To Darkness Fled (22 page)

"You'd like to think that, stray, yet who's in the pit?" Esek's voice lowered. "Bring him up. Let's get this over with so I can get back to the land of the living."

A deep voice mumbled words Achan couldn't decipher.

"I do not care if it's not time. I want to see him die."

A rope flew down and whacked Achan in the head.

"Be taking the rope," Sir Nongo said.

"And be cut open before throngs of Barthians? Thank you, no." Achan sank into the corner of the pit.

There were a few more mumbles above, then silence. What might they devise to get him out? Voices rose again overhead. A ladder, black against the firelight, jutted over the edge and slowly descended.

Achan stayed put until the ladder pressed into the dirt. He crept toward it and crouched underneath the rungs. If he could get out on the other side of the pit, maybe he could run for it.

A shadow shifted above. The ladder trembled as someone climbed down. Achan waited until the man reached the bottom, then he slammed against the ladder, pushing until it tipped up and fell against the opposite wall.

A thud. A man grunted. Achan scaled the ladder as fast as he could with cuffed wrists, chains clanking against wooden rungs. A hand grabbed his ankle. Achan slipped down a rung but managed to hook his arms around the next rung with the insides of his elbows. He kicked his free foot, made contact a few times, and the man let go. Achan climbed a few more steps, but the ladder began to rise, being pulled from above.

Achan froze. Better to be caught out of the pit or to stay in the pit with an enemy? The pit had better odds. Plus, Sir Gavin was coming. He jumped off.

He landed on his right arm in the dirt. He scurried to his feet. Hands groped at his arm. Achan swatted like a girl, unable to see what he was fighting. His assailant managed to punch his chest. The force sent him stumbling into the wall. Dirt peppered his eyes. His assailant struck again, mostly missing, just grazing his ear. Achan dove to the right, blinking wildly to clear the dirt from his eyes.

"Sir Nongo! I need light!" Silvo's voice.

Firelight flamed above. The moment Silvo's lanky form came into view, Achan charged, bashing his shoulder against Silvo's waist. They fell to the ground. Achan straddled the bean sprout and beat his shackles down on his face.

A hand gripped Achan's braid from behind and struck his temple so hard, he went limp. His mind whirred. Voices murmured.

Get up
, he told himself. But he had lost the ability to communicate with his body.

Sir Nongo's voice spoke over him. "He is being still now. Be lowering the rope."

* * *

Achan tasted dirt.

He shook himself awake and found himself still in the pit, but hanging from his wrists against the dirt wall. His feet dangled. Worse, he was slowly being hoisted upward. His face scraped against the soft soil. He twisted around and spat the dirt out. His body continued to rise until a hand seized his cuffs and dragged him over the side.

A bee buzzed in his ear. He blinked and shook his head, hoping to clear the sound. Then he realized it wasn't a bee. People were talking. A lot of people.

A male voice spoke in a foreign tongue from the platform directly above, silencing the crowd. Achan realized too late they'd freed his wrists when a thicker, cold metal cuff clamped around his left wrist. He sat up, wincing at his sore body, and pulled.

"Be watching him," Sir Nongo said.

It was dim under the platform, but Achan could see well enough from the firelight streaming from the temple trenches. Thick posts and diagonal support beams held up the platform. Beyond, the grandstands rose on all sides. He could see only the bottom few rows, but they were crammed full of the mud-covered Barthians, faces fixed on the speaker.

Sir Nongo stood four paces away, holding a black iron ring the size of his head. It was attached to a long chain that connected to the cuff on Achan's right wrist. The chain was stretched taut, pulling Achan's arm to the side like he was reaching. His left arm lifted away, connected to a chain and ring held by Silvo, whose cheek was puffy and smeared with blood.

Achan frowned, pulse thumping in his temples. What were they going to do? He twisted around. Khai Mageia stood behind him, looking down. Khai must have left his barge and tracked them inland. Had Esek followed on his own barge, or had Khai met him here?

A staircase on Khai's right rose to the platform. Some men were walking down it. But a squawk pulled Achan's gaze to the support beam in front of him. A gowzal stared at him with beady eyes. Its mouth hung open like a dog's, panting and revealing a row of fang-like teeth. Was Hadad here too, watching?

"Your back is a nightmare," Khai said. "You must have been a lousy stray."

"He was." Esek stepped before Achan, followed by Chora and Sir Kenton, the Shield, whose size, scowl, and pale skin reminded Achan of the Eben giant that had taken three knights to best.

Chora, Esek's valet, tittered, as if Esek's sarcasm were actually funny. Achan supposed a man who wore a wool cloak in this heat wasn't right in the head anyway.

Esek wore black trousers and a red silk shirt. The armpits were wet with sweat. A fancy gold crown pushed his black hair off his sweaty forehead. His short, thick beard coated his cheeks and chin.

Achan's stomach coiled. Owr gleamed at Esek's side. And with all the rings on the man's fingers, one of them had to be his father's. Achan glanced at his hand. A stab of panic shot through his chest. He no longer wore Prince Oren's signet ring.

"Give me back my ring!"

Esek raised a dark eyebrow. "You should have shaved his face, Sir Nongo, so we could see the marks on his cheeks. Further evidence of his failure in this world. He might as well meet Gazar hiding nothing."

Achan didn't want to meet the ruler of the Lowerworld. He didn't want to die at all. He forced valiant words out his mouth. "You should know, Esek. I don't intend to die today."

"Irreverence!" Chora barked.

