“Have all of you forgotten,” Kian asked placidly, “that Varis is bent on usurping the Ivory Throne and, after that, every throne of the world? We leave before first light, as always.”
“We have been pushing hard for too many days and nights,” Hazad said. “While I’m sure I could keep on, the horses need a good rest, plenty of water, and proper graze.”
Kian scrutinized the faces around him and considered his earlier thoughts about their increasingly gloomy dejection. Even the Geldainian mercenaries, men known for impossible endurance, looked beyond tired. Grudgingly, he acknowledged that he could not continue to press the march without a respite.
“Very well,” he said, relieved despite himself, and turned his mount to clatter down the steep road to the village. “We will rest here-but no more than this night and the next.”
Chapter 25
After camp had been set amid a row of tumbledown huts, and bellies sated with roasted quail, dates, figs and all the water they could drink from a pure well, Kian strode northward through night’s darkness. Behind him the camp slept, save him and two Asra a’Shah taking first watch. It was not a long walk to get beyond the remains of the last burned-out building. Darkness lay thicker for the smoke blocking the light of the stars. Except for the distant yipping howls of jackals on the hunt, the night was absolutely silent.
Kian wrapped his improvised cloak-a spare blanket with a hole cut in the center for his head to poke through, and slits for his arms-tighter around his shoulders. He tried to believe that it was not as cold as it felt, but a shiver crept over his skin, reminding him of the nights he had spent on the Kaliayth during winter.
Deciding the he would rather keep moving than sit still and let the cold sink into his bones, he strode along a scant trail that ran alongside a dry streambed. Kian had not gone a hundred paces when he saw a faint blur of white up ahead. He halted at once, hand falling to his sword hilt.
All remained relatively quiet.
Careful to make no sound himself, he scurried behind a mound of stone slabs that had fallen from the eastern side of the canyon’s wall. The shape moved closer, silent, ghostlike. He did not hold to tales of spirits … but then, not so long ago, he had disbelieved that demons could walk amongst the living. The figure drifted nearer, as if traveling on an unfelt breeze. The closer it came, the harder his heart beat, visions of Fenahk and Bresado alive in his mind. He dropped lower, making sure he was out of sight. Though he disliked ambush, in this instance a surprise attack was his best option.
After a time, there came a soft grating of feet moving over sand, and he tensed. Spirits did not make such sounds, at least in any story he had ever heard. As the shape came within arm’s reach then moved by, he rose up, sword poised to strike at the junction of neck and shoulder. The figure spun with feline grace, and in the gloom Kian saw the faint glimmer of a dagger coming to bear.
“Ellonlef?” Kian gasped, aghast that he had been but a heartbeat from striking off her head. “What are you doing out here alone?”
She sheathed the dagger, seemingly unperturbed by the edge to his voice. “I was collecting dates. If I had thought you wanted to join me, I would have asked.”
“Scavenging dates, in the middle of the night?” he asked incredulously, wondering how she had managed to slip by him.
“Unless you mean to run me through, you should lower your sword,” she said with a disarming laugh.
He started, realizing his sword was still raised. With an irritated shake of his head, he slammed the blade into the scabbard. He embraced his rising irritation, for that alone could break the odd spell she held over him, which seemed to always steal his wits. “You should have told someone you were going to go frolicking about in the night,” he chastised.
She laughed again, a sound that stirred something inside him. “Are you my father, then,” she said, somehow playfully, “demanding obedience from a wicked daughter?”
Kian’s tongue withered, for what came to mind at her statement had nothing to do with fathers and daughters. “No,” he said, his voice rough with uncertainty, “of course not. But, for your safety and everyone else’s, you should have told someone of your intentions. These are dangerous lands.”
“You are right. It was foolish of me.” She hardly sounded chagrined.
“I should get back to my watch,” he said, thinking it best to distance himself from her before … well, before he began to pursue what was in his heart, which he felt sure would lead to regret.
