Caleb staggered up to his feet. “I don’t like it.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying that to Simon or to the Word. He had sworn he would never take another life, not if he could help it. But here he was, responsible for another man’s death.
Simon stood as well. “Well, that’s good. I would not follow a man who was fine with sacrificing others.”
Ouch. Not too long ago, he had done just that.
Endre nodded in agreement. Caleb had almost forgotten the former merchant was there. Char, however, refused to look at him.
Simon pointed at the doorway in front of them. “Now, we must move on.”
Simon was right. They could not linger here. Not with the other group counting on them to find and dispatch the shadows. But he was shaken now, his confidence eroded like sand beneath the wind. He couldn’t save them all. Who else would die before they were finished with this day?
Just beyond the tunnel were rows of two-story buildings. Mud, inches deep, filled the ten-foot gap between the buildings and city wall. Years of neglect had painted the buildings in tones of brown, with cracks running up the sides of the walls. Wild ivy grew around the door Lore had just exited and bushes with thorns an inch long lined the wall. The stormy sky overhead only added to the dismal look of what he assumed was the House of Roses.
As much as he tried, Lore could not imagine a child Nierne playing here. He could not imagine any children here. Or any humans for that matter. There was nothing of beauty, nothing that would make him think of this place as someone’s home. And it certainly did not look like a place he would call House of Roses.
He knew such places of business existed, even in the White City. But he had never visited one himself. He and his father might have differed in their view of life, but they both agreed on one thing: brothels were no place for a Captain of the Guard.
Beyond that, Lore had never thought about the women who lived in such places, or the children they conceived. He had dutifully stayed away.
“We’re not on a sightseeing tour, Captain.”
Lore came back to the present. “I know.”
“Then let’s move it.”
The mud squelched and slurped as the men made their way through the back alley. The cold seeped through his cloak and tunic, chilling his skin. The other men blew into their hands and rubbed them together.
After a couple blocks, they turned and stepped onto cobblestone. Rainwater ran between the stones and gathered in large puddles beside the buildings.
It took over an hour to reach the northern part of Thyra, where the military compound was located. The walk was slow for the almost a hundred men trying to stay hidden. They used alleys, trees, and the sides of buildings to hide their movement across the city. So far they had not encountered a shadow. Hopefully that meant Caleb was doing his job.
The compound was blocked off by ten-foot stone walls. The men eased their way along toward the iron gates in the middle. Bare trees lined the wall and piles of wet leaves stood in the corners and street.
Cargan slid along the compound wall toward the gates. The rest of the men stayed back near the buildings across the street and in the alley. Once he reached the gates, he peered around through the bars. Everyone remained silent. There were no voices on the other side of the wall. No movement could be heard.
Cargan stood there for a minute, then backed away and made his way across the street to Lore.
By now, Regessus had joined them from the back.
“They’re here,” Cargan whispered to Lore and Regessus. His face looked pale beneath his beard. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“What do you mean?” Lore said.
“They’re just standing there, in rows, like a military formation. But it’s the way they stand. It’s—it’s unnatural.”
“Did you expect something different?” Regessus said.
Cargan shook his head. “No, but expecting something and seeing it, it’s a whole different thing. I knew what the twisting could do to people, but it’s like their souls have been sucked out and only their bodies remain, animated by an unseen power.”
“That’s not possible, is it?” Lore said. Then again, he had seen the impossible over and over again the last year.
Cargan shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe so,” Regessus said. “The twisting warps the person’s mind, playing a different reality, causing them to believe what their mind tells them. Their souls are still intact, or else Rory and I could not have been freed. It’s only when the Shadonae consume that souls are lost.”
Lore looked at the two men. “Well, that’s not going to happen, not if we can help it.”
Cargan nodded, his scowl coming back. “At least they are inside the compound. And there aren’t that many. Maybe fifty, all lined up like toy tin men.”
Lore frowned. “Is that how many you were expecting?”
Regessus frowned as well. “No. There should be more.”
“Then where are the others?”
The three men glanced at each other. What were the Shadonae planning? Was it possible they knew something?
“I don’t like this.” Cargan folded his arms. “Something’s up.”
Lore nodded. “We need to be on our guard.”
“In the meantime, we’ll lock the compound up tight so the Shadonae can’t summon these soldiers. Now”—He looked between Lore and Regessus—“you both go find that Eldaran. We’re going to need her, assuming she’s still alive and on our side.”
Lore’s heart beat faster. Finally. He pulled his hood down over his forehead. “Regessus and I will meet you at the senate tower.”
“Stay out of sight. And be careful.” Cargan pulled on the tip of his beard. “There may be more at work here than we know. We’ll be in the buildings across from the tower, waiting for you.”
Lore and Regessus nodded.
Cargan left them and made his way toward the men still in the alley.
Lore gripped the hilt of his sword. Inside, he wanted to run and search every house in Thyra for Rowen. He was so close now to finding her.
