Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (23 page)

“Torin!” Jensa cried. She rushed over and
fell to her knees, smothering his face with a half a dozen kisses.
He winced and offered her a weak smile, but clearly he was in much
pain.

“Oh, gods, what did they do to you?” she
said, looking him up and down. “Never you mind. You will soon be on
your feet.”

Jensa rose, then discreetly motioned for Cora
to follow her to the other side of the tent.

“How is he?” Jensa whispered. “Be truthful
with me.”

“His wounds will heal, but his spirit is very
weak.”

“What do you mean?” Jensa asked.

“Did Reiv not tell you?” Cora frowned. “Come
with me.” She looked over her shoulder toward Reiv. “Reiv, will you
help the girls finish gathering our things? I’ll be back in a
moment to help you with Torin.”

Reiv nodded, and Cora and Jensa slipped
through the flap.

“Tell me, please,” Jensa said as they stopped
outside the tent.

Cora compressed her lips, then said, “Your
brother suffers greatly. When he was in Pobu, the King forced him
to make a decision: he could either save Gem and her sister, or he
could save Mya and the body of his son.”

“Oh, gods,” Jensa said, horrified. “And he
chose the girls.”

“Yes. And received two arrows in his back for
it.”

Jensa felt grief wash over her, not only for
Torin, but for Mya and Farris. She had known Mya since childhood,
and Torin had loved her since he was old enough to know what love
meant. While Jensa had made many friends since joining Torin in
Meirla all those years ago, Mya had always been her one true
constant. Now she was gone forever, as was Torin’s son. And if
Torin did not recover from it, he might soon follow. “Grief could
take him,” Jensa said. “I fear that even more than the wounds in
his back.”

“I’ll not desert him,” Cora replied. “And
neither will you. It will take time, but I think he’ll heal,
especially now that his family is here.” She smiled with
encouragement. “When you arrived, I saw a spark in him I’d not seen
since I first tended him.”

Jensa drew a breath of relief, then turned
her gaze to her feet. She folded her arms. “I have not been
friendly to you, Cora, and I’m sorry. I now realize how much you
care for my brother.”

Cora cocked her head. “And the reason for
your previous distrust of me?”

“I thought you had affection for another,”
Jensa said. “But it was none of my concern.”

“I see,” Cora said. “Then there is no longer
a reason for you to deny Lyal your affections.”

“
What
? Lyal? Gods, why does everyone
think I have affection for Lyal!” Jensa said.

Cora lifted a brow. “Not Lyal then?”

Jensa’s face went hot. “I’ll not deny
I’ve…kissed him. But no. Lyal does not hold my heart.”

“Some other man, then?”

“No…I mean…he wouldn’t wish it.”

“But you would,” Cora said.

Jensa shook her head. “We wouldn’t be a
proper match. Besides, he’s meant for another.”

“Ah, so you were not trying to protect the
man from me, but the other woman.”

“Well…” Jensa paused, considering Cora’s
words. Satisfied that they would suffice, she said, “It doesn’t
matter. I should know better than to second guess the affairs of
the heart.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. What is meant
to be will be, and if not…” Cora laughed. “I don’t think we have as
much control over these things as we’d like to believe. I know I
never have.”

Jensa looked toward the tent. Cora followed
her gaze.

“If there’s one love that is constant,” Cora
said, “it’s that of family. My mother always said it could cure any
ill.”

Jensa smiled. “Then my brother will soon be
well.”

* * * *

Reiv knelt next to Torin’s pallet, watching
him closely. Torin’s eyes were closed, but Reiv felt certain he was
awake.

“Torin,” he said softly. He placed a hand on
his shoulder.

Torin’s eyes opened slightly. He forced a
thin-lipped smile. “Thank you for looking after Nely and Gem,” he
said, then coughed.

Reiv tilted a mug of water to his lips. Torin
lifted his head, and with the support of Reiv’s hand, took a sip.
Reiv eased Torin’s head back onto the bedroll. “I am sorry for what
my brother did to you, and—and to the others. I am sure you do not
wish to speak of it, but please know how grateful we are for
you.”