“Would you like a piece of fruit?” she asked before he could turn away. “They are sweet. Of course, now that I dropped them, they will be sandy as well.”
She knelt, a graceful movement that stole Kian’s breath. Swallowing, chiding himself for behaving like a lovesick boy, he inspected the surroundings for any sign of trouble. There was none he could see. Nevertheless, he felt it. He told himself he should simply excuse himself, continue his rounds, but he remained.
He watched Ellonlef, knowing she was the source of his trouble. Two nights gone while repairing his damaged bow, it had taken him far longer to get the job done properly, for Ellonlef had sat with him in silence, as if what he was doing was the most important thing in the world. The problem, he realized, was not that she made him nervous, but rather that having her about was so easy. Such distractions could be dangerous at the best of times, and these times were far from that.
And yet, he still did not move away, though he was sure it would have been the right thing-the safe thing-to do. After a deep breath and another glance around, he released some measure of his caution, and knelt to help gather the dates. Using a fold in her robes like a basket, they piled up the withered fruit. The last one, he kept for himself. After he dusted it off, Kian took a bite, relishing the sweet flavor, leftover sand and all.
“It has been too long since I have tasted anything this good,” he said. “At least since we departed Ammathor.”
“When did you leave the king’s city?”
Kian nibbled the fruit, thinking back. Despite his better judgment, he let her presence wash away his concerns, and a comfortable peace stole over him. “Four months, or there about.”
Ellonlef picked out a date and sampled it. “A long time to live rough.”
Kian shrugged. “There have been longer journeys. Merchants are the worst for wandering about looking for prospective buyers. As well, after they pay for two months of protection, they do all they can to squeeze four from you.”
They were silent for a time, then Ellonlef said, “Do you think what happened along the border has befallen Ammathor?”
Kian gazed off into the night. It was not the first time he had considered the same question. “At first I was sure the quakes happened only in the marshes. What we have seen since crossing the Kaliayth suggests that the whole of Aradan, perhaps all the world, has suffered.”
“What do you think is happening?”
Kian chuckled wryly. “I had hoped you could tell me. Are you not the scholar? All I am is a man with a sword.”
“You are more than that,” she said quietly, then rushed on. “All I really have are guesses. Once, my order studied all there was to study, but since Edaer Kilvar employed our services a millennia gone, we now mostly learn about the deeper workings of Aradan, her people, and her enemies. Varis, I fear, will prove to be the greatest enemy Aradan has ever faced. He is a man who has stolen the power of gods. While he has done miraculous works, I cannot doubt that he has only begun to understand his powers.”
There seemed to be a suggestion in her words directed toward Kian, but before he could think on it, she added, “The only certainty I have is this fear: if the same Prince Varis Kilvar who came to Krevar is allowed to reach even a tenth of his potential, for millennia his is the name people will remember when they tell stories of these days.”
“He cannot be allowed to survive,” Kian said before he could temper his words.
“I agree,” Ellonlef said at once.
“Yo
u do?” Kian asked, startled.
She nodded. “I saw with my own eyes how Varis raised the dead that he himself surely must have killed in the first place. His act was no mere crime to be judged, but rather the manifestation of a cunning evil the likes of which the world has never seen.”
“Why would he kill so many just to raise them again?”
“I believe he did it to curry favor among the living, adding true believers in his power and benevolence to his cause. What he did ensured that the people of Krevar owed him their lives, and the lives of their friends and family. Before Varis came, if the people of Krevar had been asked, they would have considered Varis Kilvar a prince with little chance of ever sitting the Ivory Throne. He was a highborn and royalty, but of no true real importance in their lives. After they tasted the bitterness of so many deaths, and then witnessed him raising the dead, he became more than a man, more than just another arrogant Aradaner prince-he became the Life Giver, a being who deserves absolute fealty, even worship.”
