The Demigod Proving (48 page)

Teirn had leapt over the rocks and joined his paladins in the cavern entrance. The cliff hung far enough over the cave, protected it from light so well, that as paladins stepped into the darkness it swallowed them instantly. Teirn glanced back at Wrend with a somber face as he disappeared into the blackness.

Wrend focused on his discernment. He should’ve used his Ichor all along, but hadn’t even thought of it—it was still too new to him and things had happened so quickly, he hadn’t even thought of it until Teirn’s blow. He bound and applied Thew to his legs and started forward through the water, running as hard as he could. He waded around the dead horse and through the red water to the edge of the rocks. He leapt up and over them and followed the paladins toward the darkness. The last of them entered just ahead of him, and as he stepped through that wall of blackness, it was like stepping into another world.

It would only take a few moments for him to regret entering the cave at all.

Chapter 61: An unexpected complication

I demand complete obedience and fidelity from my wives. Their standards of conduct are far stricter than even my demigods’. There has only ever been one exception to this rule.

-Athanaric

Darkness enveloped Wrend. Two steps into the cave, he stopped out of fear of running into someone or something. For several seconds he could see nothing. He could only hear.

From the hollowness of the echoes, he could tell he’d stepped into a gigantic cavern. Swords rang and boots scuffled, but those sounds didn’t affect him so much. He was used to those—he’d heard them in training. It was the screaming and the crying that wrung his heart, the squish of swords entering flesh or the thump of bodies hitting the ground. Women cried out only to have their voices silenced. Men shouted in anger and despair. Babies and children wailed in the distant background.

His vision began to adjust, and vague shapes moved in the darkness around him. Someone jostled him. On an impulse, he experimented by binding Thew to his eyes, and applied. Almost immediately, as if someone had lit torches, details leapt out at him, and he could see.

The cavern had a fifty-foot ceiling and stretched back more than a hundred yards. Ledges and trails lined the sides. In the back, cave openings led deeper into the mountain. Stalactites hung from the ceiling. Random objects, such as blankets, pots, and jars, cluttered the dirt floor, lying among dozens—maybe scores—of bodies.

Some lay face down, others on their sides, with their torsos twisted. Some lay in multiple pieces. Others with guts spilled out around them. Blood stained the ground in smears, or pooled around corpses. The faces of the fallen had frozen in the last moments of pain and fright. Here and there, a paladin lay with its head gone and crystals of nitrate scattered around them. One sat on the ground, missing its legs, its belly open, trying to scoop up nitrate to shove back inside its stomach.

The paladins moved everywhere, but especially crowded near the back of the cavern, toward the exits. Most of the noise came from there, the focus of the slaughter.

Teirn struggled among the paladins, trying to pry his way past them as if eager for the kill. What had come over him? It was like he was a different person than Wrend had ever known.

Yet Wrend needed the same fervor. The Master had decreed that this happen. These people had rebelled and brought this judgment down upon themselves. The laws and rules Wrend had grown up with justified their deaths. As he stood there, stomach churning, he understood on an intellectual level the reason behind the scene.

But his heart quailed.

This was the cost of maintaining peace in the land? The Master had to do this to keep control? This was right?

A commotion arose among the paladins at the back of the cavern. A cheer echoed from the rock walls, and swords and pikes bobbed up and down in celebration of something Wrend couldn’t see.

In a moment, the crowd parted and a bubble of soldiers emerged, pushing and shoving other paladins out of the way—as if Wrend’s and Teirn’s paladins disagreed on what to do. When they saw Wrend, they pointed at and came toward him. Most fell away, returning to the main crowd, and soon only two paladins remained coming toward him, holding a man by the arms and prodding him along.

The leader, wearing all black except for a green vest.

Across the distance, the man met Wrend’s gaze. He had a strong jaw and hard eyes that showed no fear. Only resolve.

Wrend gripped the hilt of his sword, which was still in its scabbard. The Master had commanded him to kill the leader and bring his head back. He had to do this. He couldn’t let anyone else do it. Not the paladins. Not Teirn.

Yet he couldn’t move. His muscles seemed to have seized up. He couldn’t draw his sword or step forward. The man struggled against his captors, trying to pull his arms free, but held his head high as the paladins shoved him across the cavern. The other paladins began to flow into a tunnel beyond, as if they’d broken down a door. Teirn, moving against the flow, emerged from the crowd, sword brandished. He spotted the two paladins and their prisoner, and rushed toward them.

“No!” he shouted. “He’s mine.”

Panic spurred Wrend.

