by J. C. Owens
* * *
Nalon listened to Daren’s words with grim intensity, and his expression showed that he believed Daren completely. Who more than the rebels would know the horrors perpetuated by this monarch?
It made Daren more at ease, to know that their small group was not alone. For the first time he began to believe that there might be a sliver of hope.
Nalon nodded at the end, drawing a deep breath before he hesitated and glanced at Lasrem.
“There is one here who would help us in ways I had not foreseen. I had not expected…” He cut off, lips thinning. “Your coming here is odd, the timing, as though it was gods’ driven.” He shook his head. “I will go speak to this man, see what he says, and how much we can tell you of what is occurring.” He glanced at Daren, his sympathy evident. “True mates are sacred to the old ways, and this man believes in those ways completely.”
Nalon rose to his feet without further speech, turning away from the small fire that kept them warm and disappearing into the shadows of the far side of the cave, where many people had gathered, listening to what Daren had to say.
Daren fairly itched with the need to act. He glanced at Lasrem, but the commander was staring after his brother with a frown.
Olnar leaned closer, laid a hand over the back of Daren’s neck and shook him gently. “A little patience now can make all the difference in getting Andon and Ceris out in one piece. You are practically vibrating with what you are feeling. Breathe, Captain.”
Daren obeyed, taking deep, shuddering breaths, his body rocking a little, mindlessly, needing the movement to control the fury that seethed along the edges of his entire being.
They could not wait long. They had to move…
Nalon returned with a man at his side, a man who swept back his hood, the firelight revealing his features.
For a moment, Daren did not react, confused, before he leaped to his feet, reaching for his sword, his riders mirroring him. “You know who this man is? He would betray you!”
Nalon held out a hand, trying to calm the situation. “It is not what you think.”
Lasrem had risen to his feet as well. He stared at the newcomer, gauging, then gave the smallest of bows.
“Your Highness. It has been many years. Is it finally time to openly rise up against your brother? If so, we are at your back.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Long after Byrant had left for supper, Andon heard the door open, but he did not have the strength to respond. His body ached and burned, while the promise of agony from the collar dissuaded him from moving at all. Even breathing was a measured, calculated thing, keeping his movements shallow enough to avoid jostling the collar.
He heard footsteps cross the ornate carpet, and then the sound of boots upon the stone floor where he lay, chained to the wall, the chill of the stone beneath him leeching into every inch of his body.
He heard an indrawn breath, a curse, then someone crouched before him, working feverishly upon the shackles that bound his hands.
He blinked and forced his hazy vision to focus.
Vatner.
His first impulse was to attack—before the collar sharply reminded him of his current position and how that was not at all wise.
His old nemesis looked nothing like his old, smug self. His face was pale and drawn, his teeth gritted as he worked at the lock with a small narrow instrument.
Andon squinted. A lock pick? Apparently Vatner had more of a checkered past than Andon could have imagined.
Vatner glanced at him, grimacing. “When you have a brother such as I do, you learn a great many methods of escape.”
Andon didn’t want to think of what that meant. He had enough troubles of his own, and nothing in him wanted to connect to Vatner, and certainly not to sympathize with him.
One wrist broke free, then, finally, the other. Vatner turned to him, staring at the collar with such a wealth of emotion that Andon had to wonder if he had suffered from the object in the past. Certainly he seemed to know just how to loosen the complicated buckles. With incredible delicacy and gentleness, he pulled the dangerous collar free.
Andon winced as the wounds met the air, the burn and sting making his breath catch with the force of it.
Vatner reached behind him, pulling forward a pack he must have brought with him. He drew out a length of bandage and a small tin of what looked like salve. Vatner dipped a finger into the salve, then met Andon’s eyes squarely. “This will kill the pain for a while.” Then he waited on a response, as though Andon actually had a choice.
Confused but willing to take any chance he could, Andon slowly nodded.
Vatner nodded in return, then gently smeared the salve over the puncture wounds. It stung like fury for a moment, then the pain seemed to flow away, still there, but distant, blessedly numb. Andon blinked in astonishment.
“An old recipe my mother created,” Vatner said. “She was a healer and well versed in plant medicine.” His tone was fond, but with an edge that told Andon she was no longer alive. It was hard to even imagine this man with a mother. Andon had always colored him as though he were a demon, without a history of his own.
“I brought the instructions with me in case we need more. She would be proud that I am using it at all…” Vatner grimaced as though at old memories before he took a length of bandage and began wrapping it with careful precision around Andon’s throat.
Andon tensed. His memories of fingers choking the air from him remained all too vivid, and this man had never anything but cruel before.
Vatner glanced up from his work, eyeing him for a long moment. His lips thinned and he returned his attention to the bandage. When he finished, it was perfect, neither too tight, nor too loose.
Vatner swiftly packed away the salve, then reached out a hand to Andon. “We have to move swiftly. There is little time.”
Andon eyed the offered hand, then curled his lip. “I should trust you? After all you have done to me?”
His old nemesis grimaced. “I’m all you’ve got right now. Please listen. Byrant is with the king at the moment. I offered the king something he wants, and now he is considering taking you from Byrant. You can imagine how well that went over. But I cannot guarantee how long he will be gone. I have to get you out now.”
