by Ronie Kendig
There must be a sharp corner or switchback ahead.
“Here,” Chwik said, extending his hand.
Tili took the stone light and let it rest in his palm. Slowly, a glow arose from the stone. He held it out, toward the darkness. Light bloomed, chasing the black farther into the cave. A knock against his knuckles warned him the cave was growing smaller. “Had to be a cave,” he muttered as he went to all fours, the stone light carefully tucked in his right hand.
A few feet in, the opening banked right. Tili turned the corner and lifted the stone light again. “D’wyn?”
Silence and darkness stared back.
With a huff, he continued in. Even if this was the wrong way, he had to get his man back.
“Tili!”
He looked up and found eyes staring back. “D’wyn!”
“This way. Hurry.”
That gave him the motivation to move faster. “What did ye find?”
No answer came. He glanced to where the others were following, then continued. An opening gaped at the end, and he unfolded himself from the tunnel. Holding out the stone light, he swept the large area.
A small boy sat on the lip of a large boulder. Blankets gathered around him. His hand shifted in the blanket, but his eyes were on Tili.
“He won’t let me come closer,” D’wyn said.
Tili crossed the space in four strides. “Who are ye?”
“They call me Nagbe,” he said, his voice quiet. Almost hoarse.
Tili folded his arms. “Why are ye in this cave, Nagbe?”
“’Tis where I belong.” Serene brown eyes held Tili’s. He pushed stringy black hair from his face. Yet still held that left hand beneath the blanket. The boy’s eyes shifted to the hole, where Tili heard the others coming through. The boy must be a part of the trials. Must know why they were here.
“A lad?” Darielle said, coming to Tili’s side, staring at Nagbe. “Poor child.”
“Think he knows where the jewel is?” Chwik asked.
“Hello there,” Darielle said to the boy, approaching him. “Do you know of the jewel we must find?”
Now-somber eyes held hers. But he didn’t speak.
Tili turned to Chwik. “The book.”
The twig dug it out and passed it to Tili, who opened it and scanned the wording again. Nothing stood out, though he was sure it contained a clue of some sort.
Darielle pressed in close—too close, batting those eyes at him. “What does it say?”
He extended it in front of her, gaining some distance. “Read it.”
With a pout, she squinted at the page. “ . . . in the heart of the dark maw amid dirt and grime—”
“Sure fits this,” Tokar said, looking around.
Nagbe watched them, curiosity in his brown eyes. But his upper arm muscle flexed as he fidgeted with something in his hand. A shiver ran through his thin body. The blanket moved only slightly.
Tili went to Tokar. “Ye have the jerky?” He ignored the frown Tokar shot him before handing over the jerky from the saddle bag. “Hungry, Nagbe?”
The boy straightened—but only slightly. Another tremor raced through his spine.
“Cold, too,” Tili said, eyeing him. “I’m glad we have warm clothes and have been moving. We are not as cold as ye must be.”
“What are you doing?” Tokar asked.
Ignoring the question, Tili held up the stone light. “Here.” He tossed the stone light to Nagbe. “This has warmth. It’ll help some.”
“But we need that!” Darielle objected as the light sailed through the air.
Nagbe threw up his arms to catch the stone light. And in the process, flipped the blanket away. There, in his lap, glowed a red orb.
Darielle’s gasp shot through the cave.
Brows knotted, Nagbe scowled at Tili. “’Twasn’t right, throwing the rock so I’d reveal it.”
“And how much more cruel yer hiding what ye knew we were after.”
“Those who seek must use wisdom,” Nagbe said, his voice even, but perhaps tinged with a remnant of anger.
“Please,” Darielle pleaded. “We need the jewel. Would you please give it to us?”
Brown, bored eyes stared back at her again.
“Please,” Darielle said, nearly in tears. “We can’t finish without it.”
“What would it take to open your heart?” D’wyn asked. “Abiassa says we should all open our hearts to the plight of others.”
Heart. Book in hands, Tili watched as he thought of Aselan. He closed the book, infused with an idea. Strode between the others. Stood before the boy. “Nagbe,” he said, holding out his hand. “Would ye journey with us to the crest?”
