The Mad God's Muse (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 2) (27 page)

For
long, maddening moments, he was not permitted to know. The world
resisted him, refused to conform to his will. He remained on his
knees, keening in agony, guilt, and fear, yet she did not speak, nor
did she strike. What other conclusion was there to draw?

Mei! What have I
done
?

His
vision slowly returned, because it had to, even if his eyes were
full of blood and glass. His internal organs, pierced or not,
continued to function because he
needed
them to, if for no
other reason than to live long enough to know the gravity of his
crime, the depths of his ignorance and shame.

Perhaps,
when he was certain, he would keel over dead. But for now, he had to
know.

He
rose slowly to his feet, his blood-soaked tunic cold and clinging to
his skin. He winced at the rapidly fading pain, dashed blood and
glass from his vision, and faced what he already knew he would see.

Narelki
lay in a broken heap against one of the cobblestone walls, a smear
of blood marking where she had impacted and then slowly sank down
the wall, a marionette with her strings suddenly and permanently
cut.

The
face he had only moments before been dreaming of was now streaked
with blood and gore, but her eyes were still open, still dimly
aware.
Perhaps there's still hope.
But no, he could hear the
labored, rattling sound of her breathing, see the flattened, bloody
mass of the back of her head.
No hope, then. Not unless she can
help herself.

He
knelt before her and bowed his head, unable to find any words. His
vision was going again, this time from tears he could not hold back,
even though he knew he should try to put on a brave face.

For
long moments, she simply breathed in ragged, wet gasps, but finally
she managed to speak. “I didn't hesitate that time, did I, you
bastard?” she choked out, blood bubbling at the edges of her
lips.

“No,
my love,” Prandil sighed. “Not for an instant.” He
put a hand to her face, and she took it in her own.

“Going now,” she
sighed, clutching at his hand. “Very soon. I can feel it. I
can't see anything.” She paused a moment to catch her breath,
then sighed, “Stay with me.”

“I will,” he said
softly. “But wouldn't it be so much better if
you
stayed with
me
?”

“I'll wait for you, if there's anything beyond,” she
said. “It won't be so long.” She gave a weak chuckle.
“He'll kill you all when you go against him. And then the
world. I care so much less what will happen, knowing I won't be
here.”

“Stay and watch the
fight, then! Whatever the outcome, it will be
glorious
!
Perhaps we'll see Ariano get hers, at least!”

“
I
would so like to have seen that,” she said, then coughed again
and winced. “
I've been afraid for so long, Prandil,”
she whispered, smiling. “Now, finally, I'm not anymore.”
She closed her eyes and murmured, “I feel like...me again.”
The breath of her last words ran out of her and her eyes closed. She
did not take another.

“Goodbye, Narelki,”
Prandil whispered.

Slat watched the sky of Nihlos
lighten from mottled orange to yellow to near white, his old bones
aching from his vigil.
It was time
to follow his orders.

“If
I am not back by sunup, go to my desk. You'll find your instructions
there.” Narelki had told him nothing beyond that, but she had
given him a genuine smile, just for a moment, before she turned and
departed. She had been, for the first time in ages, beautiful again.
The bitterness she had worn like a cloak for so long was gone, her
clouded eyes full of life and vigor like they had been when she was
a child. He had wanted too much to believe it was a good thing,
though he had known better.

She would have come to me,
if she had returned at all
.
Still, it fell to him to make certain. It was just possible that she
had been too tired, or too busy with her own thoughts.
Perhaps
she forgot. They forget, when they're excited.

He
knew he was lying to himself, even as he rose and shuffled quietly
to her room, not wanting to wake anyone else in the house. He could
not deal with the questions. He could barely hold himself together.
The hours ticking by had taken their toll on him, as each passing
second made it less likely he would ever see her again.

She
never told him what was on her mind, neither last night nor ever. He
had always been able to work it out from her manner, though, and
last night had been no different.
She was going to a
battle. That was why she shone so brightly.

Her
room was empty, as he had known it would be. Everything was in
place, her silk sheets tucked with crisp corners, her cosmetics and
personal items all arranged neatly.
She never planned on
coming back. She put everything as she wanted it.

