by Lara Morgan
Roaring, it pulled a crossbow from its back and let an arrow fly. It struck Marathin in the neck and she screeched as the iron stuck fast in her hide. Poisoned, she whispered, and Tallis felt the truth of it rushing through her veins. Not enough to kill, but enough to make her useless.
Drop me down, he commanded, and she obeyed, lungs heaving, her great tail ploughing a rut in the earth as she skidded to a halt. Tallis jumped free of her back, rolling onto his feet as he felt her fall into sleep. The Scanorians had reached the barricade despite Haraka and the hiss of arrows filled the air. But he had no time to think; the Alhanti was running toward him, its sword raised high. For a brief moment, Tallis was frozen in fear. Its eye gleamed yellow. Torchlight ran along the blade of its weapon. It was close to seven feet tall. Then it roared, ‘Arak-ferish!’
And all fear left him. His power welled. Ancient words rose bitter and harsh to his tongue and he threw down his bow and pulled the long knife from his belt.
‘Tharak!’ he shouted — die — and ran forward to meet it.
The sword came at his head and he ducked low, hearing the blade cut the air above him. Everything seemed to slow; his heart, his breath. The darkness filled him. He came back up and spun around to face the monster. Its face was a rictus of hate but before it had time to strike again, Tallis reached out with his mind, coiling the dark energy around its mind, stopping it mid-swing and slashing his blade through its abdomen, splitting muscle and baring bone, moving faster than he should have been able, his power giving him inhuman strength.
The Alhanti roared in shock and fell to its knees, intestines spilling to the ground. The sword dropped from its hand and Tallis stepped behind to stand over it.
He gripped its crest and whispered in its ear, ‘Arak-ferish,’ and slit its throat. Blood poured black over his hand, and as it died Tallis’s senses spun away. He thought he saw Azoth’s glaring, furious face and he whispered to the god who had created it, ‘I come.’
A maniacal energy filled him and he threw the body to the ground. Frightened screams came and he turned to stare back at the villagers under attack. Blood coated his hands, but he didn’t notice as he began to run. The cries of the people and the Scanorians were muted as he pounded across the uneven terrain, barely feeling his feet touch earth. Haraka swooped and screeched, his wings painted red in the torchlight, swiping at the Scanorians. They cowered but kept fighting, unaware their leader was dead. Tallis ran fast and came upon their backs as silent as a shadow. The first five were hewn down before any knew he was there. The next saw only a wraith like death come for them.
With a bloodied knife he cut his way through the Scanorians, power flowing through his veins like water in the springs — hot, sulphuric and without end. The Scanorians began to scatter, finally realising the Alhanti was gone. They ran and Tallis struck out at any that came too close. Then finally all was quiet and he stopped and stood staring at the villagers, who were too afraid to approach him. The blade quivered in his hand. Attar took a step toward him, his gaze wary, his sword held at the ready.
‘Clansman, it’s over,’ he said.
Tallis turned to him then looked at his blood-covered arms.
Tallis? Shaan’s frightened whisper broke through the fog in his mind. Darkness started to fade from his eyes.
Arak-ferish, he sent back. I’m awake, and he dropped the knife in the grass.
Chapter 7
Al Hanatoha, the Wild Lands
Azoth was watching slaves rebuilding a wall when he felt the shiver in his being. One of his children slain. In a rage he picked up the closest slave, a young boy, and held him above the ground by the neck. The other slaves screamed in fear, dropping bricks as they scampered away from him.
‘Stop them!’ he said to the Alhanti overseeing them, and the sound of the whip striking stone sang, making the slaves freeze.
Azoth sought to control his anger, feeling the frantic pulse of the boy in his grip as he brought the small dark face close to his own.
‘He kills those I love,’ he whispered. ‘Shall I repay him? Life for life?’
Half choking, the boy cried silently, urine running down his leg to drip on the ground. The Alhanti laughed and Azoth dropped the boy. ‘Luckily for you I am not as merciless as my descendant,’ he said.
