Jarryd stopped beside me. He joined me in watching the silhouettes on the far shore scurrying about, trying to douse the flames. “I see you found something to do.”
“It’s better than listening to a bunch of generals debating strategy.”
“It was your strategy they were debating.”
“Maybe I should have been allowed to speak then.”
“Maybe, you shouldn’t have walked out.”
“I swear I’ve never seen a woman argue the same point so many different ways.”
“Neela’s good for that.” Jarryd sat down on the sand.
Glancing at him, I started to ask if the meeting was over. Then I got a look at what he was wearing. Dressed in the formal garb of a Lead Archer in the Rellan Guard, Jarryd was a new man. “I thought she was kicking you out,” I said skeptically, “not promoting you.”
He spread his arms. “What do you think?”
I didn’t answer right away. Outwardly, it was impressive. His deep blue, fitted tunic and breeches were made of exceptionally fine leather to allow ease of movement. His boots, soft-soled and lightweight, each displayed a built-in sheath and dagger running up the outside. The front of his tunic boasted an elaborate rendition of the Arcana crest stitched with silver thread on a black background. A smaller version of the design ran down both sleeves. On his back were buckles, empty now, but perfectly position to hold a nice-sized quiver of arrows.
The garments were beautiful and functional. And with a thin, shiny steel brace gracing one arm and a supple, black, three-fingered glove covering his opposite hand, Jarryd’s transformation was daunting. He was born for the bow. Now, he looked the part, and I should have been happy for him. But hearing Jarryd vow to fight for his home, and seeing him ready to die for it, were two different things.
“A little flimsy for battle,” I said at last.
Jarryd grunted like he’d expected that. “Liel’s back,” he said, quickly changing the subject. “He delivered your message.”
“And?”
“And I still think you should have let me do it. Reth could have killed him.”
“Yeah, well Reth would have killed you. Was there a reply?”
“Your father agreed to see you, alone, tonight, like you wanted. Details are in here.” Jarryd handed me a slip of paper. “Since you’ve been playing in the sand all afternoon, I assume you don’t know that Neela went back to Kabri.”
Shock raised my voice. “She did what?”
“The Queen wants to be on her throne the moment Langor surrenders.”
“Goddamn it,” I muttered. “When?”
“A few hours ago. Sienn opened a door for her.”
I clenched the paper in my hand. Of course she did. “What the hell was Neela thinking? If she’s discovered…” I left off. All sorts of images ran through my head at the thought of her and danger. None were helpful. “You couldn’t talk her out of it?”
“Neela knows it’s risky. She doesn’t need me to tell her.”
“No. She needed you to stop her.”
“She took guards,” he said angrily, guilt pricking at his temper. “And Neela knows that castle better than any Langorian. She’ll hide until our forces arrive. Which,” he added meaningfully, “will be after the crown is in your possession.”
“Good,” I nodded. “At least she used her head in something.”
“Only when Aldous forced her hand. He threatened to take his men home.”
“Looks like the General found a piece of his spine on the trip from Kael.”
“Nah.” Jarryd threw a handful of sand at the water. “He’s just worried about his own skin.” He picked up another handful and tossed it. “I saw Sienn just now. I really like how you managed to make both women stop talking to you on the same day.”
“One of my many talents.”
He grinned a little, but the expression didn’t last. “The attack will commence after you open the link and give me the all clear. Sienn will raise a fog as cover and freeze the water’s surface so the troops can cross. It’s unlikely our advance will go entirely undetected, but with her aid there will be an advantage gained.”
“Did you notice?” I nodded at Kabri. “No eldring.”
“Our scouts report that none have been seen on the island in two days. I want to think that means we caught a break, but,” he tossed me a glare, “I’ve got you in my head saying it sounds too easy.”
“Let’s hope I’m wrong.”
Jarryd strained the sand through his fingers a moment. “We received terms for surrender. I didn’t get a look at them, but I heard Neela sent the pages back in pieces.”
“Nice touch.”