“Why would I?”
“Because I see the cold ripping through yer body, and I can ensure ye receive shelter and food.”
“You only want the jewel,” Nagbe said, holding it up in an open palm.
“Journey with us,” Tili said. “At the top, once ye see my word is true, ye can decide about that.”
“But I am unable to walk,” Nagbe said.
“Then how did you end up here?” Darielle asked.
“I was left here,” the boy said.
“I will carry ye,” Tili said. “Come with us.”
Nagbe held Tili’s gaze for several long seconds. “Thank you, sir. I would be glad for some sunshine.”
Tili bent toward the boy and lifted him from the boulder. Nagbe clutched the jewel to his chest as Tili strode toward the opening. It was rough, getting the boy up the narrower sections of the tunnel, but once they were in the open, Tili hoisted him onto his back. “Tokar, tie him to me so that my hands are free for the climb.”
They used the rope and crisscrossed it over their backs, with the boy’s arms wrapped around Tili’s neck. Nagbe had a solid fifty pounds on him, adding to the strenuous climb, but Tili kept moving.
“There’ve been no whistlers,” Chwik said. “Unless one happened while we were in the cave.”
“This challenge wasn’t particularly challenging,” Darielle commented.
Tokar stayed close, making sure at all times that Tili had what he needed and offering assistance where required. They soon found their way onto a footpath that arced up to the crest of the hill. Soon the top of the nine stone columns came into view. With each step the unit took the columns seemed to grow bigger. Taller.
“Blazes,” Nagbe whispered as the Council of Nine became apparent on their stone chairs.
Tili froze. Something is wrong here . . .
Tokar uttered an oath. “A Contender’s already there.”
At that moment, Agremar Ro’Stu came into view, standing on a small platform before the Council. Three of his four stood off to the side, chatting idly.
“And look,” Darielle said, their unit slowing when they reached the top. She pointed to where Tortook Puthago approached the nine with three of his four.
“He lost one, too” Chwik mentioned.
“Aye,” Tili muttered, a strange chill tracing his spine. He hesitated, loosening the knot of the rope at the center of his chest. Darielle assisted, removing the rope and coiling it, as Tili sorted what he saw. What he felt. The thrum in the air. “Something’s wrong.”
Tokar came to his side, hefting his bow. “I feel it, too.”
“Feel what?” Darielle pointed toward the platform. “They’re waiting for us.”
As if confirming her words, shapes bled from the trees behind the raised surface.
A wall of fire shot up around the Council members. Chaos ensued, the Council leaping from the platform.
“Run! Run!” one of the younger members shouted. “Incipients!”
53
Mount Medric, Hetaera
Chaos. Fiery, terrifying chaos.
With the boy in his arms still, Tili shrank down the mountain. “Back,” he spat to his unit. “Back down—”
Like an effigy, a shape went screaming away from the platform, engulfed in flames. So, this . . . this is what he’d bee
n sensing. The chill. The strangeness.
Shrieking momentarily masked all sound as someone near the columns sent up a whistler ten times the intensity of the ones used in the trials. Trying to warn the city, most likely. The sound cut off abruptly when the Councilman died.
Darielle cried out, turning away, tucking her head. Tokar held the girl, fury in his expression as he looked to Tili.
“Here.” Tili passed the boy to Tokar. “Go—take them back down. Flee to the Citadel. Don’t look back.”
D’wyn glowered. “Run? We should fight!”
“And what? Die? They are Poired’s army—would yer blade win against dark fire?”
D’wyn swallowed. “He said—this wasn’t supposed to happen.”
Shock stunned. Then rage tore through Tili. He grabbed the Kergulian by the tunic and hauled him off his feet. “Who said? Who did this?”
“Dromadric.”
“Tili!”
He turned, ready to drive his fist through D’wyn’s face, and found one of the Council members running toward them. “Hurry—west side. There’s a hidden tunnel. It’ll take—” The Councilman’s arms spread wide. His mouth opened, eyes bulging with shock as fire engulfed him.
Tili drew back.
Darielle screamed as the Councilman died in a heap.
