He pounded a fist on his table. He did not know the answers. He needed more information!
He heard a loud commotion outside his tent and rose to his feet to quell the noise. Before he could leave the tent, his second dekegul threw back the tent flap and saluted. “Akkad-Dar, the trackers have brought in a centaur.”
Perhaps the answer to a prayer, Lanther thought. He breathed a silent word of gratitude to his goddess and strode out of the tent. He found three of his scouts surrounding a bound and angry centaur. Two more stood back with crossbows aimed at the stallion’s back. The horseman was a light bay who had the looks of an escaped slave. He was thin, haggard, dirty, and had a wound on his flank that had been broken open again in the scuffle with the guards. It bled heavily down his leg. He glared ferociously at the Akkad-Dar, but Lanther was pleased to see a tremble in the centaur’s hands and a nervous step in his hooves.
“Akkad-Dar, we found this one watching the camp,” one of the scouts reported. “He will not speak to us.”
Lanther crossed his arms and studied the centaur. His arms had been tied and his legs hobbled, but he was not gagged. “Were you with the traitor, Linsha Majere?” he asked. “Where are they taking the eggs?”
The centaur did not answer.
“We have been following a trail out of the Missing City that includes a wagon and a number of horses and centaurs. This group split off near the city, and the larger group went west.” Lanther’s voice turned sharper and came out hard and demanding. “Now they have turned northwest and are going… where?”
The centaur panted in fear. His eyes shifted left and right, and still he said nothing.
“All right,” Lanther said. He flexed his fingers and nodded to the guards. They swarmed over the helpless centaur and slammed him to the ground. Stunned and gasping, the centaur stared up at the Akkad-Dar in growing terror. Lanther stepped to the centaur’s front and clamped his hand over the horseman’s face.
All was quiet for a short time until the silence was shattered by the centaur’s agonized scream. The centaur twitched and writhed under Lanther’s hand. His legs jerked in violent spasms. Patches of sweat darkened his bay hide. He screamed again, then abruptly he fell silent. His body trembled then subsided to stillness. His breathing stopped.
Lanther stepped back, satisfied. He glared distastefully at the corpse and indicated that the guards should haul it away.
The dekegul beside him bowed expectantly. “My lord?”
Lanther stared into the darkness of the Plains night. “The eggs are not in the wagon. The dragon took them. The wagon is a lure.” He thought for a few more minutes while his officer and the remaining guards waited in silence. “We will go after the eggs and make the rabble come to us.” He turned on his heel and returned to his tent.
Flashfire. The name played in his mind. He had seen that somewhere on one of his maps. His hands flew over the stiff parchments and old hides. It was there, somewhere. And then he had it-an old peak, a dormant volcano. Of course! He would take his army there and make the Plains rabble come to him. The dragon would be a fearsome defender, of course, but Lanther had several weapons to deal with him. Linsha would come, too, and when the battle was over and the eggs were in his possession again, he would have his wedding night and his revenge. She would live just long enough to bear his son, the child of prophecy, the Amarrel.
And… perhaps he would let her see him take possession of the hatchlings so she would know that she had failed completely. Yes, that would be the best.
One more day to go. In one more day of hard travel, if the wagon did not break a wheel, or a horse did not go lame, or the food held out. If everyone could keep going for just one more day…
Linsha looked at her companions and knew they could not go much farther. They had endured weeks of forced labor, starvation, and miserable conditions only to be freed unexpectedly and encouraged to trek across the open plains in wet, cold weather with inadequate food and not even a fire at night to dry their clothes. The two wounded men were holding on, but just barely, and the rest of the troop was exhausted and worn and hungry. The only thing that kept them going was the hope that tomorrow would bring them to the butte and the camp of Falaius’s army. Then, hopefully, they would have a day or two to rest before the Tarmaks arrived.
