The color drained from his face. “Captured? When? Where?”
“She and Marek were on their way to Velekos when the Descendants caught them. Marek was pushed into a ravine and fell unconscious. They left him for dead. When he came to, he saw them in the distance heading for Asermos with your daughter.”
Sura watched as all strength seemed to leave her grandfather. His hand reached out, fumbling for the chair behind him. Elora helped him sit slowly, then turned to Sura.
“Water, please. And put some on for tea, as well. A lot of tea.” She looked at Thera. “Bring the rest of the Council here. Now.”
Sura scrambled into the pantry to fetch a fresh water skin. When she came back, Tereus was holding his wife tightly. For the first time since she’d known him, he looked every one of his fifty-eight years.
He accepted the water with a nod of thanks, not letting go of Elora. Sura grabbed the largest pot she could find and went out the back door to the well.
Her hands shook as she pumped the water. For the first eight years of Sura’s life, Aunt Rhia and Uncle Marek, along with Tereus, had paid her more attention than her own mother had. When they evacuated to Tiros, it was like losing her father all over again—worse, since she hadn’t known Lycas enough to love him.
Her fingers slipped off the pump, and her hand went to her mouth. Rhia wasn’t as tough as Mali. What if they tortured her into telling them where to find Lycas?
Her mind reddened and her fists balled so tight her knuckles cracked. She wouldn’t let them take her whole family.
Sura shoved aside the pot and filled her hands with the cold running water, splashing it over her face until her head was clear. Then she put the pot back under the spout and pumped as she wiped her face with her other sleeve. By the time she was dry, her decision was made.
She went to the kitchen, brewed a large pot of sassafras tea and brought it to the front room. The other Council members had already arrived and started the meeting. A few appeared to have not yet gone to bed.
Etarek stood across the room behind his mother’s chair, but when he saw Sura, he came to join her. For once, his eyes were serious.
Thera finished relating the Horse woman’s message about Rhia’s capture, which had arrived by pigeon from Tiros that morning. Dismay lay upon the room like a shroud. Rhia had apparently earned considerable respect during her stay in Kalindos.
“We have to do something,” Tereus said. “First Mali, now Rhia. They won’t be expecting an attack to come from us. They’ll be looking for Lycas.”
Sura cradled her elbows in her palms at the sound of her father’s name. From the corner of her eye, she saw Etarek look at her.
She stared at the wooden floor. If she couldn’t have Dravek—and she couldn’t have Dravek—then Etarek wouldn’t be so bad. He was handsome and strong and funny, and she liked him. It should be that simple. Last night she was eager to take him in the damp, thorny woods.
His father, Ladek, spoke up. “We should make plans to attack on a determined day, then send a bird to the Tirons, demanding they join us.”
“And what if they don’t?” Adrek said. “We’ll be slaughtered.”
“Besides, we’re out of pigeons.” Thera turned to Sura to explain. “They can only fly one way, back to their home. The birds we have here all live here. If we let them go, they’ll just return to Kalindos. We need to bring our pigeons to Tiros and exchange them for Tiron pigeons. Dravek and Kara will take them tomorrow when they go to Tiros for his Snake training.”
Sura closed her eyes and took Etarek’s hand. He gave it a firm, steady squeeze. She opened her eyes and said, “We’ll go with them.”
The rest of the Council turned to her with surprise. Tereus sank his face into his hand and shook his head slowly.
Thera rose from her chair. “Are you sure?”
“Kara knows the way,” Etarek said. “She’s been there before, and she can hunt for food.”
“That’s not what I’m asking,” Thera said.
Sura stared into the Hawk’s hazel eyes. “I know what you’re asking.” She paused, then looked at Etarek. His face showed understanding, and he nodded to his mother.
The room grew uncomfortably silent, as everyone studied the walls or the lines on the backs of their hands.
“No!” Tereus slammed his fist against the table. “I won’t let you do this, not even for Rhia. The Spirits punish those who have children this way.”
Elora spoke up. “But all signs show that They want us to find new ways to protect ourselves.”
“Unless it’s a test.”