Andon fought his revulsion and took the offered palm. Vatner pulled him up, and then set a steadying hand under his elbow as he swayed, his senses swimming, his body flinching from all the hurt he had endured.
“I managed to ensure that Ceris did not receive her dose this morning. The bribe cost me dearly, but if we can get to her, she should be moderately aware, and with a little luck, capable of flying. My Larth is waiting in the wing house, ready to go. If necessary, you can double with me until Ceris gets her bearings and strength back.”
Andon stared, trying to get his senses into some sort of order, enough to decipher what in the hells was going on here.
Vatner shook his head. “I don’t have time to explain. Suffice to say that I have to get out of here as much as you do. What I offered the king…” He swallowed hard, a haunted look in his eyes. “I can’t stay for that. I can’t.”
Andon wanted to protest, pick this entire confusing mess apart for understanding, but Vatner’s urgency seemed to have affected him, because he felt the same sense of time slipping by. Precious time.
“You try anything and I will feed you your balls.” He tried not to think of how weak that threat was, with him barely able to stand.
His nemesis just nodded as though he believed him. “Come. Let’s get you and your grif back to your mates.”
Andon eyed him in astonishment, but did not protest further. This might be a lie, a trap, but sadly, it was the best chance he currently had.
Their passage through the servant’s tunnels was frustratingly slow. Andon fought desperately to make his body move as needed, but coordination eluded him and in the end, he had to accept Vatner’s arm around his waist in order to speed things up. He grimly ignored the way he wanted to f
linch away from the hated touch.
If this led him to his beloved Ceris, he would use anything at all. Even Vatner.
Vatner drew up short, and Andon tensed.
Ahead of them, a man stood, sword in hand, half hidden in shadow.
“You are so predictable, Vatner,” the man said, stepping into the light. It was Habnin. “I knew what you would do. The king will be pleased when I offer him your head. Not even your brother is going to save you from this.”
Andon felt despair overcome him. They had been so close. He was too weak to…
Vatner gestured sharply, and suddenly a small blade blossomed in Habnin’s throat. The young man made a sound of confusion, one hand rising to touch the metal edge as though in disbelief. He sagged to his knees, bloody spittle escaping his lips.
Andon took a step forward almost unconsciously. Vren’s brother… He had watched him grow from a boy…
Habnin toppled to the side, eyes blank and wide with the shock of his death.
Vatner made a sound of satisfaction before guiding Andon forward once more. On the way, he leaned down and yanked the blade free, wiping the blood upon Habnin’s shoulder and then sheathed it swiftly.
Andon stared at him, silent with shock.
“What?” Vatner snarled. “Did you think I was going to let you kill Vren’s brother? You and your stupid morality… It would have destroyed you and cost us our one chance to escape.”
Andon could find nothing to say in return.
They encountered no one during the rest of their journey. Apparently Vatner had chosen a time when the servants were not going to and fro about their business on this level of the palace. If the man had grown up here, he would definitely understand the flow of activity within the royal residence. Andon could only feel a swell of gratitude, something he fought down grimly. He still had no idea what motive Vatner held in this matter. It all made no sense.
When they reached the partially underground area that housed Ceris, he felt his heartbeat quicken and his hope rise despite his distrust. They moved out of the tunnel and into the passageway with caution, Vatner alert and with a hand on his sword.
Andon eyed the weapon, wondering if he could possibly wrest it from the man’s control…
Vatner hissed under his breath, pushing Andon into an alcove and pressing tightly against him, sword held at the ready.
Andon almost panicked, but he could clearly hear voices in the corridor, making the reason for Vatner’s sudden action clear. It took everything within him to stay still, stay silent, with his enemy’s body warm against his own. Harsh memories rose in his mind. He gritted his teeth and fought the past down with grim determination.
Ceris. He was so close now. He had to believe that anything was worth getting to her, anything at all. Even this.
There were laughter and jokes echoing down from the unseen men, a stark contrast to Andon and Vatner’s rigid posture, but luckily the laughter seemed to be headed away from them, becoming more distant by the moment.
When it was once again silent, Vatner eased his posture, taking a deep breath before carefully peering out of their protective niche. Moments later, he stepped out, gesturing to Andon.
It was only a few more steps until they reached a padlocked door that led into a grif chamber. Andon’s heart leaped.
Vatner once more picked the lock with surprising finesse and speed. He would have done well among the street thieves Andon had known so well.
When the lock fell away, Vatner slid the well-greased bolt back and gestured Andon forward. With a pounding heart, he stepped into the chamber, uncertain what he would find, the image of how he had last seen Ceris burned into his memory.
His fear turned into joy as the black form curled within the nest raised its head slowly, uncertainly.
He held a finger to his lips as Ceris saw him. He could see the effort it took for her to remain silent as her wings unfolded, one catching him and sweeping him up against her.
She laid her massive jaw against him with exquisite gentleness, crooning under her breath. Happiness burst over their link, flooding them both with strength. Andon clung to her, fighting back tears. It felt like years had passed since he had seen her, not merely two days. Never before had they been separated in such a manner, and if Andon had his way, they never would again.