Linsha glanced back at Callista, who gave her a wan smile. The courtesan was as exhausted as everyone else, for she spent most of her time caring for the wounded men-and lately, for Sir Hugh. The young knight’s cold had turned nasty and left him with a racking cough and a fever. He sat with Linsha sometimes while she drove the wagon, but much of the time he sat in the back with Callista and coughed. Linsha hoped Danian had traveled with Wanderer’s tribe and would be with the army. The healer would certainly have some medicines for such a bad cough.
A shout drew her attention to a faint sound coming behind them. She twisted in the seat and realized the sound was hoofbeats. Someone was coming up fast on the trail behind. The men and centaurs wheeled around and drew weapons while Linsha reined her team to a halt. Sir Hugh climbed up beside her, and they waited in tense expectation.
A form appeared on the far hill and came galloping toward them, waving and shouting. The centaurs relaxed.
“It is Menneferen!” one of the horsemen called to Linsha.
The roan centaur skidded to a halt by the wagon. His coat was muddy and damp, and his sides were heaving for air. “The Tarmaks,” he gasped between breaths. “Didn’t take the bait. They’re not… following the wagon.”
Linsha spat a curse and slammed her fist on the wagon seat. “Where are they?” she cried.
Menneferen took several more deep breaths and replied, “Crucible sent me to tell you. The Tarmaks are marching toward the river in the direction of the volcano.”
Linsha threw up her hands, feeling angry and frustrated. “How did they find out?”
“Crucible thinks they may have captured someone and learned the truth that way.”
The other centaurs exchanged glances. There was only one other scout away from the troop that knew where they were going, and they had not seen him in two and a half days.
“So Crucible knows,” Sir Hugh said. “Where is he?”
“He is going to Falaius to warn him. They must move the army south.”
A wordless groan drifted around the listeners. Their hope of finding rest and food the next day dwindled to nothing.
“And what are we to do?” Linsha demanded. She knew what she wanted to do, but she had volunteered to stay with this band, and she would not abandon them now.
“Crucible said, if you can make it, go to the volcano and wait for him. It is about thirty-five miles from here.”
Thirty-five miles. At the rate they were going, it would take two days-maybe a day and a half if they really pushed.
“Is this volcano warm and dry?” Sir Hugh asked, with the barest twinkle in his eyes.
“Crucible made the nest inside,” Linsha replied for everyone to hear. “It is warm as baked bread and as dry as the desert.”
There was a subtle shift in posture and expression among the whole group. The members of the little company looked at one another and shrugged. Thirty-five miles was nothing when they had already come so far. They could make that final push, especially if there was a warm, dry cave at the other end.
Since there was no longer a need for subterfuge, they shoved the rocks out of the wagon and turned southwest. Menneferen took the lead to find the best path for the wagon. Fortunately, the ground in this area was mostly grassland on gently rolling hills. The way was not difficult, just long and tedious.
Yet they had to hurry. They had to find the volcano before the Tarmaks reached it. If need be, Linsha decided, she and Crucible would move the eggs again to keep them out of Lanther’s grasp. They just had to get there first.
22
Flashfire
Crucible stayed with Falaius, Wanderer, and the rebel army long enough to see them packed and on their
way. They had twenty miles to travel over the wetter, more overgrown terrain of the river valley. It was anyone’s guess who would get to the volcano first, but Crucible decided he would be there to welcome whoever it was. He rose over the river on the evening breeze and flew south toward the conical peak he could see jutting up against the darkening sky. He flew swiftly, hoping the small owl he had left to watch the eggs was still watching unharmed. He hadn’t told her that if the dragons hatched they would be looking for food-any food. Perhaps he should have warned her of that.
At first he was so preoccupied with his worries for the coming day that he did not realize that something had changed, something drastic in his own city so far away. Crucible did not know exactly what was happening, but he understood it was vitally important and it was happening in his city. His entire being yearned to return in a desire so strong it made him hurt.