Everyone looked at Adrek. He folded his hands into a single fist on the table. “The Spirits have protected Kalindos for almost twenty years because we’ve stuck to the old ways.”
“We know the risks,” Thera said to him. “Punishments will be suffered by Sura and Etarek and myself and Ladek, not Kalindos as a whole. The Spirits wouldn’t condemn the entire village for the actions of a few.”
“We’re all guilty if we stand by and let them do this.” Tereus stood, scraping his chair against the floor. “It’s a cold-blooded grab for power. Has anyone thought about the baby?”
“Of course I have.” Etarek let go of Sura’s hand and turned to him. “My son or daughter will be loved no less than any child borne from a bond of love.”
He looked at Sura, and she nodded quickly, though the panic was rising inside. She had no idea how to take care of a baby and had to hope someone in Tiros would teach her. Her decision was feeling more and more like a step off a cliff.
Her grandfather stared at her. “Sura, is this what you want?”
“No,” she said. “I want the Ilions never to have invaded. I want my mother and Aunt Rhia safe and free. I want a real father, not a war hero. I want everything to be the way it was before I was born, before the Descendants came.”
They stared at her, and Sura closed her mouth for a moment, swallowing the bitterness. “But I’m not used to getting what I want, so I’ll settle for this.”
Tereus’s face grew drawn, and he sank into his chair. Elora laid a hand on his shoulder and kissed the side of his head, whispering words Sura couldn’t hear.
As the Council continued their meeting, discussing invasion and rescue tactics, Etarek tugged Sura’s hand and tilted his head toward the door.
Outside, they sat on the porch together.
“Why now?” Etarek said. “Why wasn’t it enough just to help your mother? Why does Rhia make a difference?”
“My mother’s big and strong. Aunt Rhia is neither. She’d be easy to hurt.” Sura twisted her hands. “I’m scared she’d give up my father. I can’t let that happen. Or if it did, I could protect him by making him third phase, and he’d be harder to capture, almost impossible to kill.”
Etarek rested his hands on his knees and slid his thumbs along the lengths of his forefingers. “Well, this will be a bit awkward.”
She reached out a tentative hand to touch his arm. “Maybe not for long.”
18
Sangian Hills
“Beautiful day for treason, heh?”
Lycas looked up, and then up some more, to see Feras strolling into his tent. The third-phase Bear, as the military leader of the Velekon resistance—not to mention outmatching Lycas by five years and fifty pounds—was the only person who dared to enter Lycas’s quarters unannounced.
Lycas stood and offered his sole chair. “It’s only treason for those who recognize the government’s legitimacy. Which counts me out.”
“Both of us.” Feras grunted as he sat at Lycas’s table, dwarfing it with his bulk.
Lycas picked up the stack of orders he was reviewing and laid it on his bedroll. “How are things in Velekos?”
“Settling down, unfortunately. Ten days after Lania’s funeral, and most Velekons act as if nothing happened. Their capacity for self-denial is astonishing.”
Lycas frowned. Unlike Asermos, Velekos had traded with the nation of Ilios for decades.
Even now, many of the native Velekons profited from the closer ties the occupation provided. The villagers had let themselves be bought and tamed, trading their freedom, their identity and finally their magic for a few crusts of bread.
“Sometimes I don’t blame them,” Feras went on. “They want peace and stability.”
“But they need war and chaos, and we’re going to give it to them.” Lycas tapped the parchment the Bear had brought. “What do you have for me?”
The Bear unrolled the long sheet onto the table, then set his water flask on one end to keep it flat.
“The Evius festival parade route.” Feras’s finger followed a red line along the streets. “The Ilions are avoiding the Acrosia neighborhood entirely this year. They claim the roads are too steep for their horses, which is complete tripe.”
Lycas leaned on his knuckles and examined the map. The largest protests of Lania’s murder had centered around her family’s neighborhood, a hotbed of rebel activity long before her death.
He cursed. “That means our operation will have to leave the Acrosia to sabotage the festival. Are there enough sympathizers in the rest of the village to give cover?”
