The World of Samar Box Set 3

by M. L. Hamilton

Parish lowered his head. He had to ask the next question. “You found no other bodies?”

  The commander guessed his meaning. “No, the Temerian Leader and the Nazar do not appear to have been on-board.”

  Parish glanced up. “How can you know that?”

  The commander motioned back up the dock. “No one drew a weapon. No one attempted to stop the attack. They were taken by surprise. Do you really believe either the Temerian Leader or the Nazar would be caught unawares? They would have fought back and at least one of their attackers would be dead to prove it.”

  Parish clutched that one thought. It was the only thing he had to bring Kalas, the only thing that might give the King hope, but the bigger problem remained. If Brodie Daegan was dead, how the hell were they going to find Tyla?

  CHAPTER 17

  Zimran returned in the late afternoon. Tyla was napping on the back shelf. Jarrett wanted to go out and explore the area, look for the dirt or plants Jax had drawn, but he was afraid to leave her should another coughing spasm returned.

  Zimran carried a tray with two more bowls of the green mush and another bowl filled with a brown flaky rock. He settled the tray on the table along the left wall and turned to Jarrett, giving him a speculative look.

  Jarrett rose to his feet and studied the fare. Zimran lifted one of the bowls of mush and pantomimed scooping it into his mouth. Jarrett smiled and gave him a nod.

  “I know what you do with it,” he said brightly, “but it’s a little hard for a Stravad to eat something that looks like snot.”

  “Snot?” repeated Zimran in confusion.

  “That’s the word you pick up from all of that.” Jarrett shook his head.

  “Next you’ll be teaching him swear words,” came Tyla’s voice from the back shelf.

  He looked over his shoulder, feeling a wash of relief that she was finally awake. She was lying on her side with her head pillowed on her hands, her eyes fever bright, but she was lucid. “He seems to have an affinity for it.”

  Zimran reached down and picked up the bowl of rocks, holding them out to Jarrett. Jarrett took them and rolled one over with the tip of his finger. A dry brown dust coated the top of his nail. Zimran pointed at Tyla.

  Jarrett gave him a wry look, then turned to the Stravad Leader. “The rocks are for you. Probably like a bouquet of flowers.”

  She carefully eased into a sitting position. “How kind.”

  Jarrett settled the rocks on the table next to the green mush. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

  Zimran looked at the rocks, then back at Jarrett. Without a word, he turned and left. Jarrett picked up a green mush bowl and dipped a finger into it, tasting it. It was cold. He suppressed a shiver and carried it over to Tyla.

  “You’ve got to eat something and our stores are running low.” He sat down on the shelf next to her.

  She rested her back against him and took the bowl, staring at it. “What do you think it is? It looks like the stuff they use to wash themselves with in the bathing room.”

  “He clearly showed me how to eat it. We don’t have much choice and I’m reluctant to go too far away from the dome to hunt or forage, while you’re here.”

  She looked up at him. “We’re going to have to go out, Jarrett. We need to see if we can find what infected Jax.”

  “I know.” He brushed the hair off her shoulder. “Go on. Try it. You can’t afford to lose any more weight.”

  She nodded at his bowl. “Not without you. We’ll take the plunge together.”

  He was hoping she wouldn’t ask that, but he slid off the shelf and retrieved his bowl, sitting back down beside her. He dipped two fingers into the mush like Zimran had shown him and lifted it. It made a sucking noise that caused him to shiver. Tyla watched with a half-worried, half-disgusted expression as he brought it to his mouth and took a bite.

  It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Sure, the wet, cold, slimy feel of it was unpleasant, but it had an earthy, salty flavor that wasn’t horrible. And one didn’t need to chew it, although he wasn’t sure that was a bonus.

  He swallowed and suppressed another shiver as it slid down his throat. “It’s…it’s…edible.”

  Tyla’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

  “Your turn,” he urged.

  She dipped her fingers in and snaked her tongue out to take a taste. She couldn’t stop the shudder that rippled through her and she wiped her fingers on the bowl, shoving it away from her on the shelf.

