The Key of Amatahns

by Elisabeth Wheatley

  Chapter Ten

  “Faster.” It was the third time Lucan had said it in the past half hour.

  Karile flopped his head toward Janir. “I am beginning to think that is his favorite word.”

  The two of them were partially led, partially dragged behind the horse of Camak, the one who appeared to be Lucan’s second in command and the one who had the look of a Brevian. He kept the prisoners on a close tether and seemed to be on constant guard against any tricks. A man like him was probably hoping they would do something and give him the excuse to beat them.

  Roots and long grasses tangled and tripped the prisoners. If they didn’t get to their feet fast enough, the horse would drag them until they did. Argetallams were not known for their mercy and these warriors certainly seemed to be living up to their reputation. Janir was dressed appropriately for the mountains, but with all this moving, sweat was trickling down her temples and along her limbs, leaving icy tracts in its wake.

  Where they were headed in such a hurry, Janir didn’t know. Nor did Karile have the audacity to ask. He had ugly black blisters where Lucan had struck him with her karkaton and he tried to pretend they didn’t hurt, but he was fooling no one.

  Kalbo’s reins were held by one of the other Argetallams. The big stallion snorted and watched Janir in confusion, as if asking why she didn’t ride him.

  They were heading north, following the line of the mountains, into the colder regions. A few more days and they would reach Snow Dale, which, true to its name, was the last province in Brevia to thaw each year.

  “Faster!” Lucan shouted again.

  The warriors nudged their horses on, though there was no lack of resentment in their faces. Lucan seemed to be everything Argetallams were expected to be, yet Janir was beginning to see some sort of dissention between the young commander and his soldiers—or mortahns, as Argetallam warriors were called.

  Blisters were forming on Janir’s feet, rubbing them raw, and her lips were parched with thirst. Karile did not appear much better, if anything, he was worse. Black oozed through his robe from the welts on his shoulder and neck like spots of ink on his clothes.

  Janir wanted to help him, but she didn’t have any idea how. She didn’t even understand exactly what the rods had done to him.

  Wherever it was they were going, Lucan seemed extremely eager to push on. Merciless as the terrain they traveled, it was only after a glance back at his tired warriors and exhausted captives that Lucan called for a halt. The sun sank steadily behind them, barely leaving enough light to see as they set up camp.

  Janir thought she might have fallen over soon if Lucan hadn’t ordered them to stop. Probably deciding that she and Karile would be no trouble, Camak dismounted and manhandled them both to the nearest tree without the help of the other mortahns. He encountered no resistance as he lashed their hands behind their backs and left them bound to sturdy shrubs. They were both too tired and too sore.

  Camak lingered over Janir, eyeing her critically. “So it seems you are the long dead whelp from the Lord Argetallam’s Brevian brachet.”

  Janir turned her head to the side. She wanted to be anywhere but here so very badly.

  “Such a delicate thing you are.” He touched her temple, callused fingers roughly stroking down her cheek. “And so vulnerable.”

  “Leave her alone!” Karile snapped.

  Camak chuckled at the enchanter’s protest. “You’re just lucky I have work to do.”

  Janir watched him go to make sure that he left. She needed to get out of here and away from them as soon as possible. The memory of Camak touching her skin sent a hundred revulsive images through her skull.

  Janir and Karile didn’t speak, even though the Argetallams were out of earshot if they whispered. Camak and Lucan were ignoring the pair for the moment. They turned away and appeared to argue in hushed voices before Lucan stormed off angrily.

  As he slumped beside her, Janir noticed Karile’s lips were cracked and he had a vapid expression she associated with sickness. She wondered if she looked as awful as he did. She certainly felt it.

  Lucan commanded the Argetallams as they went about setting up the camp. He posted sentries and assigned hunters all the while being received with stiff obedience.

  One of those designated as hunter caught some game within an hour or so. It appeared to be a rodent of some sort, but Janir was so hungry that she would have eaten almost anything. The Argetallam sat on a large stone and began skinning and cleaning the carcass with a curved blade. They had rations in their saddlebags, but fresh meat was always better.

  Spontaneously, Lucan snapped a quick command. An Argetallam responded shortly, untying Karile and dragging the enchanter toward Lucan.