“Grateful?” Torin frowned. “Whatever
for?”

“For the fact that you are not dead. If you
had died, a piece of us would have died with you.”

“Us?”

“Yes, us,” Reiv said, but he felt embarrassed
to be included in that
us
. “You know—Jensa, and Kerrik, and
Brina, and Cora and Nely and Gem and—” He sighed. “Very well…and
me.”

Torin’s right eyebrow arched. “I didn’t know
you had such affection for me,” he said.

“Do not get any ideas,” Reiv said. “Besides,
there is another who loves you more I think.”

Jensa and Cora swept into the room. Reiv rose
to his feet. “The fever must have addled your brother’s mind,” he
said to Jensa. “He made an attempt at humor just now. It frightens
me.”

“Humor?” Jensa asked with surprise. She
turned to Torin. “Shape shifter, what have you done with my
brother?”

Cora made her way over to Torin and reached
down to check his wounds. “Much better,” she said as she secured
the dressings. “Do you think you’ll be able to travel? You’re the
last to load, and everyone is waiting.”

“If you think it best,” he said.

“I do,” she replied, and lifted his arm and
placed it around her shoulder.

Reiv helped Cora hoist Torin from the mat,
then they guided him to the travois waiting outside. Brina and
Kerrik had brought it at Jensa’s signal, and Kerrik was now dancing
around it, antsy to see his older brother.

“Reiv said you got shot with arrows!” he said
as Torin and the others approached.

Torin grunted as Reiv and Cora lowered him
onto the transport.

Kerrik leaned over him. “Did it hurt? Where’d
you get shot? What did it feel like?”

Torin’s eyes flashed at Kerrik, but then
glistened with affection. “Nice to see you too.”

“Sorry.” Kerrik gave him a quick kiss on the
cheek. “But did it hurt?”

“Of course it hurt,” Torin growled. But he
seemed more amused than annoyed. “Take a look at the gaping hole in
my chest, if you think you have the stomach for it.”

Kerrik sucked in a breath. “Oh
can
I?”

“No, you cannot,” Cora said firmly. “I’ve
only just secured the bandages and we need to be going.”

“I can tell you all about it, Kerrik,” Gem
said. “I saw everything.” She was standing next to Kerrik now, and
her face was absolutely beaming. In all the time Reiv had been with
the girl, he had never seen her beam about anything. But then he
recalled her saying she was going to marry Kerrik someday, and
realized there might be something to it.

With Torin settled, and the Shell Seekers and
Jecta ready to go, Reiv motioned them to follow him. He turned to
the cart, but then a huge tattooed man stepped in front of him and
secured the harnesses onto his own muscular shoulders.

“Gair!” Reiv exclaimed. He had not spent as
much time with the Jecta blacksmith as his cousin Dayn had, yet he
could not help but be overjoyed at the sight of him. “You are
alive!”

Gair nodded. “I am. You?”

“I have been better.”

Gair lifted the cart poles. “This is an
ambitious undertaking, Reiv,” he said, “even for you.”

“I had no choice. As for the rest…” He gazed
back at the long line of people that would soon be following his
lead. “They are either as desperate as I am, or they have placed
their faith in the wrong person.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Gair said. He grinned and
jerked the wagon into motion.

The line of people at their backs began to
move like a great waking worm, until at last it evened out and
moved forward at an equalizing pace. As they reached the first
rise, Reiv turned to look at Meirla one last time. But then his
gaze fell upon the caravan, and a lump of realization made its way
to his throat. These people had placed their future in his hands,
believing he, as a Transcendor, could lead them to some sort of
promised land. True, he had died and returned to tell of it. True,
he’d been given visions of the past, present, and future. But what
no one yet realized was that while he knew how to get them to the
valley, he had not allowed himself to see what would happen once
they got there.

Back to ToC

Chapter 19: War
Play

T
he encampment was
deserted, and Whyn’s disappointment had quickly reached a boiling
point. His spies had inspected the place but one day prior and had
assured him it was well-filled with Jecta. He raked his eyes over
the remains of the encampment, working to steady his temper.
Perhaps he should not have given the Shell Seekers warning. That
was something Whyn would do. But not her. Never her.