The paladins were closer to Wrend than Teirn, so Wrend drew his sword and bound Thew to his legs. The apostate struggled harder, roaring as he pulled one arm free and rotated his body around a paladin, yanking his other arm loose in the process. But before he could plant his feet to flee, a paladin lunged at him, wrapping its arms around him and tackling him to the ground. The second piled on top.

“Teirn!” Wrend shouted.
He reached the pile of paladins and renegade, and leapt to the far side, to stand between Teirn and his prey. “This man is mine to kill.”

Teirn dove at Wrend, raising his sword in both hands to swing it down. Wrend lifted his own weapon to deflect the blow, and its force vibrated up through his arms as if they would shatter. He staggered aside and would’ve fallen if he hadn’t reached out to steady himself on the ground. As he straightened, he knew from Teirn’s roar that another blow was coming. Instinctively, he lifted his sword and brought his second hand to the hilt. Teirn’s blade made contact and slid down his sword, grating until it struck the cross guard and stopped.

They stood with swords locked. Though Teirn’s eyes radiated a bizarre mixture of hatred and regret, the rest of his face looked serene, as if he’d come to peace with something. He bore down with all his weight. Wrend pushed back, but with insufficient strength, and Teirn forced him to the ground.

He focused on his discernment, bound Thew to his arms and legs, and applied. He surged up and forward, throwing Teirn back. Teirn staggered for several steps, nearly falling backward over the paladins who still struggled with the apostate leader. Wrend steadied himself, prepared his sword, and kept the Thew applied. As Teirn regained his footing and began to surge back at Wrend, a shrill woman’s voice filled the cavern.

“Teirn, no!”

Wrend knew the voice, but didn’t dare look away from the attack. But Teirn knew it, too, and faltered. His stride stuttered, and his head turned. Wrend followed his gaze.

The paladins still funneled through the exits in the back, but two of them had just emerged from the main body of soldiers and came toward the brothers. Between them, they held a woman so that her back bent forward and her hair spilled down over her face. But Wrend knew her. He recognized the brown hair, the slight figure. He would know it anywhere.

It was his mother, Rashel.

Chapter 62: The right choice

It’s always a relief when you can shrug responsibility off, and just live life the way you want.

-Krack

Leenda sat on a rock, her face in her hands as she tried to stop her tears. It probably wasn’t possible, with all the chemicals rushing through her. But this wasn’t her. She wasn’t this emotional.

Krack sat above her, back on his haunches with his wings tucked tight against his back. He hadn’t moved in five minutes.

“So what do we do?” she said.

She didn’t look up. She wouldn’t use guilt against him to convince him to face Athanaric. Besides, he
couldn’t
face Athanaric. He was still too shaken up, and in a moment of crisis his fear might paralyze him, cause him to blunder.

“It seems,” he said in draegonspeak, “that we’re at an impasse. I’m not willing—and maybe not even able—to do what a noble draegon should do.”

His sarcasm stung her, but she said nothing. She deserved it. All this time she’d thought she was superior to humans simply because she had a draegon soul. But now she saw that superiority was an individual affair, dependent upon how each individual chose to exercise its abilities. Some humans demonstrated superiority over draegons, and vice versa.

“I think I’m done with this,” he said. “I’m going to return to my lair in the mountains.”

“That’s perfectly fair.” She couldn’t fight him anymore. “You’ve already done more than I could’ve reasonably expected.”

He paused for a long time. She still didn’t look up at him.

“I could take you somewhere, first,” he said. “Leave you at a village where you can get food. Or near the caravan.”

What could she do, now? She couldn’t face Athanaric alone, and couldn’t get close to Wrend. Even if she could, she still had no guarantee she could convince him to come with her. Should she abandon her quest and focus on her relationship with her son? Could she, after she’d already sacrificed so much to try and regain her mate?

“Do you want me to come with you up to the lair?”

He huffed and tossed his head from side to side. “No.”

He started to speak further, but clamped his mouth shut. She appreciated that.

“Then take me toward the caravan. You can leave me a ways off, and I’ll walk the rest of the way there.”

“They’ll capture you. You don’t want to wait until things have settled a bit?”

She shrugged. “I’ve probably been going about this all wrong—trying to be sneaky. The best way may be to just talk with Athanaric and Wrend. Lay out my case for them.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea.”

“Nothing else has worked. Nothing else may ever work.”

Krack considered her for several moments, and nodded as he lowered his head and body to the ground. “Very well, then. Climb on. I’ll take you there.”

Sighing, she obeyed him. In moments he spread his wings wide, and they lifted into the air.

Chapter 63: The killing cave

Any deception you have in your heart will eventually manifest itself in what you do. Therefore, it is always best to live in complete honesty.