But he couldn’t go. His heart knew that. Even if his wings had been strong enough to fly him to Sanction in one night, he could not leave Linsha and the eggs in the path of Lanther and the Tarmak army. Sanction would have to wait. With a low moan, he turned and flew south again, turning his back on the city he loved.
When he reached the volcano, he found Varia perched on a rock outside the cave entrance. She looked strangely agitated. Her “ear” feathers stood straight up, her feathers were puffed, and she paced side to side, bobbing her head. When she saw him land, she flew to him and landed on his horn.
Do you feel it? she asked before he could say anything. What is happening?
The owl had odd abilities and was very sensitive to the world around her. She, too, must have felt the strange currents in the winds of the world. I don’t know, he told her. But it is happening in Sanction.
We are not the only ones facing battle then, she said.
They were nearly there. Everyone could see the peak standing stark and alone above the plains. Dark patches of pines grew around its base, in sharp contrast to the reddish dun colors of the dried grass and the barren rock. A pale afternoon sun washed the peak in light and set it aglow against the first blue sky the small company had seen in days.
Linsha squinted hard to see a cave entrance or some sign of Crucible, but the volcano looked empty. Of course, they were still about five miles away, and she could be missing something. But it didn’t matter. It was only late afternoon, and it was possible her little group would be the first to reach the peak.
They had certainly tried. Everyone worked hard, taking only two rest stops during the night and pushing themselves to the limits of their endurance. They deserved a good rest, a hot meal, and a dry place to sleep. Linsha just hoped they would get it.
They traveled closer to the peak. The land, shaped by the ancient throes of the volcano thousands of years before, became more rugged around the base of the cone. It rose and fell more sharply into eroded gullies and steep valleys. Weathered outcroppings of rock protruded from the ground like old bones. Without Menneferen to help them find a path, they would have had a difficult time making their way to Crucible’s new cave.
They were only about two miles from the peak when a steep, narrow valley cut cross their path. They took their time angling down the slope and gratefully reached the bottom with the wagon still intact. To their right a grove of pines grew on the valley’s floor and hid the ground in shadow; to their left, a huge outcropping of rock blocked part of their view and hemmed them close to the trees.
Linsha looked up from watching the team of horses as they reached the bottom of the slope and noticed the trees only ten paces away. She glanced to her left and saw the hump of rock. Something small flashed in the sunlight on the stones in that outcropping. She stiffened, every alarm in her head going off. She slammed off the brake that had held them on the hill and reached for the whip.
But she was already too late. Large forms with skins painted blue erupted out of the trees and from around the outcropping and swiftly surrounded the small party. The Tarmaks formed a tight circle around the wagon and its escort and stopped with bows drawn and spears ready to throw.
“Surrender!” a voice called out of the trees.
Linsha threw the reins down and held her hands up where the Tarmaks could see them. Sir Hugh and the others reluctantly did likewise.
A group of five Tarmak warriors came out of the trees and surveyed the prisoners with contempt. “Take the women and kill the others,” an officer snapped in Tarmakian.
“No!” Linsha stood up in the wagon and drew herself up with all the arrogance she could muster. She switched to Tarmakian to make her case stronger. “You will not kill these men. They are my escort.”
The officer looked amused. “Why wouldn’t we? Who are you, woman, to argue?”
“You know well who I am, because the Akkad-Dar sent you to capture me.” It was just a guess, but Linsha figured it was a good one. “I am the Drathkin’kela, the Friend of Dragons, and I am the Chosen of the Akkad. If you kill my escort, I will have no reason not to fight you, and when you have killed me, you will have to report to the Akkad-Dar that you were responsible for my death.”
The officer did not move or speak but observed his prisoners as if contemplating her words. He glanced at the weary riders, centaurs, the wounded, the woman in the back of the wagon, and the fierce Drathkin’kela that defended them all. He nodded once.
“Bring them all,” he ordered.
“Do not fight back,” Linsha said to her troop. “Cooperate for now.”
The men and centaurs tossed down their weapons and fell in behind their captors. A Tarmak climbed up on the wagon and pushed Linsha to the back so he could drive.