  “Show me,” Lucan ordered, pointing to a map of the entire continent—Brevia, the Staspin Waste, Ralissia, Silverwood, Stlaven, and Tathansia beyond—spread out over a large rock. “Show me where the crystal chamber is.”

  Camak looked on with arms folded across his chest as Karile stood wobbly and bruised before Lucan.

  The enchanter made an effort at standing straight. “I said I don’t know. Didn’t you hear me the first time?”

  Janir gulped. Was he mad? Did he not remember what had happened yesterday?

  Lucan raised his chin and made a comprehending sound, drawing one of Janir’s karkaton from his belt. Again, Janir wondered why he didn’t have his own when every other man there did, but there was no rhyme or reason that would get her to ask.

  There was a subtle tightening of the skin around Lucan’s mouth as he touched the rod, but he remained calm and collected. “I am not one for playing games, enchanter,” Lucan replied in a hostile tone. “I thought we had established that.”

  The Argetallam who had caught the rodent set the knife on the rock and carried the naked carcass to the fire. He began skewering it on a spit for roasting, paying no heed to his prince and the captive enchanter.

  “Pity, you should play more games. It would do wonders for your people skills,” Karile suggested. He talked a good fight, but he eyed the ominous black rods nervously. “I thought you said you already knew where to find the chamber.”

  “I know where to find someone who does know,” Lucan corrected. “But after thinking today,” he shot a quick, almost imperceptible glance to Camak, “I’ve decided I would much rather save myself a week’s ride.”

  Janir had been left to her own devices, lying out of the way some two or three paces off. Now she fumbled frantically with the knots on her wrists. She locked onto the blade lying on the stone left by the hunter, just out of her reach.

  Someone else might notice his carelessness at any moment, she didn’t have much time.

  Lucan’s short fuse reached its limit and he seized Karile by the back of his neck, dropping the karkaton. “Show me now, enchanter.” Lucan shoved Karile’s face near a section of the map marked Gideon Mountains.

  The Argetallams watched, unimpressed. Janir was sure she saw haughtiness every time one of them looked at her brother and now was no exception.

  “I told you that I don’t feel like it,” Karile said, just a little less confidently. The wounds on his neck and shoulder were still oozing black, he must be incredibly brave to be talking like that right now.

  Janir noticed the muscles rippling in Lucan’s arms as he gripped Karile in fury. It escaped her understanding how someone who was actually younger than her could seem so much older. Weren’t girls supposed to grow up faster?

  Carefully, Janir edged her foot toward the knife. None of the other Argetallams noticed and Lucan was busy shouting in Karile’s ear. They must all think her too weak and timid to do anything dangerous.

  “Do you have any idea at all what I can do to you?” Lucan hissed.

  “I don’t know. Why don’t you enlighten me?” Karile’s voice had gone soft and he was fast losing the bravado of a few moments ago.

  Lucan began spewing torture techniques the Lord Argetallam had taught him and Janir
was very glad she had been raised by Armandius these past seven years.

  “Then I drive another blade into your side, right here and…” Lucan was soon shouting louder than ever, but Janir ignored him to concentrate on reaching the blade lying before her. Inch by inch, she slowly reached the rock.

  Camak said something to one of the other mortahns and the two of them drifted off to the side, seemingly bored. The rest followed their example, shaking their heads, murmuring to each other, and pretending to hide it from Lucan.

  She happened to glance at Karile and saw the enchanter had gone white as Lucan extended his knowledge of Argetallam skill.

  Seeing the lack of regard from his men, Lucan’s voice rose and he smashed Karile harder against the map. “After that, I twist the blade at a precise thirty-degree angle here…” He jabbed Karile and continued his elaboration.

  Her karkaton lay on the ground. Janir wondered if using them wasn’t just a little more uncomfortable for Lucan than he wanted to admit.

  Janir’s toe made contact with the rock. Carefully, she eased the knife off the stone and shuffled it in her direction. Bit by torturous bit, she drew it in closer, taking her time so as not to draw attention with sudden moves.