Slat
made his way downstairs, looking in various rooms as he passed, but
it was pointless. There was only one other place she might be.

He
stood before the great doors of the library, suddenly filled with
the belief that she would be here,
must
be here. He had
worried all night for nothing. He would find her in her chair, cold,
arrogant, busy writing, or perhaps pouring over one of the many
books of The Law. He was so convinced of it that he sighed with
relief as he opened the doors.

His
face fell as he saw the room was empty, the hearth cold and dead. He
spied the packet on her desk, just as she had told him, and felt the
full weight of his years settle once again on his shoulders.

Three generations I have
raised in this House, and each has come to a terrible end
.
He had been barely twenty when he had been assigned to Lothrian as
his personal slave. He had bathed and cleaned the boy dutifully,
done his best to guide him, but somewhere things had gone wrong.
They never told Slat exactly what had happened to Lothrian, but the
old slave had not been fooled by the official lie. Tasinalt had not
the power to slay Lothrian. No one did, as far as Slat knew.
Lothrian had been a titan, the undisputed master of his order.

Narelki
had kept Slat on in the position of authority Lothrian had given
him. She had never known a time when House Amrath was not run by
Slat, and that was how she wanted things to remain. He had tended
her son as he had tended her and her father before, whipped the boy
when it was needed, and watched him grow into a fine young man, a
strong, willful heir who would lead House Amrath well.

And
then he, too, fell, and now his mother followed.

Was it my failure?
Perhaps. But surely the Meite madness bore the greater
responsibility. It had destroyed Lothrian and his daughter. And try
as she might to shield Aiul, forbidding he ever be instructed in
sorcery, it seemed his fate had found him still.

He
glared at the statue of Amrath, feeling helpless and alone.
I cannot bear this any longer. You ask too much of me. I cannot
raise and nurture your children just to watch them all die like
this.

“No
more, do you hear me?” he shouted at the stone likeness of the
Great Father. If Amrath, wherever his spirit might have gone, heard
or cared, he gave no indication.

“Fine,”
Slat muttered. “This one last, duty, then. But after this, I
am done.” He snatched the letter from Narelki's desk and
gently opened the seal. Tears welled in his eyes to see her
handwriting and know it was the last he would hear from her.

“After
this, I'm done.”

“We ride to our doom,
you claim,” Logrus said.

Aiul shook himself from near
sleep, focusing on Logrus. “If rumors are to be believed,”
he said. “Forget I said it, it was foolish.”

“This Torium is an evil
place?”

Aiul glared at Logrus, willing
him to find another topic, but Logrus was determined. Aiul gave in
with a sigh. “My grandfather said that no one who goes there
ever returns.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.
That’s all he told me.”

Logrus eyed Aiul with
suspicion. “I think you must know more,” he said. “Why
else would you have resisted it so?”

Aiul shrugged, playing Logrus’s
game, but Logrus was not so easily dismissed as Aiul had been. He
stared at Aiul with feverish intensity, hungering, now, for more.
“Tell me.”

Aiul sighed again. “It’s
silly. Childish fears, that’s all.”

“Liar!” Logrus
exclaimed with a chuckle.

“No, really,” Aiul
said. “My grandfather used to terrify me with tales of that
place.”

“Tell!”

Aiul frowned, not wanting to
admit that he was, to this day, still frightened by his
grandfather’s stories. Still, he had to offer Logrus
something, if he wanted any peace at all. “Fine,” Aiul
said, in more severe a tone than he had intended. “There
are…
things
there.”

“What sort of things?”

“I don’t know, damn
you!” Aiul snapped. “Things that eat strong warriors and
powerful sorcerers as easily as they eat little boys, so I was told.
Things
.”

“So someone
has
been there and returned!” Logrus said in triumph. “No
one could know what was there, otherwise.”

Aiul shook his head in amused
frustration. “Listen to me,” he tried to explain. “I
was a child. My grandfather used to tell me the most dreadful
tales.”