  “No, no, that’s just awful. I’m going to have to be a hell of a lot hungrier before that looks like food.”

  Jarrett gathered both bowls and replaced them on the tray, then he went to their pack and dug out the rest of the travel bread they’d brought. He held it out to her. “Please eat this at least, Tyla. You’re so thin, it terrifies me. You have nothing left on you to fight this.”

  She studied him a moment more, then took the travel bread and broke it in half. “Give me back the snot,” she ordered, holding out the bread. “We’ll both choke it down with this.”

  After they’d eaten, and it got easier if you kept moving and didn’t give it much thought, Zimran arrived as if he’d been watching them. Another of the creatures with the feathery white hair was behind him, a smaller female with an almost pretty face. She grabbed up the tray, but left the bowl of rocks behind, while Zimran faced them.

  Jarrett decided it was time for another language lesson. He pointed to himself and said, “Jarrett,” then he pointed at Tyla beside him. “Tyla.”

  Zimran’s quick black eyes followed the motion, then he nodded settling the feathers to dancing on his head. “Jer-rid et Ty-la.”

  “Good.” Now Jarrett swept his hand between them, encircling them both. “Stravad.”

  Zimran thought, so Jarrett repeated the motion.

  “Stravad,” he said.

  “Strevid,” repeated Zimran, then he indicated each of them. “Strevid.”

  “Close enough,” Jarrett praised.

  “Keep going,” urged Tyla. “What are they?”

  Jarrett made his motion again. “Stravad,” then he held his hand out, palm up toward Zimran. He and Zimran had established this as a signal for word.

  “Wryn.”

  Jarrett swept his arm in a large circle, indicating the dome around them. “All Wryn?”

  Zimran pointed at himself. “Zimran es Wryn.”

  Feeling encouraged, Jarrett rose to his full height and then stood on the tips of his toes, trying to get as much height as he could, then he made almond shapes out of his hands and held them to his eyes. “What are they? Zimran is Wryn. What are the white ones?” Jarrett made a motion with his fist of a closing mouth.

  Zimran’s eyes registered recognition. “Del-phi,” he said reverently.

  Jarrett touched a couple of fingers to his temple. “Delphi?”

  Zimran gave him a grim, serious nod and touched two long, green fingers to his own temple. “Del-phi.”

  Jarrett sat back down by Tyla and braced his arms on his thighs. “What else?”

  Tyla studied Zimran. “Look,” she whispered.

  Jarrett glanced up and noticed he seemed to be listening. His head was cocked to the side.

  “Can you feel it?” she asked.

  Jarrett shook his head, then he caught it – the faint buzzing, like insects were hovering just behind his ears. It made his skin itch. “Is that the Delphi?”

  Tyla nodded. “They’re communicating with him right now.”

  It gave Jarrett an uneasy feeling, but he wasn’t sure why.

  Zimran blinked and his awareness transferred to the Stravad. “Jer-rid et Ty-la ire Zimran.” He motioned to the doorway. “Jer-rid et Ty-la ire Zimran.”

  Jarrett and Tyla exchanged a look. “Well?” asked Jarrett.

  “We need answers, Jarrett. I don’t think we can be selective.”

  “Do you feel up to it?”

  She reached for her travel boots and pulled them on. “I don’t have much choice.”
<
br />   He helped her stand and they followed Zimran into the hallway. He led them back through the confusing warren of tunnels and domes until he came to the door they’d noticed the previous day. It was the only door they’d seen since arriving in Delure. An array of suns and moons had been carved into it, showing stark white against the green of the door.

  Zimran came to a halt at the door and stood waiting, his arms held loosely at his sides.

  Out of habit, Jarrett curled his hand around the hilt of his sword. “What now? Do we knock?”

  “I don’t think that’s how they do things.”

  A moment later the door opened on its own. Jarrett and Tyla peered beyond it, but they could only see the curve of the dome’s walls and no indication of who might have opened it. The buzzing immediately grew louder in Jarrett’s head.

  “Neat trick,” he remarked, nodding at the door. He tried to focus on Tyla’s green eyes, anything but the white noise in his head.