Another of the slaves sought to crawl to the boy’s side and Azoth glanced at the huddle of people. ‘Keep fixing the wall or I will end him,’ he said, then beckoned to the Alhanti. ‘Come with me.’
The anger had almost left him by the time he entered the temple. Alterin was sitting with her back against the wall, staring at the steel that kept her chained. Nearby the sac containing the clansman and the serpent quivered, the skin stretching and reflecting in the dim light.
Azoth crouched before her. ‘And how is my seer?’ he said. ‘Is she tired of this constant vigilance?’
Alterin didn’t answer and Azoth sat back on his haunches. ‘You may find it interesting to know that your friend Tallis has become a killer.’ He watched her closely but saw no reaction. ‘The unfortunate result of his heritage. He has used his power to slay one of my own. I wonder …’ He twirled the strand of her hair about a finger. ‘Will he use it to kill your clansman when he is reborn?’
The seer flinched and he saw agony behind her eyes that she sought to hide.
‘Perhaps that would be a fitting punishment for him, to have to face the fate he left his friend to,’ he said.
Still the small woman kept her gaze fixed away from him, insistently defiant. It was beginning to annoy him.
‘Have you tried to seek help from your spirits, little one?’ He swivelled to follow her gaze. ‘Have they spoken to you of future paths?’ He leaned close to whisper in her ear. ‘Defy me if you wish, but I know you are weakening.’
‘You won’t kill me,’ she said. ‘You need me.’
He gripped her shoulder, digging his fingers into a cut made earlier so that she gasped. ‘Think hard, seer. We made an agreement. I did not kill your clansman and yet still you have not honoured your part.’ He took her chin and forced her to look at him. ‘Travel your spirit ways, search for my siblings and you will live to be with your clansman.’
‘He is already gone. Find them yourself.’ She tried to twist out of his grip but he held her tightly.
‘I think not.’ He stood up. ‘Take her to the square and convince her,’ he said to the Alhanti. ‘And make sure there are plenty to see her punishment.’
The Alhanti grinned, a feral light in the serpentine cast of his eyes as he unhooked her chain from the wall and dragged her to her feet. ‘Move!’ He pushed her forward and led her from the temple.
Azoth watched until she disappeared. He knew she was not going to break today. She was holding out for some reason, resisting what she knew she must eventually succumb to. Was she trying to allow his siblings more time to find each other? Most likely. She probably believed that together they could actually defeat him. But they did not have the Stone and there was no Amora now.
He walked across the temple floor and stared at the Stone as it hummed to itself. These would be the last Alhanti it would create for him. He needed to keep the rest of the serpents for his army. Perhaps when it was done he would move it to his palace, keep it close to him, just in case. He held a hand above it, feeling the warmth of its energy fill him. He had suffered so long without it, had yearned for it, so why now he had it did he still not feel whole?
He removed his hand and stared into the Stone’s black light, listening to it. Being here again, the soft rain falling outside, the call of the pharon bird, made him remember times lost long ago, things he knew he should not think of but to which his memory turned despite his vow. Hollow need sang in him and he whispered her name: Niobe.
Mortal girl, dark haired, sleek as the river. She had been so young and yet, compared to now, so had he. He remembered her whispers as her fingers trailed over his skin, inhaling her scent, the curve of her waist. But she was gone and the one
who might ease his pain was not here. He had let her escape him.
Shaan.
Niobe.
He closed his eyes and saw again the pale cream balconies of the palace by the river, the sun, brighter then, sparkling on the roil and tumble of the waves spreading from the boat poling the water. He smelled the blossom on the air and heard Fortuse calling. Her hair shone golden red in the sunlight and there was love in her voice then. No disappointment. No disdain.
You cannot love a mortal, brother.
His hands convulsed into fists. He still remembered the sound of Niobe’s screams.
Paretim, Fortuse, Epherin, Vail. Thief, torturer, betrayer, executioner.
They had taught him what death meant. Azoth forced his eyes open and stared at the Stone. They had lived to regret it. Died to regret it, and would do again. It was always the same.
Weariness dragged at him. How long had he been alone?
