"Don't talk to them, Carchel," an ax-wielding Ayamin called back. "Fasten the chains, then get away."
Naatos refrained from rolling his eyes. These Libyshans had a slight advantage for now.
"So…" QueQoa said, his expression dark. "She's not a traitor. We don't hate her. We weren't hunting her. She is an adulteress though, yes?"
"No," WroOth said. "She had you cut out her elmis because Naatos was trying to eliminate someone he thought was a rival but who wasn't."
Naatos cast a glare at his brother but remained silent. It had seemed like a good plan at first. He'd even sealed the memories perfectly. Yet somehow she had figured out that the sveti existed and was intended to devour Shon. At some point he needed to determine how.
"Not a rival," QueQoa repeated. "But he said that this Awdawm wanted her."
"She refused him though. He was before she and Naatos were locked," WroOth continued. He sighed as if bored. "Shon. Or whatever. Anyway, she didn't want him to die. Naatos didn't want him to live. So they compromised. She promised to stay away from Shon. Naatos promised her he wouldn't kill Shon and then made a sveti in secret to devour Shon. Somehow, and no one knows exactly how since precautions were taken, she found out. Which resulted in lying, elmi slicing, dark words, and great rage."
QueQoa narrowed his eyes at Naatos. "You broke your promise to her."
"I had my reasons."
"You locked with her when she was in love with someone else and then broke your word." QueQoa shook his head. "That was rude and…unbecoming."
"It is not my fault that you were not involved in these discussions—"
QueQoa scowled. "What does my being involved with the conversations have to do with you locking with a woman who had someone else? I just don't understand why you would act that way. I know this was arranged, and I am sure there is more I don't yet know, but even with an arranged marriage, that doesn't mean that everything else is forgotten. Especially not with the Neyeb. We thought she was dead for years. I'm assuming no one told her or else you'd have mentioned that." QueQoa angled away, his expression grim. "It is disappointing. I understand that this was important and there was much that could not be fully stated, but this just does not seem the best course given your purposes."
"You would not be alone in that thought," AaQar said quietly.
QueQoa scoffed. "I do not know much about politics nor do I like them. But this…" He set his arms akimbo and sighed loudly.
Naatos avoided expressing further annoyance. QueQoa was clearly in one of his more assertive and questioning moods, and he did not want to have this conversation in front of the Libyshans. "Things did not go as planned," he admitted. He hated dwelling on what had happened with him and Amelia. It could not have gone more badly if he had planned it that way.
"I should probably apologize to her. Thank Elonumato I did not find her this morning." QueQoa folded his arms, then stopped as the chains pulled taut. He let them fall back before himself rather than snap them. "I could teach her how to fight. She has some basics, but she doesn't know how to handle herself around dragons."
"If you feel so compelled," Naatos said. QueQoa wasn't wrong though. It annoyed him to have that information brought out, and it wasn't as if AaQar and WroOth hadn't tried to talk to him. But still…he could never have predicted how terribly this would have gone. Things had gone terribly for a very long time.
WroOth lifted his shoulders. "On the bright side, the Libyshans have betrayed her far more atrociously. So that means we're winning."
"It isn't meant to be a competition," QueQoa muttered.
This next hour would not pass soon enough. Naatos could easily guess the elder commander's game. It was nothing more than an inconvenience. If Vorec was smart enough to play this well, he would have Amelia positioned away from the Tue-Rah and make them pass through the Tue-Rah one by one. If he was restrained, this would take place without gloating or allowing any of them to be in the same room together. However, the elder commander had not had them separated from one another so far, and the chains used to bind their wrists were ridiculously inadequate for the job. Their weapons lay in a large pile several feet away, as if that made any difference.
If the elder commander brought all four of them into the chamber, it would be easier for Naatos to implement his plan. He and his brothers had handled worse situations than this. But even if it came down only to one of them, there were enough little tricks, particularly in a room as dimly lit as the Chamber of the Tue-Rah.
The only potential problem was that he had overextended his strength a little. Not that that would be much of a problem. AaQar may have been right about his showing off too much with the creation of the creatures. Gift to Libysha though it was. He rubbed his bicep, refusing to be concerned. He could easily shift several times more.
