by Lara Morgan
‘Bring her.’ Azoth’s voice was harsh with anger and she heard him walking away.
A hand closed around her upper arm, pulled her up and she dangled like a dead thing, like nothing, as Jared considered her. He could have dragged her — she expected he would — but instead he picked her up, carrying her in his arms like a child, hard new-formed muscles pressing against her cheek as he followed Azoth. Alterin looked up at his face. Her vision was blurred still from the questing and he did not look at the burden he carried, but she thought she saw a muscle tic along his jaw and briefly, so briefly it may not have happened at all, a shudder ripple through his body.
***
Paretim was stroking his sister’s hair as she slept on his chest, breathing in the ancient scent of flowers long since gone from the world, when Fortuse woke with a scream. Her head jerked up, smacking him in the face as she leaped to her feet, her eyes wild, swirling many colours.
‘Foul slave!’ she shrieked.
‘Sister,’ Paretim said, his nose aching, ‘stop!’ He got to his feet and gripped her arms, forcing her to look at him. ‘Tell me what you saw.’
Snapping out of her rage as quickly as she had entered it, Fortuse eyed him with malice. ‘Let go of me, brother,’ she said, twisting in his grip. ‘I felt you … touching me.’
He let her go so suddenly she stumbled back. ‘As if you have not sought my touch before.’
Behind them Epherin laughed and stepped out from behind a tree. ‘Sister, so fickle.’ He shook his head. ‘Why don’t you kiss and make up?’
She smiled at him and, going over, stroked his face.
‘Where have you been?’ She pouted. ‘That thing was searching for us again.’ She rubbed herself against Epherin. ‘He could not protect me.’
Epherin smiled and pushed her away. ‘Whore,’ he said, and Fortuse smiled.
Paretim could not help being amused. Always she had played them off against each other. Such was the strength of her natural desires; if there were not others for her to toy with she turned to them. He took her when he felt like it — after all, it was rare to find another who fulfilled them as their own kind did — but now was not the time for her games.
‘Who was it?’ he said. ‘The slave girl again?’
‘Yes.’ Fortuse dropped her seductive stance, a feral glint in her eye. ‘What will we do?’
‘Nothing. She is no threat to us.’
‘But what if Azoth is using her to check on us?’ Epherin said.
‘Of course he is,’ Paretim said. ‘He can’t risk connecting with us himself, even with the Stone.’
Fortuse whimpered at mention of the Stone. ‘Miss it,’ she whispered.
‘I know.’ Paretim drew her into his embrace. ‘We will be with it again. But first we must find our brother. Vail is strong; he will help us.’
‘And he is close,’ Epherin said. ‘I went to the village; he has passed through there.’
‘I told you no,’ Paretim said. ‘No wonder his slave found us.’
Epherin shrugged. ‘I was hungry, brother.’ His eye swirled and Paretim saw the remnants of souls consumed in them. Now there was another village left behind them, like a trail. A town full of people who worshipped and waited for their return. Souls hungry with need. The more folk they turned, the more Azoth would feel them. But he reined in his anger as he contemplated his brother. Epherin could not help it, the people he had created had long since vanished from these lands; they had felt or found no trace of those black-haired ones with the pale skin. His shadows, Epherin had called them. How could he judge his brother for trying to fill that gap?
Paretim held out an arm. ‘Come, brother,’ he said, and Epherin stepped into his embrace, his narrow features intensifying as Fortuse reached forward and kissed him long on the mouth. Paretim felt her desire stir and she rubbed herself against his thigh. He put his hand in her hair and pulled her head back, ripping her lips from his brother’s and kissing her himself. She tasted of times past, of hot days and ancient promises. When he raised his head his eyes were dark blue and full of anger and desire.
‘We must find Vail,’ he said to them. ‘When we are four again, we will be strong enough.’
‘We will get back the Stone,’ Fortuse said eagerly, her eyes shining like a child’s.
‘Yes.’ He smiled. ‘We will recover our birthright.’