Sir Kenton bent over Achan and cuffed his ear. "You will address His Majesty formally or not at all."

Achan steeled himself, gritting his teeth. It would do him no good to fight back from his position. Silence was his best move.

Esek leaned against one of the vertical support posts, looking down his nose at Achan. "Your death is not for you to decide, stray. No, you'll not claim my life, my sword, my ring, my bride, as you might wish to do. I am certain you'll fit in fine in the Lowerworld. Do tell Gazar hello for me."

Chora sniggered. "Well said, my king."

"You and Gazar are close, are you?" Achan forgot he had decided not to speak.

"Enough of his cheek." Esek waved at Khai. "Get on with it!"

Khai pushed Achan to his knees, then prostrate on the ground. Bony hands held him down while his arms were brought behind his back and hooked together. The long chains attached to his cuffs dragged over his legs, heavy and cold.

Achan reached out for Esek's mind, desperate to try something. As usual, he found himself inside the man's head. Fine, he could make do.

"Release him," Achan said through Esek's voice.

"No!" Esek said of his own volition. "Sir Kenton?"

The Shield swung his curtain of black hair around so that he faced Esek, his protruding brow sinking low over his dark eyes. He cupped Esek's cheek.

Achan suddenly spun in a circle, as if his eyes were caught in a whirlpool. He flew up out of Esek's mind and hovered above the man's greasy head.

Sir Gavin! My mind is out of my body.

What?

I tried to attack Esek, but I think Sir Kenton stormed me.

Focus on your body, Achan. You must get back to it.

Achan's perspective floated up to the support beams of the platform. He concentrated on his body that lay lifeless on the ground, arms outstretched. He suddenly looked out from his own eyes.
It worked! Sir Gavin, where are you?

Eben's breath, lad. Don't try that again. Stay in your own mind or we'll lose you for sure. We're inside the temple.

Praise Arman!

It took us longer than we thought to get here. We had to find a place to leave Locto, but he kept begging to stay with us. I had to knock him out and leave him in an empty tent. I paid the owner handsomely to arrange transportation for Locto back to Melas. But now that we're here, we're unsure how to free you. There are thousands of people here.

Pig snout. Achan sucked in a breath through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. The knights were here. All would soon be well.
Don't take too long.

Sir Nongo and Silvo each seized an arm, lifted Achan to his feet, and towed him to the stairs, chains slapping the back of his calves with each step. Brightness and heat engulfed him as he left the underside of the platform. He lowered his head, blinking the scene into focus as they dragged him up the stairs.

When they stepped onto the platform, the audience burst into cheers. Achan shut his eyes, wincing at the ringing in his ears. His shin smacked a sharp edge. His eyes snapped open. Sir Nongo and Silvo stood on the first rung of the ladder leading up to the gangway and spikes high above the platform. Each had looped a ring over his shoulder that held Achan's chains. They pulled his arms up.

Oh, no, no. Achan went limp, pulse throbbing. The black knights dragged him up, rung by rung, to the top. He struggled, tugged, and pushed, but Sir Nongo and Silvo were stronger. The crowd cheered their every ascending step.

At the top, a wooden railing ran along both sides of the gangway, like a narrow bridge. Three gowzals perched on the rail. The knights pushed Achan along the trembling plank. The sharpened tips of the giant support beams glistened before him in the firelight. Would they impale him?

He leaned back, trying to stay put, but the knights inched him along. When Achan reached the gowzals, he elbowed the rail and the beast-birds squawked and fluttered away. The gangplank swayed from the force of Achan's movement.

The knights forced Achan to the end of the gangway until his toes stuck off the end. He peeked down. His breath hitched at the dizzying drop. It hadn't looked so high from below.

Thousands of people filled the grandstands, focused on the man on the platform below, who was talking in the strange language. Achan recognized him now. It was Lord Falkson from the Council meeting in Mahanaim. He was tall and grey-skinned with a pudgy gut and short, grey hair like a shorn sheep. He wore a
flowy
black tunic and trousers. A huge gowzal perched on his shoulder.

Could Lord Falkson be Hadad, the man who'd visited Achan in the pit? Had he transformed himself like a black knight? Was he their leader?

In the air above Achan's head--a mere arm's-length away--the wooden spikes met, the tips not quite touching. Were they going to hang him? Push him off?

Achan curled his toes over the edge and pressed back. Sir Nongo let him back up to the center of the gangway, then kicked in the back of his knees. They slammed against the wooden platform. Sir Nongo pushed Achan to his stomach and pressed a knee into his back.

Silvo separated Achan's wrists from one another and stepped over his head to the end of the plank, chains clanking against the balusters and railing. Achan couldn't see what Silvo was doing. Overhead, metal scraped against wood. Achan's arms jerked away from his sides, up into the air.

The pressure left Achan's back. Rough hands grabbed his waist and lifted him to his feet. Here it came. Would they toss him out onto the crowd? Would the spikes fling him forward somehow?

"Not to be worrying too much about it, stray," Sir Nongo said. "All soon will be ending."

Achan's arms were loose at his sides, but he soon saw the problem. The metal rings at the end of each of his arm-chains had been looped over the tips of the spikes. Those rings had already slid down past the level of the gangway. If he fell, his weight would force the rings farther down the spikes, pulling his arms away from his body. If his arms managed to stay attached, he'd be left dangling over the center of platform.

What then? Would they stone him? The audience was too far below to do much damage. Shoot arrows? Maybe. But he could see no archers. Perhaps the sharpened beams would shift away from one another, tearing him in half.