Although such machinations did not follow his normal manner of thinking, Kian understood and accepted her point, yet he still had questions. “You said before that Varis feared me because I may have some measure of the power he does,” he said cautiously, not wanting to admit openly that he now agreed with her, not when he had no idea how to employ those powers. “Even if true, I cannot see why he would be bent on finding me, when everything in my nature would suggest that I would ride north and leave him to rule as he will. After all, I am a mercenary.”
“After securing an unbreakable allegiance with the people of Krevar,” Ellonlef said, “Varis was able to fold his lies into certain truths, thereby creating a new truth altogether. Ultimately, his intention is to become a king, if not an emperor. To do that, he must overthrow House Kilvar, and that means he has need of an army. While there is enough discontent in Aradan for a gifted man to harness and use to his own ends, there is still you with which to contend. You can be likened to a bastard son of a king who may one day rise up with a claim to a throne. Only, in this instance, yours is not a claim of ancestry, but an opposing power to possibly match his own. In short, with you alive and possibly as powerful as Varis, he would never rest easy knowing you lived and could one day oppose him. I believe the solution in Varis’s mind is to build you into an enemy, a foe as much to his followers as you are a foe to him.”
Kian had to admit, her words made sense. “Do you truly believe he is this shrewd?”
“Whatever else he is, Varis is a man of the king’s court,” Ellonlef said. “Such scheming is as natural to any highborn as breathing is to you or me. And, yes, he is quite skillful,” Ellonlef added uneasily. “With little prodding on his part, his followers all but begged for the opportunity to march on Ammathor. In less than the passing of one night, he raised not only the dead, but he also birthed an army.”
“After the lands first began to shake,” Kian said, trying to gather all the pieces of the puzzle into one orderly stack, “how long was it until Varis came to Krevar?”
“The third night.”
Kian’s mouth fell open. “There is no way a man on foot could have traveled so far so fast.”
“As I said, he is more than a man.”
“You keep saying that, but if he is not a man, then what is he?”
Ellonlef swallowed audibly. “Without a better explanation, all I can say is that he must be something like a god poured into the flesh of a man.”
Kian finished his date, but the sweetness had become bitter. “If so, then do you really believe I can stop him with this remnant of the power of creation inside me, if indeed it is in me?”
“I do not know,” Ellonlef said quietly, “but I have great hope in … in you.”
Kian flushed, but when he opened his mouth to respond, he found no words.
As if trying to spare him further embarrassment, Ellonlef asked, “Do you intend to tell this story to the king?”
“Yes,” Kian said, relieved she had changed the topic. “I admit that I may be able to resist Varis’s power, but otherwise I am the same man I have ever been. I have no doubt that if a sword pierced my heart, I would fall. Perhaps it is the same with Varis. If he must die, I would rather his death come at the hands of his own blood. To do otherwise would surely result in Aradan tearing itself apart which, in the end, might be near as bad as letting Varis take the Ivory Throne. All Izutar needs is hordes of hungry, angry Aradaner refugees pouring over her border.”
“You could still do as you first planned,” Ellonlef said then, “and flee Aradan.”
“No,” Kian said, a part of him wishing it could be that easy. “My course is set. I may not hold any allegiance to House Kilvar or Aradan, but as you warned, Varis does not intend to rest after taking the Ivory Throne.”
Ellonlef shook her head. “I worry that King Simiis will not believe that his own blood is seeking to usurp the throne.”
“I have had the same thought,” Kian said. “But in this, our fate is in the hands of whichever gods remain. Besides, King Simiis will have no choice but to believe me, especially once Varis sets his army against Ammathor. Of course, I may be in chains by the time he comes to realize I did not lie about the treachery of his own blood.”
“And what if Varis succeeds in his goals? What if he takes the Ivory Throne for his own?”
“I’ll not waste a moment thinking that far ahead. Besides, if Varis wins out, I’ll likely not be alive-none of us will. Again, I will leave it in the hands of Pa’amadin, or whatever gods remain.” He abruptly stood. “I should get back to my watch, and you should get back to your blankets. Thank you for the fruit.” Before she could respond, he moved down the trail.