He listened to the emptiness of the city around him. There were others nearby; serpents, Alhanti and slaves cowered outside the palace, but none of them could ease his pain. Too long he had been listening to the sound of silence. What did it feel like to be loved? He couldn’t remember.
Taking a long breath he willed himself to relax, slowing his heart rate, tracking his breath and feeling the heady hum of the Stone as it sought his essence. Night was falling; Shaan would be sleeping soon and he would travel the soundless dark to her. Send her a dream, be with her in her dream. He had sent her fear last time and she had fought him; what would happen now if he sent her love?
Chapter 8
Shaan had been summoned by Nilah but she did not want to go. She lay in bed, ignoring the knocking on her door and listening to the rain. In a vase on her bedside table a single orchid quivered as a breeze came in through the open window. It was the second gift from Balkis in two days. The first had been a phial of namoi perfume, the glass so finely cut it reflected prisms of green light around the room.
But it was not Balkis’s presents that disturbed her. Something had happened to Tallis. It had woken her after midnight, a rush of energy strong enough to pull her from her dreams, and she had had the sense of him filled to overflowing with a power stronger than he had possessed before. It had frightened her badly. What had happened to him out there at the isolated village?
She rolled onto her side and stared at the floor, wishing Tuon was back. Not only was she now worried for Tallis, but the dream he had pulled her from had been, once again, of Azoth, and she longed for a friend to confide in.
She could not grasp the details but knew the dream had been vivid. She had vague impressions of a river touched with sunlight, a building of pale stone and the sense of Azoth wrapping his arms about her waist, his lips on her neck. Most disturbing of all was that she had not been afraid of him; she had welcomed his touch. She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes, but the image of him would not leave her. She got up, crossed to the water basin and splashed her face again and again.
The knock came on her door again, louder this time. ‘Shaan!’ Sister Lyria called. ‘You will be late.’
‘Go away!’ she shouted, drying her face. Gods, how she wished for a place of her own.
‘You must come out.’ The Sister opened the door and stood with hands on hips in the entrance. ‘The Guardian has summoned you. You cannot ignore her.’
‘I didn’t say you could come in.’ Shaan threw the towel on her bed.
‘This is the house of Amora. All who live here are welcome in all her rooms,’ Lyria said.
‘How convenient.’
The Sister’s expression darkened. ‘Get dressed. The cart is waiting.’ She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Shaan pulled her short nightshift over her head and threw it on the floor, then slipped into a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, laced at the front with a soft leather tie. Let the Sisters complain about her attire; she would not wear one of their ridiculous gowns. Brushing her hair back from her face she twisted it into a knot at the nape of her neck and fastened it with a bone pin, then strapped her small knife to her hip and left.
The ride to the palace was quick. There were few people about in the heavy rain and the driver was able to keep to the higher ground of the roads and out of the mud until they reached the cobbled lanes of the traders’ quarter and finally the palace.
When she was admitted to Nilah’s rooms she found the Guardian once again sitting on her couch with a mountain of papers spread about her.
‘Shaan, thank the goddess!’ Nilah dropped the papers on the floor. ‘I was going mad surrounded by brainless twits.’ She glared at the young woman who had replaced yet another servant until the girl backed out of the door, muttering apologies.
‘You’ll never keep anyone if you treat them all like that.’ Shaan walked over to survey the mess.
‘That’s the idea.’ Nilah stood and thrust a glass of cooled wine into her hand. ‘I can’t stand them snivelling around my feet all the time.’
‘They’re told to snivel around you.’ Shaan put the glass down on the table.
‘Yes, that’s why you are so refreshing. Come on, abuse me. I can’t stand it if you’re nice.’ Nilah sat down again on the soft cushioned lounge and watched Shaan as she sat across from her.
‘Your leg looks like it’s getting better, you’re moving faster, and your arm as well, you’re not holding it like a stuffed chicken anymore.’
‘Thanks,’ Shaan said dryly, and surveyed the papers. ‘What is it this time? More orders from the council?’
‘Of course. I have a meeting with Lorgon and the rest of the Nine later today.’ She frowned. ‘There has been much talk of my mother’s murderer being brought to account.’
