Chialao glanced over her shoulder and gave a small smile. "All paths eventually came here for you, for the Third Nalenth, for the three Paras. We have known for quite some time, and so we have been preparing for quite some time."
Yet they hadn't been able to tell him whether his brother would live. Or, more accurately, they wouldn't.
Shon understood that what the Machat could see, predict, and foretell all varied. And of all the races, the Machat tended to be the most aloof in their use of their gifts. It had raised conflict in the past, at least according to history. And they would probably tell him that knowing whether Matthu would live or die would not help Shon. But Shon believed it would.
"We do like keeping our secrets, but that's not why we don't share all." Chialao motioned toward the walls. "The power of choice is great indeed, and sometimes, for some people, knowledge of where they will go or what might be makes them feel as if they have no choice at all. People, especially Awdawms, Tiablos, and Shivennans, get so peculiar when they see the future. They assume that once it's been seen, it must either be or it can only be made the opposite. They don't fully understand the many possibilities that overlap and interact…and terrible things have been done with knowledge that was not meant to be shared. I only told you what I did because I know you are a good man. Never forget that your choice is powerful indeed…Of course, you could ask me more questions about you and Amelia if you like."
Shon shook his head. He didn't know what this Machat’s game was, but he couldn't think about Amelia at the moment. Besides, an unease surrounded this woman. "No. Just show me the way out of here."
"This is a onetime offer." Chialao's tone was almost playful. "I don't like walking in silence. They can't hear us." She smiled at him, slowing her pace. "Maybe I know something that could help you."
"Listen," Shon said sternly. "I don't know what you want from me, but I'm not playing any games. Right now, I have one task, and that is to get my brother out of here. When he's safe, then I'll—"
"Like I said…" The light glinted off Chialao's eyes, making them glow slightly. "It's your choice."
"If it's so important, then tell me. I won't guess. But otherwise, move!" Shon caught himself before he raised his voice too much.
Chialao shrugged, her shoulders moving dramatically beneath the beige wrap. "Let's keep moving then. We're almost there."
Shon shifted Matthu's weight on his shoulder. He couldn't tell whether Matthu was breathing. He certainly wasn't moving. The fear inside Shon grew, intensifying like a cold grip on the back of his skull.
Chialao hummed, her voice echoing softly off the carved walls. Shon couldn't focus on the words, if there were any. He hastened his pace, nudging Chialao forward. "Move faster."
As they went higher and higher into the tunnel, the scent changed from damp earth to fresh straw and something similar to sheep. "Almost there," Chialao whispered. "Be quiet now." She held her finger to her lips. The flame wisped for a moment as a draft blew in.
Finally, Shon thought. He followed Chialao into a low-roofed chamber but had to stoop to keep from hitting his head on the mud ceiling. Dozens and dozens of skelros meandered about, each one tied to a stake in the ground. Fresh bales of hay as well as large troughs of water provided them with ready sustenance.
The room itself was massive. There were hundreds of skelros. Shon had never seen even one up close. The skelros looked like mountain goats, but each one was easily the size of a pony or larger. Their thick eagle-like wings folded close against their backs, and their grey horns gleamed in the dim torchlight.
From the calm way that the skelros looked at Shon and then resumed their eating, Shon could tell that the Machat had taken good care of them. Most skelros were skittish, avoiding contact with people as much as possible.
Chialao held her hand out to the nearest skelro. It butted its silver snout against her palm. "This is Plo. Put your brother on her back."
Shon lowered Matthu to the ground and then checked his pulse. The thrum of his heart was weaker than it should have been, and his face was flushed. Heat suffused his body. The knot in Shon's stomach grew, sickening him. "Come on, Matthu. Please. Stay with me now."
Not even a moan escaped Matthu's lips.
"Hurry now," Chialao said. She gave the skelro's wings a gentle tug, making room for Matthu. "Place him here. Plo is the smoothest flyer. She's one of the ikyas, a beast of burden that we train specifically to carry children and the elderly. Your brother will be fine."
