Lore glared at Nierne. “You have no idea who this man is. Or what he has done!”
She looked at Lore. “Yes, I do. But this is not the place to discuss that.”
In the meantime, the Temanin assassin never moved, never drew the blade Lore knew was somewhere on his person. Instead, he stared back at Lore with a resigned look on his face.
This made Lore even angrier. He stepped past Nierne and shoved the man against the wall, his blade pressed to the man’s neck. Lore stared at the assassin, his sword shaking in his hand. One slash, just one quick swipe…
Dark eyes looked at him. Calm, sad dark eyes.
The temptation to kill the man was so strong Lore could barely see through the red haze filling his vision.
“No! Captain Lore, this isn’t right!”
Somewhere inside his mind, he could feel Nierne tugging at his sleeve.
“Please, just listen to me.”
Lore swallowed. The roar inside his throat died. His hand stopped shaking, but he still kept the blade on the man’s throat. The sincere look might just be an act. This assassin would not surprise him again.
The beads strung across the doorway rattled, and Dena walked out. She dropped the platter she was carrying. It fell with a loud bang. “What in all the sands is going on? There will be no violence in my establishment!”
“Captain Lore, you don’t want to do this,” Nierne said.
Dena came to stand next to the assassin. She looked at Lore. “Drop that sword or I will call the Keepers.”
Lore took a deep breath. A heavy weight settled across his shoulders. He couldn’t do it. He could not strike a man in cold blood. Even if the man had killed others that way. That wasn’t him.
Slowly, Lore lowered his sword, but he kept it at the ready should the man do anything. Instead, the man reached up and massaged the area around his neck.
Nierne pulled on his arm again. “Come. We need to talk. All of us. Somewhere besides here. There is something you need know.”
“Nierne…” the man began.
Nierne held her hand up to him and kept her gaze on Lore.
Word, I can’t go with that man! I want nothing to do with him. Isn’t it enough that I didn’t kill him? Lore knew the answer deep inside, but he didn’t like it. He looked again at the assassin and felt the white hot rush of hatred. Lore gritted his teeth, his sword still firmly in his hand. “Fine then. Lead the way.”
The assassin raised an eyebrow and looked at Nierne. “Our rooms are upstairs.”
Dena stood by the doorway, her arms folded and a scowl on her face.
Nierne nodded and turned. She led the way across the room. Lore motioned for the man to go next, then followed, bile filling his mouth. He felt like he was betraying Lord Gaynor’s memory by agreeing to meet with his killer.
Every eye in the room followed them. They reached the stairs and headed up. “So much for subtlety,” he heard the assassin say.
“Which room?” Nierne asked at the top.
Lore opened his mouth. “Second door on the right—”
“Last door on the left.”
Nierne passed the door on the right and led them down the hall. She turned toward the last door and took a step back. The assassin moved toward the door, but Lore held out his sword, blocking the man’s way.
“You don’t really think I’ll go in there with you without first checking you for weapons, do you?”
The assassin studied him. Lore could see the fight on the man’s face. “All right,” he said finally. “If that’s what it takes…” He undid the belt around his waist and tossed the dagger on the ground. Then he held up both arms.
Lore used his left hand and patted the man down. “What’s in the pouch?” Lore asked, feeling the lump beneath the man’s tunic.
“Money and medicinal vials.”
“Take it off.”
The man lifted the cord from around his neck and gave it to Lore. Lore looked inside, then tossed the pouch on the ground beside the dagger. He continued checking the man, and he removed the dagger he found in the man’s boot. He wished he had some rope to tie the man’s hands together, but he didn’t. His sword would have to do.
Lore stepped back, his sword trained on the man. “Now, go ahead and open the door, but don’t go in.”
The assassin moved past Lore and opened the door. Lore picked up the daggers and pouch and entered the room.
The room was small. A sleeping pallet lay against the wall beneath a window, now black with the night sky. A clay lamp had been lit and placed on the low table beside the sleeping pallet. There was no other furniture, just a couple of cobwebs in the corner. He did a quick check, but found no other weapons.