Regessus pointed down the street. “Rory said she was stationed at my house. I say we start there.”
“Sounds good.”
Both men headed east. The rain now fell in a steady downpour. The only dry spot on his entire body were his feet, tucked inside his boots. He rubbed his hands, now tingling with the storm racing through his veins.
The street intersected with a main street. Regessus turned right and headed south. Between the buildings and in the distance stood a tower made of white stone—smooth, round, with a row of windows along the top. A cone-shaped roof topped the tower.
Lore pointed at the building. “Is that the senate tower?”
Regessus nodded, holding the hood of his cloak in place over his head.
They made their way along the streets, staying as close to the buildings and homes as possible to avoid detection. Water rushed down the street and pooled at the intersections. Debris and leaves swirled in the eddies.
Half of his mind cataloged their route, taking in each turn and direction. The other half concentrated only on one thing. Rowen.
He would see her after all these months, the real her, not some vision. He would hold her, kiss her, and take her home. They would bond and live near the White City. He would help with the rebuilding, and she would be free to pursue whatever she wished. And perhaps a family would follow.
A smile crept across his lips and he pressed on, the storm amplifying his racing emotions.
After zigzagging for a couple blocks and crossing two main streets, Regessus slowed. The homes along this block were by far more luxurious than any others they had passed. Two and three stories tall, made from white stone with columns along the front, and doors made from rich woods.
The
rain fell in a soft drizzle. Lore looked around. The Shadonae had kept Rowen here? Not much of a prison.
Regessus stopped half way down the block. Lore placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, bringing his mind back to the present, searching for anything amiss.
Regessus approached the door to the house in front of them. His hand shook as he reached for the handle. It had to be hard to come back to one’s home after being gone for so long and experiencing so much. Would it be like that for him when he returned to the White City?
Regessus opened the door.
They entered a foyer. Dust had settled across the silver veined marble floor. Two columns stood against either wall, a bust on each. One of the heads looked like Regessus.
Regessus hurried down the hallway. Lore glanced in each room they passed for any sign of Rowen. Tables, chairs, rugs. All empty. They reached the back where the dining room and kitchen met.
A crust of bread, already molding, sat on the dining room table.
Lore swallowed. He had a feeling they wouldn’t be finding Rowen here. Still, they should look. Just in case.
Regessus headed up the staircase.
They hurried along the hallway of the second floor. More empty rooms. They turned back and headed up the staircase to the third floor. Neither man said a word. The sky rumbled outside and rain began to patter against the windows.
Regessus opened the door to a large room painted in soft green, with a bed, chairs, white marble fireplace, and wardrobe. He held up his hand and entered the room. “This. This is where she stayed.”
On closer inspection, there was evidence of recent habitation. The cover on the bed was askew, a grey wrap hung on the corner of one of the chairs, the doors to the wardrobe were open, revealing an array of women’s gowns.
“Are you sure?” Lore picked up the wrap and held it to his nose. It smelled sweet, almost floral, with a hint of soap. Like Rowen.
“Yes. I never used this room.”
Regessus’s lips were turned downward and there was a faraway look in his eyes. Lore didn’t bother asking why Regessus kept a room obviously furnished for a woman. Perhaps it had been for a daughter. Or even his wife. Not everyone shared a room with their bondmate.
Lore sighed and put the wrap back on the chair. “Doesn’t look like Rowen is here now.”
“No. I’m afraid not.”
“Is there another place they would keep her?” He headed toward the doorway. Time to move on. He refused to entertain the other option.
“Lore, there is the possibili—”
“No. We haven’t searched everywhere. I will search all of Thyra before I . . .” He ran a hand through his hair. Word, please, not that.
“Cragsmoor.” Regessus said behind him.
Lore spun around. “Crags what?”
“Cragsmoor. That is where they kept all the prisoners. If she is still alive, that is the only other place I can think of where the Shadonae would keep her.”
“Then let’s go.”
Chapter
41
The dungeon door opened with a long groan. Rowen turned her head toward the door and blinked. The torchlight burned her eyes like a noonday sun. A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and hauled her up. “Get up.”
Valin.
Her legs collapsed beneath her, sending her sprawling into the musty straw. Foul smells wafted into the air and her hand slipped across a muddy patch.
Valin grabbed her shoulder again, this time with a vise-like grip.
Rowen shoved her hands beneath her and pushed up. Her hair cascaded around her face, encased in clumps of mud and straw.
“I’ve changed my mind.” Valin hauled her up to her feet. “You won’t be staying here after all.”
She blinked again as her eyes became attuned to the torchlight. Her dress hung loosely across her body and a tear ran lengthwise down her right leg. It had once been white, but now was faded and filthy. She shivered and wrapped her arms across her middle.
Valin stood back and held the torch up, the orange light bouncing off his dark hair. His gaze darted to her missing hand, then back up to her face. A cold smile spread across his lips. “Once you were desirable, but now . . .” He made a tsk-tsk noise and grabbed her chin. “You could have been a queen.” He turned her face and ran a thumb down her cheek. “You should have said yes.”