Shaan didn’t reply. Rumours had been rife in the city about the diplomat from the Free Lands charged with poisoning the Guardian. Goods from the Free Lands had started to be passed over in the marketplace and she had seen more than one heated discussion about it. ‘What will you do?’ she said.
Nilah took a swallow of wine. ‘I have to make an announcement. A public declaration of his execution.’ She put her glass down. ‘The council wants to declare war.’
Shaan stared at her. ‘With Azoth coming they want to start a fight with the Free Landers?’
‘You don’t understand,’ Nilah said. ‘He must be punished. And the Free Lands mercenaries are causing havoc with our trade, but their senate does nothing about it.’
‘If you start a war,’ Shaan said, ‘how will we fight Azoth when he comes?’
‘Azoth, Azoth, Azoth,’ Nilah muttered. ‘I’m sick of hearing about him.’
Shaan wanted to shake her. What would it take to make her see that the returned god was a greater threat than anything the Free Landers could conjure?
‘Nilah,’ she said, ‘what are you going to do?’
But the Guardian ignored her question, looking at Shaan with a shrewd expression.
‘What?’ Shaan said.
‘I have an idea.’
‘About what?’
Nilah rose to her feet and began pacing in front of the window, heedless of the papers that crackled under her bare feet. ‘You are living at the temple, aren’t you? And while Tallis plays with Rorc you have nothing to do. Isn’t that right?’ She stopped pacing to face Shaan.
‘You mean nothing except visit you?’ Shaan said.
‘Exactly,’ said Nilah in triumph. ‘Do you see what I’m saying?’
‘No.’
‘You shall work for me,’ Nilah said.
‘Work for you?’ Shaan repeated.
‘Yes. I’ve told you how stupid these girls the council keeps assigning me are. They are idiots, they know nothing and make my skin crawl with their bootlicking. But you treat me like an equal. You question me. And you can’t tell me you aren’t sick of living with those Sisters.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Besides, the temple is too far from the palace. It takes you too long to get here every time.’
�
�What are you saying?’ Shaan said.
‘You shall be my assistant. I will pay you and you will have rooms in the palace.’
‘Your assistant with what?’ Shaan said. ‘I can read fairly well but I don’t know anything about politics or the council.’
‘Precisely,’ Nilah said, ‘which is why you will be so good at it. You can tell when they aren’t making sense.’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, it’s a good idea. I will organise someone to collect your things immediately.’
‘I haven’t agreed yet,’ Shaan said.
Nilah picked up the glass of wine Shaan had put down earlier and held it out to her. ‘You can’t refuse me, I’m the Guardian.’ She smiled. ‘Besides, you know I’m right. You saved my life once, Shaan. Let me repay you.’
Shaan wasn’t sure she trusted the young woman but how could she refuse? Nilah was, as she said, the Guardian. And it was a chance to get out of the temple and have some coin in her pocket.
She took the glass. ‘All right, but I won’t be a servant. I need to be free to come and go as I choose.’
‘You will be as free as any of the palace ladies,’ Nilah said, and chinked her glass against Shaan’s. There was an expression in her eye as she sipped her wine that Shaan wasn’t sure of.
‘Don’t look so worried,’ Nilah said. ‘You’ll like it here, you’ll see.’
***
It was midday by the time Shaan was able to get away. It had stopped raining, but the streets were thick with mud and more clouds filled the sky so she kept the cart’s curtains closed, leaning back against the cushioned seat as the driver took her back to the temple.
She worried about her dream, about Tallis and her new position at the palace, and was not prepared to see Balkis standing at the well near the back door talking to one of the men who ran the stables when her cart pulled in.
She peered at him through the slit in the fabric as the driver climbed off his seat.
The temple’s rear courtyard was not large. Other than the stables, the only structure was the well, sunk barely twenty feet from where she sat. Balkis’s blond hair was tousled and damp and a shadow of stubble covered his jaw. He laughed at something the man said and nodded, his smile lighting his face. For most, the damp rainy weather rendered them less attractive, but it seemed to do the opposite for Balkis and Shaan sat back in her seat, suddenly nervous.