It was only then that she seemed to sense his pain. Immediately, she hissed and her head snaked out toward Vatner.
“No!” His voice was louder than he would have liked, his hand clutching at her neck in an effort to halt her actions. “He’s helping, Ceris. Helping get us out.”
She halted, a hand’s breadth from Vatner’s face. For his part, the man showed remarkable courage in not flinching back from her furious attack. He was pale-faced and fearful, but he had not retreated.
“It was not me who harmed him this time, Ceris.” Vatner’s tone was amazingly gentle. “I have come to get you both free.”
She hissed again and retreated to wrap around Andon, her gaze fierce and untrusting upon the other grif rider. Andon could not blame her, he felt the same.
Vatner pulled the pack from his shoulder and rummaged around it, finally handing Andon a wrapped object, which when uncovered proved to be a finely crafted dagger.
“This blade was my grandfather’s on my mother’s side. I would appreciate if you took good care of it. It is the only thing I have left of him.” The quiet dignity in the statement threw Andon completely, so that he could only stare at the man before gingerly accepting the weapon.
“It is beautiful,” he stated, turning it over in his hands with appreciation. “I will give it back to you as soon as we are free.”
Vatner nodded, not seeming at all concerned that he had just handed a man who hated him a weapon.
Stranger and stranger. Andon was half convinced he was in a fever dream and none of this could possibly be real.
Vatner met his gaze. “I was wrong about true mates… Wrong about so many things.” He seemed to want to say more, but his voice choked off, and pain flashed in his eyes before he looked away again.
Andon found the strength to nod, but could give no more than that. Forgiveness, if even possible, was still a long ways off.
They eased out into the corridor, and Andon watched Ceris with rising concern. She seemed alert enough, but like him, her body did not seem to completely obey her will. She was frighteningly unsteady. He could only hope that with movement and what little time they had she could improve enough to fly. If not, he would not leave her. Not for anything, even freedom.
“It is after the noon meal, so everyone is resting. It is very hot and humid here in the capital, so it is normal for people to rest after eating, even the servants.”
Andon nodded, his nerves strained with every step they took. If Habnin had figured out what they were doing… It would only take one person to sight them and raise the alarm.
Amazingly, their luck held and they slipped into the wing house that Vatner led them too. Within its cool confines, Vatner’s grif, Larth, lay waiting, saddled and ready, his golden eyes alert.
Vatner stroked Larth’s mane, the affection he showed so very different from what Andon had expected of him. He had never really had the opportunity to watch the other man around his grif, and the care he was displaying seemed completely at odds with Andon’s perceptions of him.
Andon gritted his teeth. He knew far too well that what a person displayed to others could be completely different from what he was like with those he cared for. He had just not expected it from someone like Vatner, who was turning out to be far more complicated than he had ever imagined.
It made no difference. If the man could get them free, then he would go along with this gladly and deal with the consequences later. He just needed to make it to Daren…
Ceris’s head snapped up, her lethargy sliding away, her eyes fierce and bright. She called, a long, undulating sound that echoed in the confines of the wing house.
Vatner swore, his ex
pression turning grim and tight. “Shit. Everyone and the dogs will have heard that.”
Andon laid a hand upon Ceris’s shoulder, but she was rigid, listening with sharp intensity.
There was a roar of sound that fairly vibrated the ground under their feet.
Andon’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Gretnel.
He glanced at Vatner and they shared a look of wonder. “That will bring out the entire guard.” Vatner was already leading Larth toward the exit, almost trotting, his speed only emphasizing the seriousness of the situation.
They would have only moments before the whole place exploded into a frenzy, moments that could make the difference to their escape—or recapture.
Vatner halted at the entranceway, scrambling up Larth’s leg and settling himself into the saddle even though he had to crouch down to avoid the ceiling.
Andon copied him, slow with his pain, holding tightly to Ceris’s mane. He could only pray that his strength would hold out for the wild ride this was promising to be.
There were shouts from the on-duty guards as they exited the building. Andon glanced their way, then returned his attention to the skies as Ceris extended her wings.
Something flashed over them, a gust of air in its wake, and the guards fled. It was quite obvious that they had no training whatsoever in grif-related combat. Their lack of courage was understandable as Andon saw the fury that was Gretnel. With his sharp talons extended fully and great jaw open, displaying the full complement of fearsome teeth, Gretnel was a beautiful sight. This was a fully adult male grif in full battle mode.
It was clear Gretnel would show no mercy to those he faced. They had been labeled enemy, as much as any wyvern. Behind him, other grifs, in perfect formation, swept over the massive palace courtyard, their passage making the ornamental trees sway sharply.
“Now!” Vatner shouted. Larth and Ceris sprang upward, wings beating fiercely. Andon swallowed hard as Ceris faltered, listing to the left, unable to rise.
She fell, hitting the ground hard. Andon could not maintain his grip, sliding over her neck and rolling off her wing. He lay there, winded, before forcing himself to his feet and pulling Vatner’s dagger free.