  Finally, she was able to get the hilt where she could reach it with one finger—two, her whole hand. It was sharper than she expected and sliced neatly through the ropes, but nicked her wrist. Stifling a yelp of pain, the girl pulled her arms free of the ropes and glanced around for her next move. She was loose. Now what?

  Kalbo was across the campsite, out of reach. For now everyone was ignoring her, but it would take just one incongruous move to change that.

  Lucan was close enough and his back was to her. She could kill him if she wanted. There had been enough hunting trips and expeditions in her life that she knew where to stab the blade.

  Lucan was caught up in his tirade. “Once it has pierced the second layer of flesh here, I insert another blade…”

  The image of Duke Ronan’s soulless face flashed across her mind’s eye. She vividly recalled how it had felt to kill. Recollections of the horror of slaying a man and having no choice in it flooded back. Now that she did have the choice, even though she knew it might very well be the best one, Janir couldn’t bring herself to kill again. The idea was sickening.

  Besides, what would the other Argetallams do if she killed her brother? That would probably mean Camak would be in charge. Despite everything, so far Lucan hadn’t looked at her like a thing he wanted to devour.

  Janir laid the knife down. She could always destroy Lucan another day, if it became necessary. If she were to kill him now, it would be irreversible. Instead she snatched up the stone the knife had been resting on.

  With speed inspired by desperation, she jumped up and brought the rock down on the back of Lucan’s head. Like a dead bird, Lucan crumpled to the ground in a heap.

  The Argetallams snapped to attention. It took a moment for them to realize what had happened and by that time, Janir was already making for the trees.

  Karile spun in surprise as his captor collapsed.

  “Run! Run! Run!” Janir shouted urgently.

  The Argetallams were already after them as the pair dashed for the pines. Karile darted past the Argetallams and made for the trees with his robe spread out like a sail. For such a gangly figure, he had incredible speed. He outpaced Janir and she raced after him, cramped muscles and stiff joints somehow finding the strength to run.

  Into the darkness they went, fleeing blindly. The Argetallams were already chasing them and, when he came to, Lucan would be raging mad. If they were caught, she was sure he would make them pay dearly for this.

  However, there was no time to think about Lucan, she needed to think about escaping him. With dismay, she realized that she and Karile were running north, away from the lowlands and Brevia. Too bad. They would have to circle back later.

  Lucan still had the Key—and Kalbo. As much as she might hate leaving her oldest friend behind, that was another “too bad” and would also have to wait.

  Keep running—there was nothing else she could do. Karile made so much noise he could easily have been a horde of fleeing enchanters. Janir’s heart pounded in rhythm with her foot falls, thudding to the same beat. Shadows flitted under the pines as small wildlife parted for the bolting pairs of feet.

  The Argetallams were close, gaining ground with every step. It was dark and they were in a forest and that was Janir and Karile’s only advantage. Propelling herself faster, she caught Karile by his robe and jerked him behind a line of blackberry bushes.

  They were breathing so hard Janir wondered that their pursuers couldn’t hear them right away. They backed several feet from the line of shrubs, feet squelching in moist earth.

  The pair edged carefully from the trees as the stomping strides of their pursuers filled the forest. They were lucky they had been able to get this far. Janir wasn’t so sure they would make it to freedom. What had she been thinking?

  That was just it—she hadn’t thought anything. She had simply acted without any real planning.

  Karile was gripping her just as he had in the caves, trembling like a leaf in the wind. His teeth started chattering and Janir jabbed his jaw to make him stop. Although he gave her a glare that could have incinerated stone, even Karile knew that this was not the time for arguing.

  Indistinct shouts from the Argetallams and inaudible commands from Lucan met their ears. Her brother was livid, that much they could tell.

  “We must be very quiet,” Janir whispered. Karile gave her a look that showed he had been thinking of telling her the same thing.

  The shouts began to fade and the pair breathed a little easier. Janir made to take a cautious step forward. But her feet wouldn’t move. Frustrated, Janir glanced down to see that mud covered her ankles.

  Panicking, she tried to jerk her boots free, but her struggling only made her sink deeper. Glancing at Karile, she saw that the mud was almost to his knees.

  “Quagmire! We’re caught in quagmire!” Karile squeaked.