A slight frown creased his brow. Why had that thought even occurred to him as a problem? Even if things with the elder commander and this mild hostage situation required more strength than anticipated, it wasn't as if he couldn't make several more transformations.
His instincts warned him something was wrong.
A message came down the line of Ayamin. A check to ensure they remained contained.
Odd.
Naatos frowned. His unease increased. The elder commander would not risk killing Amelia before he got them through the Tue-Rah, even if Amelia became exceptionally difficult. But that too was unlikely. He was fairly certain he knew how Amelia intended to play this as well. She had been much too cooperative to not have a plan of her own. No. That wasn't the issue.
AaQar caught his eye. "Taselmi?" His eyebrows lifted slightly.
Naatos gave a slight nod.
"I still don't understand certain things," QueQoa said. "Why did she get rid of her scent?"
"Sweet falona, don't ask me." WroOth rested his hands on the top of his head. "At least we know the scent now, and unlike the pepper, it's distinguishable and doesn't create a massive aura. There's a new form we should model. Something that doesn't just breathe fire. Something that becomes fire."
"Like a phoenix?" QueQoa scoffed. He shook his head mockingly. "Easy."
"It's easy because there's a body and the channeling mechanisms. No. I want full fire. Scales of fire. Eyes of fire. Organs of fire. Everything."
QueQoa started to speak, then stopped, held up a finger, and fixed WroOth with a questioning gaze. "Corporeality is not optional."
"Maybe we make it optional." WroOth sighed and set his arms akimbo. "What is taking so long? Are they crawling to the Tue-Rah? If Amelia is behind this delay…" He let his voice trail off with an impatient huff.
AaQar remained as composed as usual, his hands resting naturally before himself as if the chains were merely decorations. "Patience."
Naatos eyed the entrance to the temple, then took in the battlefield. The tyrannoks grazed through the field, tearing up chunks of long yellow grass like oversized cows. Their ferocious demeanor was markedly less when they exercised their omnivorous appetites on grass rather than corpses. From this angle, there was little sign of the battle or its impact. The pterosaurs would likely seek out the mountains beyond the Mallakish Range. The environment there was most like their natural one, and they would settle in nicely.
The warning returned, tightening within his stomach and spreading up through his shoulders. Something had gone wrong. It was getting worse.
Concern rippled through the Ayamin. He caught one word: spiders.
"What sort of spiders?" one of the Ayamin asked. "She rides in on a bruin and screams about spiders. That doesn't make sense."
"The skinchangers had some sort of big spiders though," said another.
"But we killed those. Burned them all out," another offered.
"Probably just crypt weavers."
"They're terrifying enough if they drop on your face."
"What's going on?" Naatos called out.
The Ayamin immediately went silent, watching him with cautious eyes.
Suddenly the ones nearest the entrance ran inside. "What's going on?" Naatos demanded again.
"Baru! Gather the Ayamin. There's something in the chamber," a lanky messenger shouted. "It's trapped them inside. The Neyeb is screaming about spiders. Some of the big ones must not have burned. The elder commander says to prepare measures to prevent the spiders' escape."
Naatos snapped the chains off his wrists before the Ayamin finished speaking. His brothers did the same as he lunged for his spear, turned, and raced toward the Chamber of the Tue-Rah.
43
The Enemy of My Enemy
Vorec's grip on Amelia slackened. Amelia twisted free and seized the gun. Already the spiders had covered more than half the door, sealing it in the thick webs that would burn skin on contact. Vorec swore loudly as Amelia bolted away.
Bile crept up her throat. Her hands shook. The terror threatened to overcome her. "There are hook-fanged spiders in here!" she shouted. "They are sealing the door! Get everyone out of the temple now."
Vorec stared at them in disbelief. "That is not possible."
"It is," Amelia snapped. "What weapons do you have? They're coming after us next. They won't kill us immediately. They like to torture their prey." She backed toward the Tue-Rah. "Now come on. We've got to—" She pulled back as two more spiders slid down on long webs from the arches over the Tue-Rah and stood on either side of the pedestal.