Shon lifted Matthu again and placed him on the skelro's back. Chialao bound him carefully, making sure his face was upturned between the skelro's wings. Once Chialao finished, she motioned for Shon to follow her and guided the skelro up another tunnel.
This one was far shorter. A simple wooden door cut into the mud while another passage went on farther into the butte. Chialao opened the door, letting warm sunlight spill in.
Birds sang in the trees above. The trees did not grow too close to the entrance, and Plo walked into the clearing, shaking her thick white head as if relieved to be out of the makeshift stable. The motion jostled Matthu. Suddenly, he started convulsing again. The skelro continued walking, but Matthu twisted under the ropes, shaking and thrashing.
"Whoa!" Shon grabbed him. Matthu continued to shake, the rope cutting into his neck as he slid. Shon unsheathed his dagger and slit the rope.
"Hold his head." Chialao spoke calmly as she removed the small vial from the leather pouch at her side. She poured the liquid into Matthu's mouth. He relaxed as soon as the pale-blue drops slipped down his throat. "That should be enough. The seizures shouldn't be this bad though."
Shon clenched his jaw, still gripping his brother's shoulders. "It's going to be all right, Matthu," he said hoarsely. He looked back at Chialao. "I thought the medicine Irasso gave him would keep him from having more seizures."
"It helps to control them, but nothing can fully prevent them. Not until you get to New Istador."
Shon's grip remained tight. " Does he have to be bound like that? If he has another one of those seizures in mid-flight…There's got to be a safer way."
"Not if he's going alone." Chialao corked the bottle. She sighed sadly. "This is all that can be done. We must hope that he does not seize in midair."
Shon stared at her, shocked. His mouth dropped open. "I thought you were going with him?"
"All of us have our tasks. Our plan requires all Machat to play their roles. I must go to mine within minutes, and Matthu must be sent off at once."
"Alone?" Shon demanded.
"Unless you go with him. Plo can carry more than one."
Those words struck Shon like a blow to the stomach. Leaving a battle behind wasn't in his nature. Particularly not when his comrades were at risk. And Amelia…how could he abandon her? Shon glanced down at Matthu.
The red marks from the rope remained, his skin scratched and bruised. One more seizure…
Even if Plo did not falter, Matthu could tangle himself in the ropes again or twist himself around so that he strangled within minutes.
Chialao folded her arms. "What do you have to debate? Is this not a matter of who you love more?"
"Will Matthu survive?" Shon asked. His hands sweat, the cold spreading over his body. He already knew the answer.
"I cannot tell you." Chialao tilted her head. "I can tell you a little about Amelia."
Shon fixed the ropes holding Matthu in place. "Irasso said she would survive. There are more than a hundred Machat to save her, and dozens of Ayamin to assist." Shon's voice tightened. "Even if they fail…Naatos won't let her die. But Matthu's life is—"
Battle cries sounded from Polfradon.
It had begun.
Shon turned his back to the sounds of battle and finished tightening the ropes. "Is this like riding a horse?"
Chialao nodded. She offered him the vial and bottle. "If he seizes again, pour four drops into his mouth. Then one into each eye if it continues. Double the dose if it continues."
Shon accepted them, his muscles tight. He had a distinct dislike for Chialao, and it only worsened as he looked at her. There was something more to her, and she was manipulating him even as she stood there smiling. "Get back to your tasks."
Chialao bowed. "I will see you in New Istador."
Shon shook his head and climbed up behind Matthu. At this point, he had to hope that Matthu would survive the journey and that Amelia would understand why he couldn't be there for her.
42
A Wounded Man
Amelia ran down the hall, her heart racing. Not only had her attempt at negotiation not gone as she had hoped, it had backfired horrifically.
As she reached the end of the hall, she beat her fists against her head. This was all her elmis' fault. She hated them. They were the cause of all her problems. Blood curse aside, these elmis kept making her connect to people, people whom she should not be connecting to.