  “A bog,” Janir whimpered. “I didn’t know the Gideon Mountains had bogs.”

  “The melting snows farther north must have made them, now find some way out of this!” Karile glanced around frantically.

  Janir searched for anything that she could grab. Spotting branch from an oak dangling nearby, she stretched out to reach it. Straining, she wrapped her fingers around it and pulled. There was a snap and the next thing Janir knew, she was holding the branch, detached from its tree, and was several inches deeper in mud. There came a pop and mud showered into the air. An instant later, they began sinking at an alarmingly faster rate.

  “This is the worst day of my life!” Karile struggled vainly to free himself. “I am being eaten alive by dirt!”

  “Don’t move,” Janir ordered, struggling to maintain her composure. “Moving seems to make you sink faster.”

  “What do we do?” Karile wailed.

  Janir had no clue. No options were within reach. All their gear had been taken away or lost or else Janir could have swung something around that branch there and pulled them out…but it was useless thinking about it.

  Sensing her helplessness, Karile seemed to grow suddenly very angry. “This is all your fault!”

  “My fault?” Janir was nearly up to her waist in mud.

  “It’s your fault we escaped from Lucan!”

  “Karile, he was going to do all those things he was talking about if you didn’t tell him where the chamber was!”

  “So? I would have made something up if he wanted to know that badly,” Karile snapped back. “Maybe led him straight to the heart of Saaradan itself. The throne room, even!”

  “You really think he would be stupid enough go to the Brevian capital?”

  Karile gave her a long, measured look. “Weren’t you paying attention to what Lucan was saying? The Lord Argetallam is extremely creative. And I would rather not experience his
genius, if you don’t mind!”

  There were no real words that would describe what Janir wanted to say, so she shouted meaninglessly up at the sky. All was silent for several seconds as the pair sank deeper into the earth. Karile tilted his head sideways, expecting her to say something.

  “Our only hope is for Lucan and his men to find us,” Janir said glumly. The mud was now over her waist.

  “So the same people we just escaped from are our only hope?”

  “Yes.” Her tone was monotone to match the flat resignation inside.

  Karile didn’t seem to hold as much disdain for the thought as she did, because he immediately began calling for them. “Scary knife boy, we’re this way!”

  Janir couldn’t bring herself to call out to Lucan.

  “Do you think they can hear us, this far away? Karile wondered.

  “It hardly matters if they can. We’re dead either way.” Janir looked up at the stars, trying not to cry.

  “Why? Why are we dead?”

  “Once they find the chamber, they’ll kill us because we’ll no longer be valuable.” If what she had seen and half of what she had heard of Argetallams was true, they might actually be better off dying here.

  Either way, Lucan was highly, highly unlikely to let her live for much longer. Really, it was a wonder she had survived this long as his captive. Why wouldn’t he take the chance to eliminate his one possible—if however unlikely—obstacle to becoming the presiding Argetallam?

  “You don’t know that.” Karile was apparently attempting to find the sliver of hope, despite having been tortured yesterday.

  “You don’t know them,” Janir glumly replied.

  Karile seemed to consider this for a moment, then resumed his cry for help. “Scary knife boy! Scary knife boy!”

  The mud was beginning to come over her shoulders. She reached her arms upwards with the slim hope that anything useful might land in them. “Karile,” Janir morosely tried to spot him above the sand, “it’s been an honor and all that. We’re probably about to die.”

  She thought she should be panicking, but of all the ways she could have met her end over the past few days, this was one of the less horrible. And she was tired, so tired.

  “Oh, don’t say that.” Karile nervously attempted to brush off her statement. “I think that my toes are touching the bottom. No, wait, it’s rolling. Bugger, it has a rough side. I think it’s a skull.”

  Mud began covering her mouth. Karile said something that sounded like “Umph oomph.” He too was sinking beneath the bog.

  Soon all that was above the mud was her hands. She couldn’t breathe at all. This was much worse than riding the river out of the caverns, because she knew for certain that she would never reach the other side. She struggled to breathe, but the muck filled her nostrils. She tried to gasp for air, but only mud came in her mouth. Perhaps she fainted, because everything went black.