***
Deep in the darkest places of a valley to the south Vail was counting the stars. He felt the others, burning together as they did across the ether, but he wasn’t ready to see them yet. He rolled his massive shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side, feeling the muscles pull. The wide planes of his face were set as always in quiet speculation as he methodically pulled the bones out of a fish and set it to roast over the fire.
He liked it here in this cool, narrow valley. Here there was a deep, still pond that reminded him of the lake he had once lived by, dark waters redolent with something old and hidden. He had a wall of stones at his back, solid and ancient, and hillsides rising high around him. The tree trunks were gnarled and scarred as they struggled to grow among the rocks. And here it was quiet, the deep silence of nature left to its own course. He knew that once some of his creatures had lived here in the small caves in these hills, and more of them further on, but they had been hunted out, become something else; they were now bitter and full of hatred for those who had expelled them. Pity — he had liked their small, dark bodies, their silent fishmonger ways. He was not happy with what his younger brother was turning them into.
He turned his fish slowly over the fire, crisping the skin. He was content for a while to be alone before he joined the chaos of his siblings. He was almost disappointed Azoth had woken them by drawing out the Stone. Now the yearning would start again, the hunger. He could feel it already calling to him, the strings that tied him to the Stone tightening. He thought he must have been content before he woke, a lone Hunter wandering the vacant places of the world, avoiding those who might anger him to violence. It had been a long while since his fists had crushed bone. He sighed and took the fish off the fire, extracting a hot morsel and chewing it slowly, savouring the delicate flesh.
Chapter 25
Tuon could not sleep. She rolled over and lay on her side, feeling the ground hard against her hip through the thin hide floor. She could just make out the shadowy form of Shaan lying on her back in the faint glow of moonlight that shone through the slit in the tent opening. She was muttering something softly in her sleep.
Tuon wondered what she was dreaming about. Azoth? Balkis? It had shocked her how thin Shaan had become. She had always been slim but now she was thin, too thin, and there was a look in her eyes that had not been there before. The only description Tuon could give it was hunted. It made her afraid for her friend. She sat up, pushing the blanket off, suddenly needing to see the sky.
Outside, the air was cool, the ground damp beneath her bare feet. The small fire from earlier was now only glowing embers and ash. One of the Hunters was guarding the camp behind the semicircle of tents. He nodded to her as she wandered slowly away along the bank of the small stream toward the stand of trees. The moon turned the water to ribbons of liquid silver and shadow, and she followed its rippling course, thinking of Shaan’s mother, the beautiful dark-haired woman she’d met earlier. Mailun. The woman Rorc had left behind but who had plainly never left his heart. She’d always known there was someone he still yearned for. She felt foolish. The pity in Shaan’s eyes should have been enough to wake her up.
Tuon stopped, staring down at the water, and wondered if Ivar was awake. His easy humour had helped her in the Isles. She poked a toe in the stream then quickly pulled it out. Cold. She glanced back at the silent tents. It was too late to wake anyone. She turned and continued on toward the trees, where the stream disappeared into their shadow. Wet grass flicked against her trouser legs and she wandered into the darkness until she could no longer see the camp. The tall trunks rose smooth at her side, the
ground clear of grass and underbrush near the water. Moonlight flickered down in some places but mostly it was dark and quiet, and so the crack of the twig sounded loud in the soft silence. Tuon froze, her heart beating unsteadily in her chest. A shadow moved and she saw someone sitting on a large rock near the stream just ahead.
‘It’s all right, Tuon, it’s me,’ Rorc’s voice came, low and quiet. ‘What are you doing here?’
She stood for a moment, startled, then went slowly toward him. He remained sitting, slumped over, the pieces of the twig between his fingers. His face was half lit by moonlight and dark shadows of weariness lay beneath his eyes like twin bruises.
‘I didn’t see you,’ she said, her heart still beating too fast.
He nodded, a hard brightness in his gaze. ‘Can’t sleep?’
She shook her head. There was something very bleak in his face.
‘Why are you out here?’ she said, and a mocking smile curved his lips as he picked up a silver flask from his lap.
‘Bitter medicine,’ he said, holding it out to her. ‘Ressina’s finest. You need some?’
‘No.’ Tuon had never seen him like this before. ‘How much have you had?’ she asked.
