them. Unless these men retreat, they’ll suffer an ambush of scalns.”

Caitria’s voice rose. “Scalns? But—”

A man’s harsh, low voice cut off her words. “Prophet!”

Ela looked up and met the now-familiar gaze of the soldier who’d spied on her wedding, then tracked her through Siphra. “Hyseoth.” The instant she spoke this soldier’s name, the branch turned metallic, silvery fire threading visibly along the vinewood’s grain.

“You cursed my men in Parne!” Hyseoth accused. “By your words, they died. Then your husband cut down my comrades in Siphra!”

“I did not curse your men in Parne! You and your king refused to heed the Infinite’s warnings; therefore, your men died. As for my husband—he
rescued
me. You would have done the same for any of your loved ones!”

“None of my loved ones weave spells and pronounce curses, sorceress!”

Gritting her teeth, Ela willed herself to remain calm. The branch glowed now, dazzling blue-white in the lowering sun. The angry soldier and his men squinted, their features stark within the branch’s light—all wound-marked and hateful as she’d seen. Please, let them listen, for their eternal sakes! “I am the Infinite’s prophet from Parne, not a spell-weaver. I warned your men before, Hyseoth, and I am begging you and the men with you now to return peaceably to your tents—at once. If you curse me or my Creator, then this has been your last day of life.”

Commander Vioc spoke from Ela’s left, ringing and authoritative. “Hyseoth, listen to me if you won’t listen to her! Two deputations of men ignored the prophet’s warnings in Siphra and divine fire turned their flesh to ashes! My men and I survived only because we did not threaten this woman—we honored her warnings.”

Hyseoth tensed with fury, his deepened color outlining a scar that lay like a cord against his cheek and throat. He swore, seeming to take courage. “We honor no murderers! We kill them and denounce their false deities who blaspheme against Bel-Tygeon, lord of all!”

The men around Hyseoth spat curses at Ela. Against the Infinite. One soldier, whose face was tightened with purpled disfigurements, yelled, “Restore health to those you’ve wounded, and we might allow you to live!”

“Retreat, all of you—now!” Ela warned as the branch sent fiery tendrils of light through her fingers. “Or you’ll die in an ambush of scalns!”

One of Hyseoth’s companions flung a spear at Ela, but its straight, ferocious path veered sharply to the left the instant it reached the vinewood’s dazzling glow.

Caitria muffled a shriek. Commander Vioc stepped in front of her to stand beside Ela. He snarled at the offender. “Cease! You will not threaten these ladies!” To Caitria, he said, “Majesty, lady, remain there, I beg you.”

Hyseoth studied the fiery branch, then bellowed, “I’m no coward to be shaken by false magic! Vioc, you traitor, you will die for this! As for you, Prophet—” He spat at Ela, cursing her and the Infinite. Hyseoth’s men took courage, adding their foul oaths to his as they lifted their curved bows and set arrows, taking aim.

Ela shuddered, longing to close her eyes against what she’d already seen and felt. Against what she saw and heard now. Hissings from her nightmares merged into lethal reality, making her scarred legs burn with searing memory. An ambush of scalns charged into the encampment and attacked, raking their poisonous red claws through mortal flesh, sinking blade-sharp teeth into the screaming men’s bare legs, arms, and throats. Ela cried, reliving the torment of her shredded skin—the poison burning through her blood.