Chapter 26
Despite Kian’s advice, Ellonlef stayed where she was, nibbling a date, watching his shadowed figure merge with the rest of the canyon’s darkness until he was lost from sight. She
had never met any man quite like him, and she found him oddly compelling. There was no bluster to him, at least once she had realized that his commanding presence was simply an innate and necessary quality-he was a warrior, a wielder of steel and death. The coldness she had thought was in his heart after the incident with the dying Asra a’Shah, she concluded, was more a result of his role as a leader of a mercenary company. And now, having been in his presence for many days, she sensed in him a deep and often burdensome understanding of life and death that most people would never have or want.
Ellonlef bit into another date and winced at a bit of sand grinding between her teeth. She spat it out and stood, searching the night for a last glimpse of Kian. On my life, I will protect you. The words came to her, not for the first time, as if on a breeze. Could she truly trust his vow, and more, should she burden him with a vow obviously spoken in distress?
A scratching sound, followed by a fall of pebbles, froze her. In the direction of the ruins a man shouted, then another screamed. Ellonlef bared her dagger without thought, the collected dates held in her robes once again thumping to the sandy soil. Something rustled across the dry streambed, but she turned too late. A shape loomed out of the night, quickly closing the distance.
“Attackers!” she cried.
The figure halted before her and fear twisted her insides. The shape was that of a man, but its eyes glimmered with the hue of faded silver. The figure advanced, pressing her back, seemingly taking delight in her fear. It had been Azuri and Hazad who had spoken of the mahk’lar at the beck and call of Lord Marshal Bresado, those with silver eyes.
I face a demon clad in the skin of a man, she thought, mind racing. Kian’s companions had said their weapons were nearly useless against such creatures. At the same instant, she understood that Varis had not raised the dead of Krevar at all, but rather infused once human flesh with the spirits of demons. Does he know that is what he has done? She was certain he did not.
Without warning the mahk’lar darted at her, a blur of motion against the black backdrop of night. Ellonlef staggered, dagger r
aised. The ring of a sword slamming into her small blade was loud, and the blow rippled through her every muscle, but she kept hold of the weapon. She twisted to one side as the demon’s blade shrieked down the length of hers, and she narrowly missed having her arm hacked off. Wheeling, staying close to her assailant’s sword arm, she forced the creature to turn with her.
“The Life Giver wants you,” the figure said in a voice that rattled.
“Tell your master,” Ellonlef snarled, denying the fear in her breast, “that Sisters of Najihar do not answer to the spawn of the Thousand Hells, nor do we easily give our lives.”
Choked, mocking laughter gurgled in the night. Faster than thought, the creature surged at her with a sidearm stroke, forcing her to leap back. Its steel flashed, missing her throat by a hair’s breadth. Before the demon could strike again she slashed wildly at the creature’s neck, and thought she saw a spark of bluish light where cold steel touched demonic flesh. In the heat of the moment, she instantly discounted it.
Despite the shallow cut, the demon tottered and fell to its knees, clutching at the wound, head bowed. Ellonlef’s arm rose and fell, driving the dagger deep into the base of what had been a man’s skull. When she wrenched the blade free, a freakish howl burst from the creature, and before her eyes the man-shape folded in on itself, oozing a substance darker than any shadow. It quickly dissipated, as if dragged away by a strong wind.
Then Ellonlef was running back to camp. She sought to grasp how her blade had so easily dispatched a mahk’lar, but her thoughts were too frantic to concentrate on anything more than staying alive.
She had not gone far when she detected the sound of thudding feet coming up behind her. She spun into a crouch, preparing to disembowel her next enemy, be it demon or man. The footfalls stopped an instant later.
“Ellonlef!” Kian called.
“Here,” she cried, relief flooding her veins.
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