  “Telekinetics,” she answered. “I don’t know about this, Jarrett. I can feel them, scores of them.”

  “So can I,” he said, opening his jaw wide to get relief, but it didn’t help. “What choice do we have, Tyla? We needed to try communicating with them.”

  Zimran motioned them inside, then stepped through himself. Tyla was clearly torn, but finally she took a step forward and strode to the door, moving inside. Jarrett followed on her heels. The minute they were on the other side, the door swung shut, closing with a sucking sound as if the membrane had knit back together; although if he turned around, Jarrett could clearly see the edges of the door.

  A short tunnel opened into a massive chamber. Something about the perspective on the outside had been off because it didn’t look nearly as large as what they saw when they stepped inside. Immediately, the buzzing hammered into Jarrett’s head, making his skull ache. He pressed a hand to his forehead and followed Tyla to the entrance.

  Through the noise and pain, he realized why the dome looked so big. They had dug out the floor and dropped it about five feet. Around the perimeter of the dome were rows of chairs, three high, seating nearly 300 of the tall, white creatures with the almond shaped black eyes. Delphi.

  Zimran led them down a short set of stairs onto the floor of what could only be described as an arena. Jarrett had to squint against the hum of sound in his head, but he tried to take it all in. Anxiety prickled up his spine and he gripped the hilt of his sword so tight the ridges pressed into his hand. There was only one way out and it was behind them.

  Tyla turned a complete circle, taking it all in. The emerald was glowing at her throat, a warm, brilliant glow, suffusing the hollows of her cheeks with green light. The expression on her face was one of wonderment, not pain, but Jarrett felt like his skull was going to come apart.

  “Tyla, I can’t…”

  She turned to him and marked his discomfort. “Remember, don’t fight it. They’re probing us, trying to read our minds.”

  He closed his eyes, afraid they might burst with the pressure in his head. It didn’t sound like voices, it sounded like buzzing, like an entire hive of bees had taken up residence in his skull. His ears ached, even his back teeth ached with pressure. It was impossible not to fight it.

  Rather than diminish, the buzzing grew louder. He moaned in pain and clutched his hands to his temples, trying to escape it. Pain raged down his spine and made his knees buckle. He found himself on his hands and knees, his head hanging between his shoulders. He opened his eyes to see the green membrane beneath his fingers, then slowly drops of red began peppering the smooth surface.

  Tyla’s hands ran over his shoulders and the weight of her body leaned over him. He tried to focus on the feel of her, but more red spread between his fingers, alarming him. “Tyla…” he tried to say, but she was suddenly gone.

  “Enough!”

  Her voice thundered in the dome, punctuated by a blinding flash of green light. For a moment, all Jarrett saw was green, fading to a brilliant white, gradually sprinkled with dots of red. The voices cut off abruptly, but the echo of them still rang in Jarrett’s skull.

  Her hands were back and she curved them under him. “Come on,” she said, tugging him to his feet.

  He staggered upright and felt something crawling beneath his nose. Running the back of his hand across it, he stared at his own blood. “Shit.”

  She wrapped her arms around his middle and turned him toward the stairs. “Hurry, Jarrett.”

  He felt unsteady, but he let her guide him, the buzzing now a faint ringing in the back of his mind. They stumbled up the stairs and then Zimran was there, waiting at the door. The door swung open and they slipped through. Once on the other side, Jarrett staggered until his back was to the curved wall. Slowly he sank until he was sitting on the ground again.

  Zimran appeared and offered him a square of shimmering green cloth. Jarrett blinked at him in confusion, then took it, wiping beneath his nose. It came back stained red. “Shit,” he said again. “They really did make my brain bleed.”

  Tyla was kneeling before him, her face awash in worry. The emerald was gradually returning to its normal color. “Are you all right?”

  Jarrett realized he was panting, but he hadn’t done anything to exert himself. “I think so. I remember my name and where I’m from. I think that’s a good sign.”

  She gave him a wan smile. “Scared me to death when you went down.”

  “Yeah, I wasn’t too thrilled either.” He shifted so his sword hilt wasn’t digging into his side. “No wonder they weren’t worried about my weapon. I guess you’ve got nothing to fear when you can make someone’s brain bleed.”