They turned down the valley past the bulge of rock and headed toward a much larger hill surrounded by trees and cut by eroded gullies. Linsha was not surprised when they turned into the trees and found the Tarmak army camouflaged in the shelter of the woods.
Fear bubbled in her stomach. Lanther was waiting for her. Lanther and his anger at her betrayal. She began to wonder if fighting the Tarmak to the death might not be a better choice than putting herself in Lanther’s hands again. She saw him in a clearing in the midst of his commanders, his body painted blue and his face covered by the mask of the Akkad. In spite of his shorter stature and smaller build, he radiated an arrogant confidence and a sense of justified superiority that made him obvious even in a crowd of taller warriors. She felt her stomach twist into knots.
The dekegul stopped his warriors near the Akkad-Dar’s position and ordered two of them to get Linsha.
She decided not to make matters worse for the others by fighting. She squeezed Callista’s hand, gripped Sir Hugh’s shoulder, and climbed out of the wagon without urging from the Tarmaks. Before the warriors could prompt her, she strode directly to the Akkad-Dar and accosted him, her arms crossed and her expression radiating anger. She noticed he was wearing the dragon scale cuirass and a sword big enough to remove a minotaur’s head.
“How did you get here so fast?” she asked in a voice of total outrage.
“It’s good to see you, too.” He crossed his arms and mimicked her posture. “Did you think I would let my wife go to war without me? The dragon did not burn every ship.” He took a step closer and gripped her jaw with his fingers. “Why did you leave?” he hissed in her ear.
His fingers were like steel and buried themselves into her skin so hard that she could not move her jaw. Her eyes met his through the mask. Terror seared through her that he was going to use the spell that seemed to rip her mind apart. She wrenched herself away from him so hard she tripped over a rock on the ground and fell hard on her back. Her head slammed into the earth. Through the ringing pain she heard laughter and the sharp snap of orders.
Someone lifted her to her feet and bound her arms. Lanther watched as the warriors restrained her, and when they were finished, he searched the wagon and found the leather bag. Holding it close to her face, he said, “When this is done, we will consummate our marriage, and when I am finished with you, no man will
ever touch you again.”
“What is so important about that book?” she croaked. “What do I care about Lord Ariakan and his Amarrel?”
He gave a self-satisfied chuckle. “Afec’s greatest prophecy, given five years before I came to the Plains. The Emperor, the Empress, and I were the only ones who heard it.” He leaned in close, and she felt the cold metal of his mask against her ear as he whispered, “The Amarrel has not been born yet. Ariakan deceived Khanwhelak’s father. The Warrior Cleric will be Drathkin’kelkhan, the son of the Chosen of the Dragon. And I will be his father, my dear Drathkin’kela.”
Linsha was too stunned to comprehend. All she could do was stare at him through a fog of pain and disbelief.
He turned to the others of her company. “That one!” he pointed to Menneferen. The centaur eyed the Brutes around him and walked to the Akkad-Dar.
Linsha looked at him, but her vision was blurry and all she could see was his reddish hide. “Please don’t kill him,” she whispered.
“I have no intention of that,” Lanther said. “He is going to do something for me. Now, listen carefully, centaur. You will go to that peak, around to the west side. You will see the entrance the bronze dragon made in the side of the volcano. Go to that entrance. The dragon is there.”
He was speaking to the centaur like an adult sometimes speaks to a dull-witted child, and Linsha found it very annoying. She squirmed in her tight bindings, but the warriors who gripped her arms ignored her.
“You will tell the dragon.” Lanther went on, “that the Tarmaks have attacked your party near the river. Lady Knight Linsha Majere desperately needs his help. You will do what you must to get the dragon to leave the cave, or I will kill these fine folk. If you try to tip him off, I will kill all of them. Do you understand?”
The centaur nodded, his face expressionless.
“Good.” Lanther lifted a finger.
Return of the Exile l-3 Page 24