A stab of pain shot through him, sending a
grimace to his face.

Did I not tell you to be swift about
it!
she hissed.
You and your human frailties. How many more
lessons must you be taught?

“Pray few I hope,” Whyn whispered. He
clutched his gut, fighting to remain upright in the saddle.

You well know how I like to give lessons. Do
not test me further, boy, or your body will soon not be worth the
having.

Whyn flinched. Yes, he knew the lessons that
she taught, carried out by her command, yet meted by his own hand.
She could have him press his face to the flames if she wished it,
even slit his own throat if that was her desire. As it was, she’d
only had him flog his back until raw, carve her name upon his
flesh, and perform acts upon himself so deviant, he wondered how in
the world she had ever thought them up. Each time she would heal
him and soothe him, then have him repeat the act over and over
again, until at last she was satisfied the lesson had been learned.
Perhaps that was why Whyn had come to enjoy the suffering of others
so much. It gave him the power to hurt someone other than
himself.

He glared at the encampment, realizing he
should have purged it when he’d had the chance. But no, he had
hesitated, and now it was nothing more than dying campfires and a
few discarded tents. No blood, no torture. Just refuse and
disappointment—her disappointment.

Whyn guided his horse through the debris. He
had hoped to open some veins here today, but the remaining Shell
Seekers would just have to do. Surely that would appease her. He
turned his eyes toward a nearby hillside and smiled. A funeral pyre
could be seen, glowing with the embers of the dead. He felt a
glimpse of satisfaction. But it soon ebbed.

Whyn jerked the horse’s reins. The animal
snorted and strained at the bit as he steered it toward a mound of
human waste and medical debris. He stared at the pile with disgust.
“Torch this,” he shouted to a nearby group of guards. He pulled a
perfume-scented kerchief from the belt at his waist and pressed it
to his nose.

Several guards on horseback galloped forward,
waving torches that had been greased and lit. They tossed them onto
the heap. It roared into flames, sending an acrid stench into the
air.

Whyn reined his horse back. “Commander!” he
barked. “Have the area searched. There might be stragglers.”

“Yes, Lord,” the Commander called back. He
snapped a brusque order, and several guards spurred their horses
into the surrounding trees, swords whacking through the
underbrush.

The Commander reined his horse toward Whyn,
then stopped at his side.

What of Meirla?
she hissed into Whyn’s
mind.

“Is Meirla secured?” Whyn asked the
Commander.

“It is, my lord,” the Commander replied.

The dead? What of the dead?

“How many dead?” Whyn asked.

“Many. But we captured the survivors with
little difficulty.”

“Was my brother amongst them?”

He was not.

“No, Lord.”

“Did they have a leader?” Whyn asked.

“Apparently. But we have him. Shall I have
him brought to you?”

Yes…Let us teach him a lesson.

“I look forward to meeting him,” Whyn said.
“But later. I should like to see the village first.”

The Commander shouted another order, and he
and a group of guards gathered at Whyn’s side to escort him to
Meirla.

“Anything else I should know?” Whyn asked as
they rode casually toward the village.

“Only that the structures have been torched,
and the survivors await your decision.”

Whyn felt anticipation surge from his breast
to his loins. But this was not lust in the usual sense. No, this
was lust of a very different nature. He smiled. “Then let us go to
them,” he said. “We cannot keep our lady waiting.”

* * * *

The surviving Shell Seekers had already been
sorted by the time Whyn arrived at the village. The Guard were
well-drilled in their duties. There were many ways a slave could
serve a master, and their King expected organization and ease when
making his selections.

All of the captives were on their knees,
roped together at the neck, their hands bound at their backs. There
were four groups of them. Girls and women made up the largest,
assembled according to age and physical attributes. Those with
exceptional beauty would be used to please the court. The rest
would be sent to serve individual Tearian masters or to join the
labor force currently rebuilding the city. Some would be housed to
replenish the stock, but only those with purer features would be
considered for that. The aged and infirm had already been purged,
their bodies tossed upon the pyres along with those who had
perished in the earlier skirmish.