The dark marks on her palms seemed to laugh at her. Of course they would connect her to her worst enemy. Her mother had done that to her. Her own people had done that to her. Elonumato had done nothing to stop any of it. Why shouldn't her own body disregard her wishes and betray her in this way? She felt like she was losing her mind.
The scent of blood caught Amelia's attention once again. It came from the open window over the northern courtyard. Faint tendrils of fear reached her as well, distant and unfocused.
Letting her hands fall to her side, Amelia went to the window and looked down. Her heart thudded with fear at the sight.
Down below lay a pile of dead Ayamin. Flies buzzed around them. Amelia covered her mouth. At least two dozen lay in that pile, brutally mangled, bleeding, and motionless. They appeared to have been ravaged by all kinds of animals: bite marks, claw lesions, talon piercings, and more.
Footsteps sounded. Two Talbokians approached the mound, picked up one of the bodies, and dragged it toward the gateway. When they were within a few feet of it, they flung the corpse into the shadows. Within seconds, a hook-fanged spider darted out, seized the dead man by the leg, and pulled him into the darkness.
The sick feeling rose in Amelia's stomach along with the bile. What had this been from? Surely not a battle. She would have heard it. And certainly an attempted escape would not have resulted in such a variety of wounds.
One thing was certain: Naatos was involved. This was the kind of cruelty she would have to live with if she accepted him. The cruelty she would encourage and strengthen if she didn't find a way to stop it.
The two Talbokians returned and grabbed a young Ayamin by the arms. They dragged him toward the red stone gateway.
But then the man groaned.
Blood leaked from his mouth, his hands shuddered, and his eyes opened. He struggled to move, his fingers twitching.
Horror clenched Amelia's heart. "Wait!" she shouted. "That man's alive!"
The two guards looked back at her. One said something she could not hear and then continued on, pulling the Ayamin behind them.
"I said stop!" Amelia shouted again. There wasn't time to use the stairs. They would reach the gateway within seconds.
Amelia hitched up her gown, hauled herself on the window ledge, and swung out on the wall. She climbed down, seeking out handholds and footholds as fast as she could. Anger and panic charged her. She couldn't let them feed anyone still living to those horrible creatures. Particularly not one of her people!
She jumped to the stone floor and pursued the guards. They had almost reached the gateway. "Whatever you do, don't touch her," one shouted to the other.
"Just throw him," said the other.
Amelia ran after them. She was still a fair distance away. "He's alive!"
The guards had almost reached the gateway. Together they flung the body forward. The Ayamin grasped at the stones and slowed himself, but his boot was within the gate's shadows. He struggled to pull himself forward, his right arm hanging limply over his head. His fingers grated on the stone.
The darkness moved. Amelia halted a few feet from the Ayamin. Spider legs clicked from within the shadows. Terror flowed through her, sending the adrenaline pounding and the panic thundering.
The spider's face appeared out of the shadows, and it looked directly at her. Those horrible, soulless eyes. Amelia swallowed, her breaths shortening. She couldn't move.
"Help," the Ayamin rasped.
Amelia's gaze dropped to him. The pure agony and terror in his grey eyes cut through her soul. If she didn't move, he would die.
The spider at the gate slipped forward. Its mandibles worked back and forth.
Move, she thought.
Amelia lunged forward and seized the man by the shoulders. The spider hissed and snarled, emerging into the light. It reared on its back four legs.
"No!" Amelia dragged the soldier farther and farther into the courtyard.
The spider fell back. It shook its broad head and then returned to the darkness.
Relieved, Amelia lowered the Ayamin back to the ground and knelt beside him. His gold and blue armor had been bent, and the wounds to his left leg were so severe that it would have to be amputated if he survived.
Amelia tore off her sleeve and began binding his lower leg, forming the best tourniquet she could. "What happened?"
"Naatos. Trolnan." The Ayamin coughed weakly. "They butchered us."
"Stay still." Amelia drew in a deep breath, examining him. Blood oozed and flowed from multiple wounds. "What's your name?" Amelia asked.