Amelia closed her eyes as a wave of nausea and fear nearly threatened to undo her. Vorec drew his sword, but its metallic shing sounded pathetically inadequate. Clenching her jaw, Amelia took stock of her situation. She'd rather have had Cassio with her now than Vorec. But what did she know for certain about killing these creatures?
The hook-fanged spiders spread out slowly, half moving into a crescent formation, the other half moving up the walls and into the darkness. Amelia had seen Naatos spear them, and the silver puma had slashed them. Her gun might have enough power to take one down with a couple shots, and it was better than her daggers. But if it took more than two or three bullets per spider, assuming there were no others, she didn't have nearly enough bullets.
Vorec growled deep in his throat. He swung the sword around, pointing at the nearest one. "Get back."
Banging sounded on the other side of the door. "Sir, we're going to break the door down," a muffled voice shouted.
"No. Nothing's getting through this. Assemble the rest of the Ayamin," Vorec commanded. "Barricade the entrances and exits. Prepare to set the temple on fire. If these creatures escape, Libysha has no chance. Take all necessary measures."
The spider nearest Amelia hissed. Its eyes slanted toward her, its furred mandibles clicking and clacking. If terror and stress made their prey taste better, she had to be gourmet. She stepped back closer to Vorec. "I don't want you within arm's reach of me, but if we get separated, we don't stand any chance at all."
"We burned them," Vorec said, louder this time. "We set them on fire!"
"They're survivors," Amelia said sharply. "They're hunters and survivors. They probably crawled through the air shafts."
"They're too big," Vorec retorted. As if that statement mattered. He swung at another spider that darted closer. It hissed and fell back.
"Regular spiders can fit through spaces smaller than their bodies. No reason these'll be any different." Amelia's voice shook. She glanced up at the ceiling again. The footsteps above, skittering and scraping, warned her that there were more out of her sight. If they dropped down, then—She swallowed hard. "Vorec, I'm going to shoot the one with the white band near its jaw. If it charges, be ready."
Vorec nodded grimly.
Amelia forced her hands to steady and squeezed the trigger, aiming at those horrible, horrible eyes. The bullet exploded outward, sinking into the spider's face. It shook its head, clicking its mandibles faster. The other spiders chattered and chirped, clicking and clattering their teeth. Then the wounded spider screamed. The sound sliced through Amelia like a blade. She cringed but fired twice more. The spider lurched forward. Dead.
The others shrieked and rattled their fangs.
"I think you made them angry," Vorec said.
Amelia swallowed hard. "I guess they're about to get a lot angrier." She shot the nearest one in the face.
* * *
Matthu staggered back into one of the side halls, unprepared for the heat and power of the pain. Instinct controlled him more than will. The hot blood poured over his hand as he clamped it tight over his stomach.
His legs trembled with each step he took. That wasn't what was supposed to happen. Everything darkened around him. Reaching out with his other hand, he felt the wall.
How could anything hurt this much? When he closed his eyes, he saw red. Bile crept up his throat. He shuddered, halting. Where was he? Everything was stone and cold except his hand and stomach. A few steps more, and he collapsed.
Though he fought to choke down the pained cries, a few sputtered out. The waves of pain, hot and sticky, intensified and fell before spiking again, so strong they stole his voice.
A soft irregular thudding drew close. "A valiant attempt, Matthu." Kepsalon appeared from the dark hall, leaning heavily on his crutch. "We got here as quickly as we could."
Matthu peered up, squinting. "I didn't keep the shield," he said. The words became a warbled gasp as he let his head fall back.
"Matthu!" Footsteps pounded closer.
Matthu recognized his brother's voice and forced his eyes open. "I—"
Shon cut him off and looked to Kepsalon. "What do we do?"
Kepsalon was already fiddling with something in his large bag, balancing himself carefully on his good leg. "Get the chainmail off. That bullet went straight through it, and the metal surrounding the entry point will be especially sharp and jagged." He knelt beside Matthu, wincing as he did. "Here. You'll probably recognize this after you helped Skelt prepare something similar for Amelia." Before Matthu could respond, Kepsalon thrust a small flask against his mouth. An odd sugary and herbal taste reached him immediately. He swallowed as fast as he could, desperate for the pain to end.