He played with the top of the flask, screwing it open and shut. ‘I suppose Shaan has told you,’ he said. ‘Apparently I am her father.’ He emphasised the word as if it meant terrible things. ‘Both her and Tallis.’
‘She has.’ Tuon wondered if he were drunk.
He frowned and leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, the flask dangling between his fingers. ‘It’s strange,’ he said quietly.
No, she decided, he wasn’t drunk, but he was not himself.
‘You can’t help what happened,’ she said. ‘You didn’t know they existed.’
A cynical laugh escaped his lips as he looked at her.
‘Why do you care for me, Tuon?’ he said. ‘I bring women nothing but pain.’
Her breath stopped and she felt as if something had caught at her throat. He knew. Something hard and cold fluttered in her rib cage like a trapped moth. She thought she had hidden her feelings from him so well, but she should have known better. She turned away and went to the stream.
‘You saved my life,’ she said.
‘Saved it then used you for my own ends.’ His voice was thick with disgust.
‘It was my choice.’
‘I gave you no other.’
She heard him stand, then felt his warm, solid presence at her back, so close but impossibly far away. ‘Sometimes there is only one choice,’ she said quietly.
He touched her hair, curling a strand around a finger. ‘I missed you, Tuon. I worried for you while you were away … but I can’t give you what you want.’ He said it so quietly it made her ache. She closed her eyes. She knew what he was telling her but did not want to hear it. She wanted to weep.
She put a hand up and touched his fingers. ‘Then let me give you what you need,’ she said.
He stilled. ‘And what is that?’
‘Comfort.’ She faced him and saw the conflict in his eyes. He drew back from her but she followed. After all, it was what she was good at. Men. She knew them, knew him. She took his hand and brought it to her face, turning his palm to kiss it slowly, to touch his skin lightly with her tongue.
‘Tuon, no,’ he said, but his breath betrayed him.
She curled his fingers around one breast. ‘Let me,’ she said, ‘please.’ She put her face next to his, seeing the weary sorrow, the loneliness.
‘Let me give you this gift,’ she said.
He shook his head, but didn’t pull away. He sighed, once, and she felt a welling up inside, a sharing of his sorrow and loss, and pressed her lips to his, almost crying out as the longed-for touch was hers, if only for a short while. Then his hands were on her skin, his tongue against hers, her breasts pressed to his heart, and she lost herself in the pain of it, in the knowledge that it would never come again. She poured all the love she had for him out of her into him, her lips on his closed eyes, his breath in her ear as they fell to the ground by the stream, shedding clothing. And as he lay beneath her and she moved above him, she bent her head back and stared up at the stars, feeling him inside her, wishing to hold this moment forever, the silent cry of his name on her lips.
Chapter 26
Balkis kicked the muthu’s sides, forcing it to keep moving, leading the line of riders and Faithful.
The day was muggy, the promise of rain unfulfilled, and behind him, the trail of men and women stretched long. Fifty were mounted on muthu, but the other three hundred and fifty or so walked. Three of the serpents that had come with them from Salmut circled high above them like enormous birds, while one had gone ahead with a scout. Balkis squinted against the glare of the sky; Hunters Scarp was still a five-day trek away.
They had crossed the River Pleth the previous day and he was hoping to make it as far as the hills between Red Valley and Ressina by nightfall, but it was slow going with so many people and the terrain was hindering them even further. The lands around the river valley were prime farmland with large tracts cleared for vine growers and orchards. It would be a relief to reach the flatter, drier lands around Ressina.
The wound on his shoulder ached and he rolled the muscle and scratched at the seven stitches. He was still annoyed he had allowed that guard close enough to draw blood.
‘Sir.’ A Hunter rode up in a cloud of dust. ‘Valdus is returning.’
‘Where?’ Low clouds were scattered across the grey sky and he couldn’t make anything out.
‘There.’ The Hunter pointed to a speck on the horizon. Gods, his eyesight was good.