“Yeah. But I know her, Ian. If this goes badly, Neela will sign.” Concern tightened the scar on his face. “And the new terms will be far worse.”
“If this goes badly none of us will be alive to care.”
“I want to go with you,” he said then.
“To see my father? No way.”
“After you defeat him you’ll be in a city full of enemies with no strength to fight. You’ll need protection.”
Slow, deliberate, and precise, I said, “You aren’t coming with me.”
“I know where you’re going. I read the message. I could follow you.”
“We both know you have more sense than that.”
Jarryd’s teeth clenched. “You can’t do this alone.”
I’m not alone, I thought. “This is my responsibility. Jem Reth is my father.”
“And you’re my friend. And Kabri is my home.”
“Then take it back. Besides, you’re mostly dressed for it. Just don’t forget that sword I put on your saddle. Or rather, my saddle. You’re taking Kya.”
“Ian…”
“I borrowed the sword off an Arullan, but it’s got good weight and balance.”
“I told you this morning. I don’t need a sword. Or your horse.”
“I put a mail shirt in your pack. If you can stand plate, that’s even better.”
Jarryd groaned. “I thought we settled this.”
“If you haven’t digested my memories of the war yet, do it now. Analyze every battle before you step foot across that water. And keep to the rear as long as you can. I don’t care what your orders are.”
“That much is clear.”
“Damn it, Nef’taali, you’ve never seen anything like this. Neela has near four thousand men. Draken has over five. There will be no time to think or second-guess. React. Breathe. Fight. That’s all you can do. Fight and stay alive. You got that?”
“Yeah.” Jarryd nodded a moment in thoughtful silence. He stood and brushed the sand off his breeches. Glancing up and down the beach, he fidgeted with the brace on his arm a few times. He turned the archers ring on his finger, round and round.
“Spill it,” I said.
“I can’t stay here,” he blurted out. “When this is over, I have to leave Kabri.”
Shame pressed in on me. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”
“I know.” Jarryd stared down at his palm, tracing the lines with his finger. “I guess I go where you go now. It would feel strange to put distance between us.”
“That it would,” I nodded. “Any place in particular you want to go?”
“What do you say we ride up into Langor and pay Malaq a visit?”
“Sounds good. We can help him give Draken a push.”
Jarryd’s face brightened. “Down the stairs?”
“I was going to say off the throne. But I like your idea better.”
“So, Langor then?” he said hopefully.
“Sure.”
Jarryd turned to head back up the beach. He paused. “I’ll see you in Kabri.”
“Be safe, Nef’taali. I mean it.”
“You too.” He seemed a little nervous, but as he moved off, Jarryd gave me his typical, crooked grin. And I tried like hell to believe that it wasn’t for the last time.
FIFTY
I jumped out of
the boat and into the water. It was high tide. My splashes sounded like thunder as I sloshed through the waves, dragging the small craft behind me onto the shore. I didn’t bother concealing it. My father knew I was coming. His note said this side of the island had been cleared of patrols for the night. He claimed it was to prevent some unwitting soldier on rounds from accosting me. A more simple explanation was that he didn’t want the Langorians to know we were meeting.
Bonded to Draken or not, Reth had his own agenda.
Nevertheless, it appeared he kept his word. If troops were lurking though, I couldn’t see them. In the time it took to row across to the island, storm clouds had moved in, making the darkness absolute. Langorian dark, I thought grimly.
It was a foreboding notion. One I tried to shake as I held my lantern up and walked a ways down the beach. The stroll was difficult. All manner of things had washed up and debris was everywhere. Some of the pieces were charred and weed-choked. Others were battered and sun-bleached. An uncomfortable number were suspiciously body-like in shape, and I avoided them earnestly.
Closer to the harbor, the wind picked up. It tugged at the cloud cover. It freed the moon to light my way, and for a second, I thought I wanted that. I thought I wanted to see what Draken had done with my own eyes. Until the rays shone down onto the ruin and my heart dived straight into my stomach.