  Tyla gave a startled laugh and leaned forward, kissing him on the forehead. Jarrett closed his eyes, relishing the touch. Maybe it was worth the brain damage after all.

  * * *

  Kalas stepped into the study where he conducted most of his business when he was in Kazden. Dolan had summoned him, but Attis and Ellette were already assembled. Allistar stood in the center of the room. Since Tyla’s disappearance, the Temerian Stravad had been scouring the city for any news.

  “Did you find anything?” he asked Allistar, switching to Lodenian.

  “The language barrier makes it particularly difficult, but I got one of your men to translate. The merchant ships talk about a number of islands a few hours off the coast. They’ve heard tales of Delure, but no one claims to have found it.”

  Kalas didn’t know how to respond. Someone besides Brodie Daegan had to have been to that island. It didn’t seem likely that he was the only one to have found it. “How many have you questioned?”

  “A dozen and there are dozens more. We’ll find someone.”

  “How can it be that the sailors know of many islands, but that one is a mystery?”

  Allistar shook his head. “It’s not likely. If a man like Brodie Daegan, then Jax could find it, someone else has. What if we offered a reward for information?”

  “Not a bad idea.” He switched to Nevaisser. “Dolan, offer the merchant ships a reward for any information on Delure.”

  Ellette shifted weight, making a noise of disagreement.

  He turned to her. “You don’t approve, Mediocre Assassin? Have you a better idea?”

  “You know the rogue Nazarien were searching for Brodie. If you offer a reward and someone comes forward, you may invite the wrath of the Nazarien down on them.”

  “What choice do I have?” asked Kalas in frustration.

  Ellette started to speak, but the door opened and Parish strode through. He came to a halt and stared at Kalas. Kalas felt his heart drop. He knew Parish’s news was bad just by the way he held his shoulders. “What’s happened?”

  Parish sighed. “Brodie Daegan’s ship, the Tulip, pulled into dock last night.”

  “Where is he?”

  Parish shot a glance at Dolan. “He’s dead, Your Majesty.”

  Kalas tilted his head. He wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What do you mean dead?
”

  “I mean someone slit his throat. He was still sitting at the tiller when he died.”

  Dolan lowered his eyes.

  “What did he say?” demanded Allistar.

  “Brodie Daegan is dead,” answered Kalas in Lodenian. The words sounded off, strange and detached. He leaned back against his desk, trying to corral his thoughts. “How did this happen?” he asked Parish. “I thought that dock was heavily guarded.”

  “And so it was. We have four dead soldiers headed to the morgue.”

  Kalas glanced up. “Four? How?”

  “Their throats were slit as well. Not a single one drew their weapons.”

  “It was Quinn Laurel, Your Majesty,” said Ellette. “He and his men can move in absolute silence. The soldiers wouldn’t have known they were there.”

  Kalas considered her words. “What about my…” He didn’t want to say the word, he didn’t want to tempt fate. So far Parish hadn’t mentioned Tyla. But he didn’t have the luxury of being weak. “What about my sister?”

  “The commander feels that she and the Nazar could not have been on the vessel with Brodie.”

  Kalas met his gaze. “Why not?”

  “Because the emerald would have made sure she wasn’t taken unaware. There would have been at least one dead Nazarien among the soldiers,” said Parish.

  Kalas let his words sink in, evaluating the logic behind them, but that didn’t really comfort him much. If she wasn’t on the boat, he had no idea how to find her and now she was stranded – trapped on an island no one would admit to knowing the location of, an island they couldn’t offer a reward for, and an island that five men had just died to keep secret.

  “How come we keep bungling this?” he said. He tried to remain calm, but he could feel the anger simmering just beneath the surface – it was part fear, part fury. “Four soldiers allow their throats to be cut without attempting to defend themselves. How can that be?”

  “In their defense, Your Majesty,” said Ellette, “they aren’t a match for men led by Quinn Laurel. A trained Nazarien warrior is trained for just one thing – to kill with deadly precision.”