Logrus waved a hand in
derision. “Men do not fear children’s tales,” he
said. “I saw your face! You were pale!” He paused,
struggling for words once again. “
More
pale than usual. And Elgar did not deny it. I speak little. That
doesn’t make me a fool.”

Aiul stared at the back of his
horse’s head, sullen.

“I must know what you
know!” Logrus pressed. “We may have to fight. I must be
prepared!”

Aiul nodded slowly. “It’s
just that I don’t know what’s true and what’s
fantasy,” he sighed. “It feels foolish to tell campfire
tales about the place. What’s the point of frightening
ourselves?”

“I fear nothing,”
Logrus told him. “And you already know your tale. Speak.”

“Fine,” Aiul said
in as cheery and upbeat a voice as he could muster. “Grandfather
claimed Torium is inhabited by horrific monsters that torture and
eat anyone who enters. Yes, even warriors, and even sorcerers. It’s
been around since before Nihlos was founded. It was the only city to
survive Alexander’s War, as far as I know, so it’s at
least a thousand years old, but probably a
lot
older.”

“We will not be eaten,”
Logrus promised. “We cannot fail, so that will not happen.”
His face grew grim as he added, “But we could be tortured.”

“I admire your
confidence,” Aiul sneered. “And since I have suffered
essentially all that it is possible to suffer in one lifetime, I
have no need to fear torture, either. Huzzah!”

Logrus’s fist rose more
quickly than Aiul’s eye could follow, and cuffed him in the
ear. Aiul yelped in pain and raised a hand to strike back, but
Logrus’s innocent expression checked him mid swing.

“You do not appear
immune,” Logrus declared.

Aiul rubbed his pained ear in
silence. He was uncertain whether Logrus was stupid enough to take
his sarcasm literally, or smart enough to counter it with a dose of
his own. It hardly mattered. Either way got him punched. “I’ll
keep that in mind,” he mumbled.

Aiul had heard of snow, and had
even seen it as a child, on brief excursions beyond the limits of
Nihlos, but he had never been forced to
endure
it. Before, it had been a novelty, a toy, but now, a week into the
journey, he viewed it as a layer of death and misery. No matter what
he did, it snuck into the nooks and crannies of his clothes,
seeping, melting, leaving him wet and cold. Logrus slept peacefully
near the remains of their dinner fire. Aiul wondered if his
companion was better at sealing his garments, or if he was simply
oblivious to the misery.

With a snarl, Aiul huddled
deeper into his bedroll and pulled his blanket over his head,
longing for warmth. He blew softly on stinging fingers as he waited
for sleep, wishing he could find a unique curse to match each flake
of misery as it drifted down to cover him.

He awoke with a start. He was
numb with cold, but he could still feel the hand gripping his
shoulder. He started to speak, to ask why Logrus was bothering him,
then caught himself. Logrus was not a ‘touchy’ sort of
person. Something was wrong.

Quietly, he lowered his
blanket. It was pitch black, save for a dull glow from the
nearly-spent coals of the fire. Logrus was crouched beside him, his
curved blade in hand, head whipping back and forth as he tracked
some unseen interest.

Aiul pushed back the thought
that Logrus was trying to murder him, well aware that if such were
his companion's intent, the deed would have already been done.

Logrus burst from his crouched
position, surging forward like a pouncing tiger, as figures loomed
from the darkness. A cry of pain tore through the snow covered
woods, and droplets of something warm and wet spattered on Aiul’s
exposed face.

Aiul struggled in the dark,
panicked, desperately trying to locate his mace, as grunts, thuds,
and ever more screams battered his ears.

He was inches from retrieving
his weapon when a bright light tore through the darkness, blinding
him with its brilliance. Something hard and heavy crashed into the
back of his head, sending even brighter light and jagged red streaks
across his eyes. Snow packed into his mouth and nostrils as he fell
face first to the ground, agony flickering in his head like
lightning behind clouds.

“Don’t kill them!”
he heard, as consciousness began to slip away. “Mei! They’ll
have our guts for bowstrings!”

Hands seized him, and ropes
bound his limbs, as he slipped into blackness.