Tili homed in on the row of four incipients advancing, using tactics that were fluid and focused. “Get them to the tunnel,” he said to Tokar, eyes locked on the enemy.
“But—”
“Go!” Though he had not been trained in the Citadel, Tili had spent countless hours in the Black Forest, teaching himself. He stretched his arms forward and with his right hand, he pulled back as if drawing a bow. He listened to the thrumming in his gut. Held it, the vibration growing . . . growing . . .
Release.
Tili plucked the air, flicking three fingers, which sent a volley of heat and fire across the outcropping. At the last second, it split into three.
The incipients crumpled.
“Good,” someone said beside him. “They aren’t used to the way you wield, so you have an advantage.”
But Tili’s gaze was on the sea of red sweeping across the peak of the mountain. Where were Haegan and his Drigo-summoning abilities when they were needed? There were too many enemies. Too few good guys.
“There.” A hand stretched in front of him toward a handful of Sirdarians, focusing on Puthago’s unit, all huddled in a circle, holding each other. “Together. Move east toward the tunnel as we go.”
Tili spared a glance at the accelerant, surprised to find a younger councilman—Kelviel, if he remembered correctly. Shoulder to shoulder, they advanced, wielding, drawing the enemy’s fire. Kelviel motioned with his hand, making a mouth that opened and closed.
A body, burning, turned to a smoking corpse.
Tili swallowed. Regretted it, tasting the foul stench of burning flesh. A shower of fire vaulted toward them.
Tili dove to the ground, rolled, and came up with bolts flying. Shooting one after another at the attacking horde. Though his unique method helped him gain ground, there were too many. For every two he took down, a half-dozen more seemed to bleed from the mountain in their red uniforms. Fifty? There had to be at least fifty advancing. They’d flow down the mountain and straight into the heart of the Citadel. Right into the city. There would be no stopping them.
A dark figure emerged in the flames. He looked as Dirag the Desecrator must have looked when Baen faced him in that impossible alley.
“Onerid,” Kelviel panted. “Poired’s right hand.”
“Let’s chop it off,” Tili muttered, sending a spray across the platform.
Kelviel placed his hand over Tili’s. The heat intensified. Flared to twice the breadth and temperature, startling Tili.
Shouts came from behind. It sounded like Tokar and Darielle.
“Stay focused,” Kelviel warned. “If we lose—”
The air before him warbled like a clear pond rippling beneath the wind’s breath. Tili was lifted off his feet. Flipped backward. He hit the ground hard, groaning. He clawed onto his knees, staring through a sweaty fringe of hair at the advancing incipients.
Movement, white and innocent against the fury of the attack, caught his attention. Darielle rushed straight at Onerid.
“No,” Tili breathed, looking between the girl and the general. And only then seeing the small boy in the middle.
Nagbe was on his knees, holding his palms out at the infamous general. Knees! He wasn’t paralyzed! He was an accelerant, a ruse in the trial. But he was a boy. And he’d get hurt.
“No!” Tili pushed, staggering to one foot. Then the other. He pitched himself across the distance.
“No, it’s too late,” Kelviel warned.
But Tili launched himself. Each step painful. Torturously slow. He locked onto Nagbe. “No! Back!”
Darielle skidded to a stop, uncertainty and terror etched into her ache-streaked face. She scrambled away, heading in the same direction as the others.
Pawing the air. Each step a dig of his feet into the earth. Anything to propel him faster. His heart slowed to an infinitesimal pace, which felt much like what his feet had taken. “Nooo!”
From Onerid came a sea of fire. Racing Tili. Daring him to reach the boy before the flames.
Tili threw out a halo, praying with all the embers he had that it would protect the boy.
A breath.
The fire surged.
Another step.
It warred for supremacy.
Nagbe’s gaze dragged to Tili, his mouth open. His young face smudged and surprised. He looked for help. A flicker of hope in his eyes, clinging to the promise Tili had uttered in the cave. To see him to the top. To get him to safety.
Tili vaulted into the air.