Nierne stood in the doorway, watching him.
Lore turned and looked at her. “I see only one sleeping pallet.” His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. “Are you two… Has he done anything…or made you…”
Nierne gave him a puzzled look.
Lore nodded toward the bed.
Her eyes went wide, and she shook her head. “No, no. Nothing like that. I have my own room.”
“Good.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Let him in.”
Nierne turned, and a moment later she reentered with the assassin following. Lore was somewhat surprised the man hadn’t bolted. Nierne went to stand beside the pallet. The man closed the door behind him.
Lore placed himself by the wall, his sword still drawn. “All right, I came.” He looked at Nierne. “Now I want to know what is going on. What in all the Lands are you doing with him? Are you his slave or not?”
Nierne looked at the assassin then back at Lore. “Caleb is not the man you once knew, Captain.”
Caleb? So the assassin had a name. So what? Lore looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Explain.”
Caleb took a step a step forward.
Lore lifted his sword. “Don’t move unless I say you can.”
Caleb raised his hands in defense. “We don’t have much time. You probably gave me away. The Azar Keepers could be here any moment.”
“What do I care?” Lore said. A pale light caught his attention. He squinted. It looked as though the light were coming from the man’s hand—
Lore froze. No, it couldn’t be…
“So you can see it too.” Nierne came to stand beside him, her gaze on Caleb’s palm. “I only just found out myself.”
“Impossible,” Lore said under his breath. But the impossible was staring him in the face. There was no mistaking the glow on Caleb’s hand. It was the Mark of the Word.
“Yes,” Caleb said softly, lowering his hand. “I am an Eldaran.”
Lore shook his head, dazed. How could an assassin be an Eldaran? The Eldarans of old protected people, helped people. Lore couldn’t see the man in front of him doing that. All he could see was the vicious way Caleb had dispatched Lord Gaynor all those months ago. He wasn’t anything like Rowen.
Or was it possible that the assassin had changed? Lore stared at Caleb with his eyes narrowed. If the man in front of him truly were an Eldaran, then in essence the two of them were on the same side, because Caleb would be on Rowen’s side.
No, not yet. Caleb would need to prove himself before Lore would believe him. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“But it might.” Caleb looked into Lore’s eyes. “Because I know what happened to another Eldaran. The one called the Truthsayer.”
33
Rowen sat at the back of the wagon, her cheek pressed against the rough wooden planks, her knees drawn up to her middle. Her hands were bound behind her, resting against the small of her back. Beige canvas was stretched overhead, sheltering her from the blazing heat of the desert sun. The wagon moved with a rocking motion, jostling her, causing her cheek to scrape against the wood until it was raw.
She barely noticed. She just stared ahead. It was as if her spirit had left her body, leaving behind an empty shell bereft of feeling and thought. Anytime a memory came or a feeling
triggered in her heart, a protective shield would rise inside her and wash everything away until only a cold numbness remained. Because if she allowed herself to think, to remember that taste of freedom she had enjoyed for one brief moment when Lore had arrived, she would shatter into a thousand pieces and scatter across the desert sand. Only sheer will held her together now.
She couldn’t even pray. Praying would require words, thoughts, feelings. She was incapable of any.
The sun’s bright spot across the canvas roof moved from her back to her front. West. They were heading west. Toward the ocean. Toward the ship that would take her where she had been trying to go all along: Thyra. But this was not how she had imagined her journey. Not taken as a prisoner of some demon woman. Not alone.
Something moved inside her. It slowly expanded, enveloping her. She wouldn’t be alone, if things had turned out differently. Lore would be here with her. Bonded. Hand in hand with the man she loved. Facing the long dark road together—
Rowen squeezed her eyes shut. She concentrated on her breathing, measuring each one, in and out. In and out. Until everything inside her went numb again. She collapsed against the wagon’s side and stared ahead, letting her mind drift away to colorless, shapeless places.