It was an irrational, reaction. I wasn’t ignorant of the destruction. I knew what the Langorians could do. I came with Jarryd’s memories of the attack in tow. Even if I hadn’t, Reth’s message warned not to put in near the dock because of the damage.
But despite all that, I was shaken. I was infuriated—and not because of Jarryd, or even on his behalf. I felt wronged.
Although I never truly fit in, I’d spent the first eight years of my life in Kabri, and so little remained that I could scarcely put the memories of my childhood back together.
Where I used to dart among a crowd so thick I feared being stepped on, were piles of sopping wet, black rubble. Instead of mouthwatering smells, the air reeked of mold and rot. The pier, where I would sit and watch the tall ships unload, had been reduced to a single black post sticking up out of the water. Strapped to it, one lonely, wrecked vessel bobbed up and down in the dark waves. Empty and gutted, sails shredded, mast cracked, its ashen hull shimmered like a ghostly carcass in the silver light.
I watched for a while, as the sad, half-ship dipped and swayed.
When the clouds came back, I turned away and moved inland over the dunes.
Between the deep sand and the thick patches of waist-high grass, it was slow going at first. But as the terrain leveled, the weeds thinned. Sand gave way to pebbles and scattered boulders, then rocky outcroppings. At the wall of the mountain, a series of long, flat shelves jutted out across the ground. In one section, they went up as well, far beyond the reach of my lantern. I stretched, holding the flame higher, and was still nowhere close to seeing the end of them, or the peak.
I put the lantern down and started climbing.
Scaling a mountain in the dark wasn’t one of my better ideas, but I couldn’t afford to waste a drop of magic. And even without light, I knew the ascent wouldn’t be difficult—it wasn’t my first attempt. Last time, I’d been small. I barely made it up two slabs before I slipped and broke my arm. Now, taller, older, and stronger, the rocks were spaced perfectly for my height. I could stand on one, reach the lip of the next, and pull myself up with ease.
In no time at all, I was at a height that was certain death if I fell. The view was nice though. The elevation lent me a vantage point I didn’t have on the ground, and as the moon made another appearance, I could distinguish two Langorian warships anchored at a bend in the coast.
They appeared empty. Darkness and distance made it hard to be sure, but there were no unusual sounds on the air. Nothing moved on board but the tiny lights of lanterns swinging back and forth on the breeze.
Resuming my climb, a handful of minutes (and a dozen slabs) later, a halo of torchlight engulfed me from above. As I squinted into the glare, a hand reached down. It was splotched and striped with gray. Magic pricked the air around it.
Impatiently, the hand opened and closed, and I took it. I let my father help me up over the top, but I was glad when he let go. His skin felt peculiar. The contact left my own tingling and I shook the sensation off my fingers as I crawled to my feet, and looked around the large, flat ledge we were standing on.
It was about fifteen paces across and ten deep. Empty air was on my left. On my right was the mountain wall. It continued up flat and steep, but for a single break in the stone about the width of two men. Beyond the gap was a slim corridor. The walls glistened slightly, reflecting the faint glow of a fire from somewhere deeper within.
I turned to my father. I started to speak and he walked right by me. Head buried in his cloak, he didn’t glance. He offered no smug greeting or poorly timed insult. He just took his torch, headed into the slender mouth of the cave, and left me standing alone in the dark. “Asshole,” I muttered.
Following him, I entered the passage. The air was damp and musty. The temperature drop was staggering. I was anxious for the heat of the fire, but paranoia won over comfort and I went slow and cautious. Letting the space between us widen, I eyed the steadily rising ceiling for traps. I ran my hand over the smooth, water-carved walls around me, thinking they might close in.
My suspicions didn’t wane as the corridor opened up and dumped me out into a large chamber. Curving high above like a bowl, most of the roof was lost in gloom. Fissures and cracks fractured the walls and floor. Six were large enough to be tunnels. Two were blocked with debris. The others stood open like black, gaping maws, extending back so far not even the small fire in the center of the room could penetrate their darkness. The flames did radiate enough light that I could see my breath, but they produced no heat. The blaze wasn’t real, which was disappointing. My father stood in front of it like it was though; back to me, cloak fanned out behind him.