Balkis turned in his saddle and signalled the three riders not far behind him. They urged their muthu out of the line and trotted to catch him. He’d chosen the more experienced riders as his captains; all were close to thirty years in age and had seen fighting on the borders against Scanorians. Lilith, Fardo, Gergen and the scout, Valdus, would start flying fighters to the scarp if the area was clear.
Lilith reached him first, her sharp, deep-set eyes narrowed as she stared up at the sky.
‘He took longer than he should have, Marshall,’ she said. ‘Can’t be a good sign.’
‘He always likes flying slower.’ Gergen joined them. ‘Might mean nothing.’
‘We’ll soon find out. Let’s meet him.’ Balkis kicked his muthu hard in the ribs and, as if it had been waiting for an excuse, the animal leaped into action, giving a hoarse grunt as it lunged forward. He gripped tight with his knees and put a hand out to steady himself on the low hump in front of the saddle as it raced ahead.
They met the serpent and Valdus at the edge of an abandoned vineyard. Dead vines were ground into the soft earth as the serpent landed, its tail striking a long furrow as it came to a halt. Balkis’s muthu shied and he pulled it short of the serpent’s wings, then jumped off its back and tossed the reins to Lilith.
‘What did you see?’ he demanded as the rider came to greet him.
Valdus was a heavy-set man with a short neck and wide skull, and his muscled arms swung wide as he said, ‘Apart from a few stray muthu, Hunters Scarp is empty. We should start mobilising immediately.’
‘Good. And Banrish?’ Balkis had instructed him to check the closest village to the scarp for any sign of attack. The other village, Ranith Bay, had been deserted since the serpents of Salmut first turned against them.
Valdus’s lips thinned and he rubbed at his nose. ‘Nobody there,’ he said, looking as if he felt it was his fault. ‘Banrish is deserted.’
‘Intentionally?’
Valdus shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Saw signs of attack, burnt buildings.’
Balkis swore and glanced at the other three riders. ‘That doesn’t bode well for the people who live further east.’
‘Could be Scanorians,’ Valdus offered. ‘But it didn’t look like it. No tracks.’
‘Could be people fighting among themselves,’ Fardo said. ‘Split�
��s a day’s ride from Banrish. Maybe they figured it was easy pickings with everything going on. You know how these isolated areas are, sir; people don’t care much for what the Guardian tells them they should do. Bad things happen.’
Balkis didn’t reply. Fardo could be right; it wouldn’t be the first time the villages out this way had fought. He’d been sent here himself the year before to settle a fight between Hed and Taras. But it didn’t feel right. He turned and walked back to the muthu, mounting up.
‘Come on,’ he said, ‘the sooner we get there, the sooner we can set up camp and find out what’s going on.’ He pulled the muthu around. ‘Lilith, signal the serpents to come in and organise the first load of fighters to go to the scarp.’ He took in a long breath. ‘It looks like we’ve got a lot of work to do and time is running out.’
‘Sir.’ Lilith kicked her muthu into a run and raced back ahead of the rest of them.
***
Shaan stood with Tuon as the Hunters tied packs to the muthu they’d bought from a farm nearby. For the past two days they’d been flying over increasingly drier country, the Goran Ranges rising like dark, forested clouds on the horizon. They were close enough now that Rorc had decided it was time for Nilah and the others to head toward them on foot. Attar had left earlier on Haraka, taking all but three of the remaining serpents with him to Balkis at Hunters Scarp, so now there was only Tuon and the others to say goodbye to before they began the trek to the Clans.
‘Are you sure you want to go?’ She turned to Tuon at her side. ‘I could still speak to Rorc …’ She let the words fade away as she saw the tightening of her friend’s eyes.
‘No,’ she said, ‘I don’t think that would be a good idea — for either of us. Besides,’ she tried a smile that didn’t quite eventuate, ‘I promised Veila. Can’t leave her alone with all those men.’
‘Suppose not.’ Shaan nodded, although she knew that was not the reason. They both knew. Tuon hadn’t told her, but Shaan had guessed that something had happened between her friend and Rorc, perhaps the first night they’d left the city. She’d heard her come back in to the tent that night, heard her weeping herself to sleep, but hadn’t the heart to ask her. She had been so sad; perhaps leaving was really the best thing.