“Perhaps.” Feras sat back with a sigh, the chair creaking under his weight, and pushed a mass of gray and black curls back from his face. “But the festival’s only a few weeks away. It would take time to screen new safe houses.”
“Too much risk for too little reward.” Lycas scanned the map. “Ah.” He jabbed his middle finger on a spot in the northeast. “Let’s strike that instead.”
Feras laughed. “The police station? Are you mad?”
“It’s closer to the Acrosia than the parade will be. We can do a quick strike and go underground again in an instant. The place itself won’t be well-guarded. Most of the officers will either be containing the festival crowds or getting their own selves drunk.”
“But to what end are we attacking?”
Lycas squinted at him. “‘What end’?”
“What do we hope to accomplish, other than putting the Ilions into a maniacal rage? There’s no tactical advantage to be had. We’d never be able to hold the station.”
“We don’t need to hold it. We just need to get in long enough to steal weapons, release some prisoners and, if there’s time, burn the place down.” He picked up Feras’s water flask and took a long gulp. “Wreaking havoc is an end in itself.”
“That’s guerrilla talk. This isn’t the wilderness where there’s no one to retaliate. If we anger the Ilions, they’ll take it out on all of Velekos.”
“And all of Velekos will finally wake up.” Lycas’s voice turned bitter. “Isn’t that what you want? Or are you in the mood for a more leisurely revolution, in time for your great-great-grandson to die a free man?”
“I want it now.” Feras pounded the table and pointed at him. “You don’t know what it’s like to live under their thumb. You may be the most pursued renegade in the entire colony, but you’re free out here in the hills. You don’t have children and grandchildren to think about.”
Lycas held back a snarl. “Who do you think I’m doing this for? My daughter has spent the last decade in fear for her life in Asermos, a place that makes Velekos look like a festival by comparison. Asermos will never be free as long as Ilion troops are two days’ march away in Velekos. Only when we bother them here—” he jammed his finger against the map of Velekos “—can we fight them there.” He pointed east toward Asermos.
Feras sat silent, his arms crossed over his expansive chest. “The Velekon resistance agrees, but the rest of the village won’t see why they should risk their lives for Asermos.”
“It’s not for Asermos, it’s for all our people.” Lycas formed a fist. “Remember, our goal is not compromise, it’s not better conditions or more lenient laws under the occupation. Our goal is to send the Descendants back to Ilios.”
“Liberation or death, heh?”
“No. Just liberation.”
Footsteps approached the tent, and they turned their heads toward the door.
“It’s probably our lunch,” Feras said. “I asked one of your men to bring us food and drink. Damen tells me you’re not eating enough.”
Lycas snorted. “For a Crow, anything less than six meals a day counts as starvation.”
Feras didn’t smile. “You do look thinner than when I last saw you.”
Lycas turned to the tent door, on the pretext of greeting his attaché, the young Bear whose footsteps he heard. More important, he didn’t want Feras to see the worry on his face.
He’d been eating more than he’d eaten in the wilderness, but it wouldn’t stave off his loss in bulk. The Otter healer said his health was fine, which left a more chilling explanation: his Spirit was weakening.
He saw it in his men, his Wolverine fighters. The youngest of them, like Nilik and the two other Tirons, didn’t notice; they were busy reveling in their newfound powers. They didn’t know how strong they should feel.
Lycas opened the flap before the Bear could announce himself. To his disappointment, the young man wasn’t carrying food.
“Sir, the messenger from Tiros has arrived.”
“Show him in.”
The Bear motioned to Yorgas the Bat, who stood leaning against a nearby tree. He staggered forward, looking as if he could barely keep his feet.
“Bring him food and water,” Lycas told his attaché, then waved for Yorgas to enter the tent. “What news comes from Tiros?”
“More than Tiros, I’m afraid, sir.” Gulping for breath, the Bat wiped his sweaty, dark blond hair from his face. Then he glanced at Feras and closed his mouth.
“You can speak in front of him,” Lycas said.
Yorgas gave a quick nod and attempted to straighten his posture against obvious exhaustion. “First, Mali’s in prison.”