He didn’t move as I approached.
“I came to hear you out,” I said. “But first, I need to know what your plan is. How you’re going to control our people. There’ll be a lot of magic flying around once everyone’s off the Kayn’l. Do you have a safe way of feeding it?”
Reth hissed. “I don’t have time for this. Did you come to give me the obsidian, or not?” His tone was almost frantic. “I need it now.”
“Why? What makes this piece so damn important?”
“Because without it, I am incomplete.”
“You? Don’t you mean the crown?” He didn’t reply and a chill went up my spine. I crept closer. “Turn around.”
“Just give me the stone.”
Taking the last few paces between us, I went over and took hold of his arm.
“Wait—” he warned.
I spun him around. Firelight hit my father’s face and I gasped, “Gods,” and stumbled back into the cave wall.
Reth pushed the hood off his head. “You should have waited.” He unhooked the clasp and shrugged the cloak off his shoulders. Shirtless, as the fabric fell away, he turned in a slow circle, so I could get a good, long look. “I wanted to prepare you,” he said, but I didn’t believe him. My father wanted me shocked and afraid. He wanted me intimidated. Impressed.
He got three of the four. I was way too sick to be impressed.
The nine auras, the power that brought such internal beauty to the Crown of Stones, had made him outwardly grotesque. His flesh, stained an ugly, muddy, chaotic blend of color, had the look of variegated clay. Swirled and kneaded haphazardly together, intertwining bands of celestite, sapphire, and magnetite bled into a reddish-purple bruising of ruby and spinel. Twisted splashes of diamond and amber were mottled with topaz. Meandering veins of obsidian streaked strange patterns atop the scars, which looked to afflict his entire body now. Not just in appearance, but in consistency. Perverted and distorted into something still solid, but filmy, like parchment, or th
e discarded skin of a snake, his flesh was almost transparent. Through it, I could see the mass of multi-colored auras inside him, all slithering, rolling, coiling and squirming, like a nest of newborn serpents.
Frozen against the wall, horrified by the magic swimming in him, I thought, Gods, does it really look like that? Does it look like that in me?
I drew a shaky breath and tried not to stutter. “What are you?”
His dappled cheeks rose in an arrogant smile. “I am the future. I am how I must be, to save us.”
“That’s not true. It can’t be.” Running a distraught hand back over my hair, I pushed off the wall and moved closer. “If we can destroy the crown—”
“Impossible. The stones are forever held together, linked by the magic and the souls of countless Shinree.”
“I don’t understand. How could it be linked by souls?”
“The crown isn’t what we believed, L’tarian. It’s not a weapon. And it’s far older than we imagined. Tam Reth wasn’t its creator. He was its caretaker. One of many,” he added. “Tam was simply the one who got tired of hiding what could make him a god.”
“Is that what you think you are? That must be one hell of a book he wrote if it can convince you that this,” I threw a disgusted hand at him, “makes you anything but an abomination.”
“You honestly didn’t read Tam’s journal?”
“You know I can’t. The pages are spelled.”
“They are. But the words are visible to any with Reth blood—which you might have realized if you had bothered to open the book that night at the inn, instead of Sienn’s legs.” He paused to relish in my outrage before he went on. “Tam’s writings were helpful, yes. But to gather what I needed, I had to go back myself.”
“Go back? You mean, like in an oracle spell? Sienn said that was dangerous. That you could—” alter things, I thought and my heart sped up. “What did you do? What did you change?”
“Relax son, I was careful. Though, it was hard to leave. Being in the empire, in the body of the great Tam Reth,” he sighed wistfully, “it was a wondrous time. Truly wondrous. And now I’m one step closer to restoring that glory. To returning what was stripped away and making us as we once were.” Passion overcame the nostalgia in his voice. “Resurrecting our past will secure the future. Don’t you see?”
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Price Page 42