Days melded together into one long, sandy haze. Only when the wagon stopped and the sun was still in its zenith did Rowen look up. The sun shone directly above her, a glowing orb through the canvas roof. It wasn’t evening, so they weren’t stopping for the night. The canvas rustled behind her, and a cool breeze brushed her back. Rowen turned.
A Temanin guard pulled back the flaps and looked in. For a moment, she felt sorry for him. The black uniform he wore could not be comfortable in this blasted heat. A bead of sweat trickled down his face, and his hair glistened with perspiration.
He looked at her. “Time to go.”
His words bounced off the invisible barrier she had wrapped herself in. She stared at him dumbly. What?
He placed a knee on the edge of the wagon and heaved himself in. The wagon tilted down with his weight. “I said, let’s go!”
The command finally penetrated her mind. Rowen struggled to her knees, her hands still bound behind her. She turned toward the door. The Temanin guard, apparently tired of waiting, grabbed her by the arm and dragged her across the wagon floor and through the canvas flaps.
Her body dropped to the ground, but he jerked her back up. Any sympathy she had felt for the guard vanished. She stood upright and wrenched away from his touch. She could feel hostility roll off of him like heat waves. Her arm tingled where his hand had been. If she were normal, there would have been bruises. Instead, her skin remained unblemished.
The sun beat down, pounding her with its rays. Rowen squinted. A familiar sound reached her ears. The sound of the surf and the cry of seagulls. And there was a salty scent in the air. She turned. Sandy hills stretched beneath a brilliant blue sky. Not one tree in sight. Desolate and barren.
But beyond the sand dunes and tufts of grass spread the Illyr Sea, bright blue-green. Gulls called overhead, and white waves rippled along the shore. A ship lay anchored along the single pier jutting out into the waters. Her head began to throb from the intense light and heat.
The guard gripped her arm again.
Rowen turned and looked at him. “Please don’t—”
Slap! Her face swung to the side, and a ringing sound filled her ears. Her cheek stung, and the taste of blood spilled into her mouth. She felt the corner of her lip with her tongue and tasted more blood.
“Listen here, you foreign witch! You don’t speak to me. You don’t do anything. I am only here to make sure you get on that ship. You do that, and nothing more happens. Understand?”
Stunned, Rowen nodded. None of the guards had said or touched her during the trip here. Then again, she had been more of a living corpse than a real person.
But his slap had done something to her. There was now a crack in her wall.
The sight of the sea widened the crack within her. She couldn’t hold back the torrent of hurt, fear, and grief much longer. Everything she had buried now swelled, gripping her from the inside and crawling up her throat.
“Get a move on!” one of the guards shouted and pulled on her arm.
She staggered forward along the dirt path down to the pier. The ship rocked gently on the blue-green water. Blue-green. Like Lore’s eyes…
Her breath came faster and faster. Memories began to flash inside her head…
Lore stood before her. It was her first morning in the White City. They were in the glass-domed training room. His sword was poised, and he asked if she was ready… The day Lore reached down and grabbed her hand for the first time. Her fear, then exhilaration. She could touch again… Lore walking into the Guards Quarter in his dress uniform and the way the tabard brought out his sea eyes…
Each memory fractured her spirit. She hardly noticed when they reached the pier. The guards escorted her across the bobbing wooden planks. Her body moved apart from her mind, diving deeper into her memories…
Lore finding her in the field outside the city after that cold, dark night when she had used her truthsaying power. It was then when she’d first felt the heat of his love… Standing on the walkway in Avonai, high above the crashing waves, his face drawing near until she could feel his breath on her lips… Lore kneeling before her inside that hovel Drake had kept her locked in. Never had she felt such hope as when she’d realized it was really Lore…He had come all the way to Azar to find her and rescue her. To bond with her. To share her burden…to love her despite her scars. And his kiss…
Rowen blinked back tears and stepped onto the ship. It was smaller than Drake’s, a narrow thing with only three sets of sails. The deck was stained in a couple of places, dark spots that almost looked like blood. A handful of crewmen stood along the railing, dressed in drab clothing, with their hair shaved close to their head and one with a gold hoop in his nose.