Kepsalon nodded then to Shon. "Let's get the chainmail off. The Talbokian will be joining us soon."
Matthu was vaguely aware of them lifting his arms and carefully removing each layer of his armor and the chainmail. He still struggled to breathe, and the gurgles of pain continued to force their way up. Tears stung his eyes and rolled down his cheeks.
"You're going to be fine, " Shon said. Yet the panicked manner in which he spoke and the wide terror of his eyes warned Matthu otherwise. "Don't go getting even with me and dying yourself, all right."
Kepsalon placed a large bikro bandage over Matthu's wound. "Apply pressure here." He then turned his gaze toward Matthu and smiled slightly. "You are going to be all right, Matthu. Your journey is far from done. For now, you just need to keep calm." He said it so serenely that Matthu would have believed him if it weren't for the fact that this was just like the prophecy the Machat woman gave. There were two broken, and he was the youngest. He was going to die. But that wasn't the most important thing.
"Vorec is going to kill Amelia," Matthu sputtered. "I tried—"
"Your task now is to remain calm and rest, just as it is your brother's to stay with you." Kepsalon focused on Shon meaningfully before smiling at Matthu. He patted his arm gently. "You were very brave. Though this would have gone better if you had worn the shield."
"It was cracked," Matthu said weakly. "I thought the prophecy was fulfilled.
"A shield might have helped here," Shon admitted.
Kepsalon smiled wryly. "A prophecy can have more than one fulfillment. It seems this may have been a double."
Matthu winced. The pressure from Shon's hand became more uncomfortable as the medicine eased the pain of his abdomen.
"I don't…I don't…" Shon looked to Kepsalon desperately. Sweat beaded his forehead, desperation in his eyes.
"You can speak frankly, Shon," Kepsalon sai
d. "Your brother already knows what you fear."
Shon hesitated a moment longer. Matthu shrugged. He knew exactly what his brother was thinking. Shon cleared his throat, his face death pale. "That medicine isn't going to be enough," he said softly. "It doesn't fix that sort of damage. We don't have that kind of medicine."
"Yes," Kepsalon said. He settled down beside Shon and Matthu and folded his hands across his lap. "But there are other medicines, and we will not be staying here long."
"So he's not going to die?" Shon asked.
"No." Kepsalon shook his head. "There is much ahead of your brother."
"But I failed." Matthu tried to hold back more tears. "I didn't keep my vow."
"You didn't fail." Shon adjusted his grip. "You did everything you could, and I'm proud of you. I should have been right there with you, but I was too much of a fool. So you've got to stay alive and get well so you can remind me about this."
Matthu's face twisted. "You—" His face reddened.
"Carefully." Kepsalon patted his shoulder. "It would be best if you didn't talk for now. Just breathe. Even though you will be healed, the pain exists for now." He held up a finger. "Let me tell you another prophecy, similar to the first. The vows you took, you will keep. Small in form but fierce in spirit. Your loyalty has guided you to a path that has a conclusion beyond what even you imagine. You must simply hold on and hold fast."
Matthu nodded. The deep wave of pain lessened, fading back into oblivion. He swallowed hard and forced a smile. "So this means I'm not going to get any taller?"
Kepsalon chuckled and lightly patted Matthu's knee. "I'm afraid not."
"But the other prophecy." Matthu watched Kepsalon closely. "The woman. At the end, the two broken, the youngest born, the wounded—"
Kepsalon shushed him. "That prophecy was for me. My time comes to an end soon."
"Your time?" Shon scowled, turning his attention to the old Machat. "You're a Machat. You're ages from dying."
"I've been living on borrowed time for decades now, and the day has almost come when I must fulfill my most painful of promises." Kepsalon clasped his hands over the top of the crutch. His gaze softened, an odd sadness dimming his usually bright eyes.
Princess Reviled Page 41