"Traol."
Amelia nodded, forcing a little smile. "I'm going to help you, Traol. Hold on." She tore another strip from her gown's long skirt and bound his leg above the worst of the wounds.
Another moan reached her ears, drawing her attention toward the pile of bodies. One of the Ayamin moved, his hand falling weakly to the ground.
Amelia stood. The Talbokians had gathered a short distance away from her, staring and whispering. More and more took notice, coming to see what all the commotion was about. They made no move to draw near her. Apparently Naatos's example with the guara was one they had taken to heart. Perhaps that was something she could use.
"Bring me medical supplies," Amelia said. "I need water, bandages, and medicine. Now!"
The Talbokians exchanged glances. "Get it yourself," said one with a cobalt bar in his scarf.
Amelia knew that if she left the Ayamin for even a brief period, the Talbokians would resume feeding them to the spiders. "No. I order you to do it now."
The Talbokians broke out in laughter. "Unlikely," said the apparent leader, a gruff-looking man with a scar across his throat. Most of the Talbokians had closed around behind him. "You have no friends here."
Amelia glared at him. "You're right." She tore another strip of cloth from her gown, rending it up to her thigh. "But I do have enemies, and I'm going to use something to bandage these wounds. What do you think Naatos is going to think happened if he finds my dress torn all to pieces like this?"
Several of the Talbokians dashed away at once.
Amelia returned to the wounded Ayamin in the pile. "I'm not going anywhere, and I'm going to do all that I can," she whispered. She then hoisted him up, pulled him free, and placed him beside Traol. When she returned to the pile, she discovered a third.
The Talbokians returned with what she demanded. They shoved the baskets toward her, but no one came within twenty feet.
At least some good had come from Naatos and his guaras.
Amelia found eight more Ayamin who had not yet died. The hot sun beat against her head. Blood covered her hands and her gown. Yet her medical training brought her clarity. She pushed her emotions aside and did what she could, despite feeling pangs of fear and terror whenever she touched the men. Eventually she had to bind up her elmis to allow herself to move faster.
Two of the Ayamin struggled to their feet and tended to their comrades who were more grievously wounded than they. They were obviously in pain, breathing hard, bleeding on the stone, and yet
they refused to give up. Amelia thanked them as she continued to bind wounds, giving them water and medicine.
Here at last a different measure of her training was useful. But for three of the Ayamin, it was too late. They passed before she could do more than give them a drink and a promise. Grief knotted in Amelia's throat. She would not forget this. She swore she would not.
The crowd of Talbokians grew. They muttered amongst themselves, glaring darkly at her and the Ayamin. But they did not come closer.
Ignoring them, Amelia wound a bandage around one Ayamin's arm. He groaned, his head rolling against the stone. "Don't waste your time on me," he said through parched and bleeding lips. "You won't be getting out of this place with me."
Traol struggled to sit up. "That gate's the only way out."
"There are other ways." Amelia wiped her hand across her forehead. She might not be able to get Naatos to give up the Tue-Rah right now, but surely she could convince him to let these men go, even if he had refused before. "There's a way in the passages. It's where WroOth took Shon and Matthu. We'll come up with—"
A strong hand seized her by the back of the arm and dragged her to her feet.
Naatos turned her to face him, gripping both her shoulders. "What are you doing here? I told you to go to the southern courtyard."
"They were feeding these men to the spiders," Amelia said, glaring at him. "They are still alive!"
Naatos stared at her, his eyes blazing, but then he turned toward the mercenaries. "Who brought these bodies up here?" he demanded. "This is not where they were to be disposed of."
"Some of these men are still alive, Naatos." Amelia awkwardly reached for his hand. Fighting Naatos wouldn't save these men's lives. "Please let me help them."
"I said who brought these bodies up here?" Naatos raised his voice and shook her off. "Has my bringing a woman into this fortress turned you all into fools? Your orders were simple."
Identity Revealed: The Tue-Rah Chronicles Page 39