The door below the quarterdeck opened, and out stepped a tall, lanky man. He looked just like the other men, his dark hair shaved near his head. Thick, black eyebrows curled over brown eyes, the color of tree bark. His shirt was a pale white, and he wore a black jerkin over the top. Gold jewelry glittered around his neck.
One of the Temanin guards stepped away from Rowen and approached the man. They talked in quiet voices.
Rowen watched until the ship rocked beneath her. A wave of nausea rushed over her. She bit her lip and looked toward the horizon. The ship swayed again. Her insides twisted as if they were trying to escape, and bile filled her mouth. Not again.
A hand grabbed her. Rowen turned and found one of the shaved men, his hand clamped across her arm. To her left, the Temanin guards were already crossing the plank back onto the pier. The man who held her didn’t say a word. He just pulled her toward the door beneath the quarterdeck.
She barely had time to duck beneath the low doorway before stumbling down the stairs. The air inside the ship smelled like vegetable rot and fish. She almost retched right then, but she clamped her mouth shut and swallowed the foul taste in her mouth.
Deeper they went into the dark innards of the ship. Only slits of light from above lit the area. Barrels and crates stood on either side of the narrow aisle through the ship. The man led her through the cargo hold until they reached the place where the ship walls came to a point. Rowen could hear the waves breaking on the other side of the wood, and she shrank back. Only these boards separated them from the vast sea.
Chains rattled in the dark. The man jerked her around, and cold metal clamped down on her wrists. Paralyzing fear gripped her, forcing a choked scream through her lips. “Don’t leave me,” she cried. “Please, don’t leave me here—”
The man turned, and in the dim light Rowen, watched him disappear amidst the cargo.
The ship shifted, and waves slapped the side of the ship. Rowen shook so badly the chains rattled against her body. She slipped to the floor. Something small scurried past her, ca
using her to jump and scream again.
The ship gave a hard shudder, throwing her forward. The chains caught her wrists and wrenched her arms behind her. Rowen gasped in pain and shuffled back to the wall. She curled her legs beneath her and pressed her cheek to the boards. The ship swayed now at a steady rhythm. They were sailing away.
A tear dripped off the tip of her nose. “Oh, Word, I can’t do this.” She wanted to give up. She wanted to lie down and sink into the darkness and never come back. She hurt, both inside and out. She had given all she had. There was nothing more to give.
The ship swayed again, this time bringing on her seasickness full force. Rowen locked her jaw and took two deep breaths. The bile sank back down but continued to boil inside her throat. It was only a matter of time. She looked around for a bucket. A small one sat by the crates stacked nearby. She stretched out her leg and caught the lip of the bucket with her heel. With a couple of tugs, she brought the bucket close. Just in time.
She heaved until there was nothing left inside. Then Rowen sat back, panting. She closed her eyes and lay there as if dead. Her thoughts surged forward. Thyra. Why was she being sent there? What master had Velyni spoken of? Was it the Shadonae?
If the Shadonae truly were Velyni’s masters, they were more powerful than Rowen had imagined. And if so, what could she possibly do to stop them? Why her?
I am with you, Daughter of Light.
Rowen sat up and looked around.
You are not alone.
“Word?” she whispered.
In the moment of your greatest weakness, you will know My power fully.
Her heart fell. This wasn’t her moment of greatest weakness? She had felt none of the Word’s power so far. Nothing. And it was going to get worse?
You are not alone.
Rowen curled up against the wall. A sobering thought filled her mind: Is this what it meant to be a Follower of the Word? Always running but never reaching the goal? To travel in darkness and have nothing more than a hope for the light at the end? To give up everything?
In her heart, she knew the answer. Yes. But was she strong enough?
Son of Truth (Follower of the Word) Page 34