The flame struck Nagbe. Focused now. Powerful. The boy flipped, twice. A strangled shout-cry clawed up Tili’s throat. The boy hit the ground with a sickening thud.
The agonizing, surreal pace snapped closed.
Tili slid across the rocks and dirt. Sucked out the air, forbidding the flames to eat the boy’s body. He scrambled the last few feet to the limp frame. “Nagbe.” Snatching the boy up, he was on his feet.
Onerid roared.
Though Tili hesitated, meeting that fury-engulfed gaze for a split-second more, Kelviel and another Councilman swept in front of him and faced off against the general. “Behind the rise,” Kelviel shouted.
Tili hesitated for but a second. Stumbled backward. Nearly tripped over Puthago’s charred body and those of his team. He squeezed out the reality and pushed himself over the knoll, clutching Nagbe tightly against his chest. “Hold on,” he grunted to the boy.
Tokar was there, watching. Waiting. “Hurry!” He waved, holding what looked like a door of grass. Beneath the cover, inches-thick iron.
Hefting the boy into a better hold, he heard the fight raging as he hurried through the smoke. He had no sooner cleared the opening than Kelviel and the other dropped in behind him. “Nagbe,” he said, glancing at the boy’s face, half blackened from Onerid’s strike. But his eyes were closed. Was he breathing?
They secured the door, welding shut behind them. “No time to stop. Go,” Kelviel breathed. “All the way down.”
“Take them. I’ll adjust the dials,” the other said.
“Abiassa guard you, Aoald,” Kelviel said as he turned to Tokar and Tili. “We must hurry.” Light bubbled around them, evidence of the man’s wielding and guiding them. Rumblings and tremors shook the shoulder-wide tunnel as they hurried down . . . down . . . down . . . the mountain.
They slipped through a couple of passages, Tili’s heart in his throat. Just had to hurry, get Nagbe to a pharmakeia. He’d be well. Had to be. I will not lose him. Not the jewel of a trial, but the jewel of a precious life.
What felt like a solid twenty minutes later, the ground leveled, and they approached the next door. The boy wasn’t breathing. Hadn’t twitched a single muscle. Just keep
going . . .
“No, this way,” Kelviel turned toward an empty wall. He pressed his hands in two corners and the wall surrendered. Hissed back. “Go.”
They entered a small, hidden passage that led to the right, then banked hard left. After one more corner, they stood on rickety stairs overlooking a cavernous space.
Structured. One section lined with rows of long boxes. Another with shelves of jars. “The catacombs,” Kelviel whispered. “We’ll be safe here. At least for a bit.”
Tili slowed, navigating the treacherous steps, realizing they were as steep as his thoughts. As the ledge hope had leapt from. Grief had thrown him from. Nagbe . . .
On the lower level, he stopped short of where a small gathering waited, close enough to be heard, but far enough not to be seen. Tili slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. Pulled Nagbe to his chest. Crushed him hard. Choked back tears, swallowing against the rawness in his throat. He slid to the dirt floor and buried his face against the boy’s neck.
Grief yanked a sob from his chest. He gasped. Surrendered. A sob. Another. Hand trembling, Tili cupped the boy’s face. Remembered his eyes—bright once they’d reached the peak. His foolish, naïve courage at facing Onerid.
Nagbe’s face blurred beyond his tears.
I failed you.
54
Legier’s Heart, Northlands
Hiel-touck! Was he supposed to work with her in the same small space? He would not begrudge the need for the wheeled chair, but it was so cumbersome in a cave, whether a sleeping cave or working. He could not argue—she needed a duty. And he would as soon have her here with him as he would anywhere she might be . . . bothered.
Ingwait. This was her doing, and not to ensure he caught up on his records. But to implant Kaelyria in his path. Conveniently, right before Etaesian’s Feast.
Aselan sat back in his chair, paper in hand. He tapped a pen against his lip, scanning the document.
Kaelyria bent over a table to his right, transferring numbers from receipts to a ledger. She’d been working quietly for an hour now.
He, on the other hand, had stared at the same document for most of that time. And still had no idea what it said. With a huff, he flicked it onto the table. It fluttered to the corner. And slid off.