Rowen jerked her head away and took a step back. She gripped her elbows and looked down. She was too tired, too cold to banter words with Valin.
He reached over and grabbed her shoulder, steering her toward the door. “Out now. Our audience awaits.”
She stumbled toward the door. “What?” Her dry lip split. “What do you mean?” She touched her lower lip with her tongue and tasted blood.
Valin didn’t answer. Instead, he forced her out the door and down the corridor of Cragsmoor.
She could barely feel the ground, her naked feet numb from the cold. Everything inside her was numb as well, detached, as if viewing her life from above. Her mind began to churn, thoughts sluggishly coming to the surface after being submerged for weeks. What did Valin mean? What audience?
They reached the stairs and headed up. The hard packed ground changed to stone floor. The light from Valin’s torch bounced along the wall.
Did he mean people? Why would that concern her?
Rowen stumbled and caught herself. Valin never slowed nor looked back. The torchlight grew distant. She pushed away from the wall and staggered along, pressing her legs to move faster. She did not want to be left in the darkness. Not again.
Valin followed the next set of stairs to the main floor.
The air was less stuffy up here, and warmer, but just as thoroughly foul. If Thyra was ever taken someday, the victors needed to burn Cragsmoor down. Only nightmares and ghosts remained in this place.
Rowen pulled her lips into a grim line. Yes. If Thyra ever returned to a habitable city, every stone should be torn down so nothing remained.
Ahead, pale light appeared through a doorway and the air held a hint of moisture. She placed a hand along the wall to hold herself up. The stone was cold and damp beneath her fingers. Just a few more steps.
Valin reached the door and placed the torch in the bracket, then looked back. “Come now, where is that obstinate woman who denied me with such fire? All I see now is a crippled wench crawling toward me. You are a disgrace even to your own kind. Eldarans were noble, regal. You are nothing but a dirty sack of bones.”
Rowen stared at him through the curtain of dirty hair. His words could not touch her. They were just barbs in the air. Could Valin really do more to her than he already had, other than take her life?
Was that his plan now?
Valin watched her with revulsion. “And to think I actually thought you belonged at my side.” He motioned to someone outside the door. Rain poured down from the sky. A man appeared seconds later, blocking the doorway. “Bring her here.”
The man entered the corridor and moved toward Rowen. He wore a soaked, faded yellow tabard and muddy boots. She could not see his eyes, his face hidden in the shadows. But she knew what she would see—eyes that did not blink. One of Valin’s twisted men.
The man grabbed her by the arm and hoisted it over his neck. His other arm wrapped around her waist. She recoiled from his cold, wet clothes, but he held her tight against his side. The dampness seeped into her thin dress and across her skin.
He walked back toward Valin, half helping, half dragging her across the floor.
Rowen moved her legs, trying to keep her balance. A minute later, she reached the doorway with the soldier’s help.
“We head to the senate tower. You”—Valin focused on the man next to her—“help her all the way there.”
The man never nodded, never acknowledged that he had heard Valin. But she knew the man would obey.
Outside, rain came crashing down and a cold wind whipped through her clothing. Her teeth chattered and her fingers turned to icicles. Rain and wind whipped about her face like a cyclone.
Valin was already halfway across the muddy yard.
Before she could prepare herself, the soldier started after Valin, dragging her along with him. Her feet left the stone floor of Cragsmoor and sank into the cold, wet mud.
She gripped the soldier’s arm, her feet slipping, the muck crawling up her calves and knees. Valin stopped at the street and waited. A moment later, they reached him and stepped onto the cobblestone. She could hardly see through the downpour.
Without letting her rest, Valin started for the senate tower, with her in tow on the arm of his twisted soldier.
She shivered uncontrollably, the cold rain soaking into her bones. A warmth grew deep inside her chest, a familiar warmth. It flowed along her body, healing the cuts along the bottom of her feet and the chill entering her lungs.
Like an ember, her power would glow, then dim, glow, then dim, healing her over and over again. A form of torture from which she could not black out, but it sapped what little strength she had until she collapsed only a few blocks away from Cragsmoor.
She watched Valin’s boots approach her, her face pressed against the cold cobblestone and the rain battering her from above.
“Pick her up and carry her the rest of the way.”
Hands reached beneath her and lifted her. The soldier tossed her over his shoulder. Wind and rain blew across her exposed legs, freezing her skin. Rowen closed her eyes. Her head bobbed with each step he took.
The darkness came and she relaxed in its embrace, losing herself in the cold.
Chapter
42
Simon led the way through the catacombs. Decades of dust spun into the air, kicked up by their boots. The strange pale light from the shafts in the ceiling gave the catacombs an eerie appearance. And the white coffins did not help.
Heir of Hope (Follower of the Word Book 3) Page 36