Lycas’s stomach turned cold, as if he’d just swallowed a bucket of ice. “Where’s my daughter?”
“Safe in Kalindos. They sent a messenger pigeon the day she arrived.”
He let out a long breath and was glad the other two men couldn’t tell how weak his knees had turned. “Good. When did this happen?”
“Mali was arrested about two weeks ago, at her home in the middle of the night.”
“Is she still alive?”
“No one knows. I’m sorry, sir.”
Lycas turned over the events in his mind, trying to focus on the strategic implications and not on the image of his former mate in chains. She would feel little pain from their tortures, but they would find a way to make her suffer. The Ilions were imaginative, if nothing else.
Yorgas cleared his throat. “There’s more.”
Lycas stared at him, dread rising in his chest. “What more?”
“On my way here through the Sangian Hills, I came upon one of our platoons. They’d been ambushed by the Ilions, who apparently tricked our men into thinking there were about a tenth as many enemy fighters as there really were.” His gaze tripped down to the floor, then up to meet Lycas’s eyes again. “They got Sirin.”
Lycas blinked at him. Sirin. His comrade. His friend. The closest thing he’d had to a brother since Nilo’s death.
Feras filled the silence. “How many men were lost?”
“Three Cougars, two Wolverines and a Bear. The whole platoon, except for one Cougar who climbed to safety. He was the one I came upon, burying the others.” Yorgas slipped his hands in and out of his pockets in a nervous gesture. “I went to headquarters first to let them know. I hope that’s all right.”
Lycas stared at him, then realized the Bat required an answer. “They’d need to deploy another squad to cover the territory of the one lost. Good thinking.”
Yorgas nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
“Is that all?” Lycas snapped, though he couldn’t imagine what could be worse than the capture of Mali and Sirin. His own family was safe, at least.
The Bat spoke slowly, as if choosing his words with care. “A group of former Asermons have le
ft Tiros to free Mali and the other political prisoners.” He shifted his feet. “They asked that you stay here and not get involved. They said it would be too great a risk for you, and that they knew Asermos better now, anyway.”
Lycas sighed through his teeth. They were probably right. But it took every bit of discipline not to jump on a horse and go barreling into Asermos to rescue Mali and Sirin.
Yorgas cleared his throat. “That’s all, sir.”
“Then go eat and rest. I’ll send you back tomorrow with my answer.”
When Yorgas was gone, Lycas began to pace. His fists clenched and unclenched as he walked the narrow space between the door and the table, muttering half to himself and half to Feras.
“I’ll have to assign a new executive officer at the headquarters. There are a few men there I trust with my life. But who would take the job? Being second-in-command brings twice the work, half the glory.”
“I’ll let you get to that.” Feras stood and rolled up the parchment. “We’ll attack the police station as you suggested. Times are clearly desperate now. I’ll be back in a week with a list of personnel, so we can start planning the attack.”
“Thank you.”
On his way out of the tent, Feras clasped Lycas’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. Sirin and Mali are two of the toughest people I’ve ever met. They’ll survive this, and be tougher still.”
When he was gone, Lycas left his tent and walked over to the training area, which consisted of a slope of woods that could be observed from above. The young Wolverines stalked from tree to tree, practicing stealth and speed, following the maneuvers shouted by their Bear leader. Lycas could see Nilik’s face rigid with concentration.
They were fast and strong and quiet, but not as much as they should have been. At the end of the exercise, the Bear shouted his frustration and forced them to repeat it from the beginning.
Wolverines were weakening. It was the only explanation for Sirin’s capture. The last time Ilions had come close to nabbing him, he’d killed eighteen men to keep his freedom, then laughed about it later. If they could get Sirin, they could get anyone, including Lycas.
He dwelled on this fact as long as he could, rather than think of Mali, and remember the way her sharp gaze used to stun him into speechlessness. It was probably just as well they had never fought on the same field; they would have either killed each other in a battle of wills, or he would have been too busy staring at her body to avoid his own annihilation.
The Reawakened Page 17
