She hurried to his side.
He pushed the door wide and strode through.
Jasmine followed, feeling exposed as they crossed the wide swath of dirt. She inhaled to calm her anxiety, relishing the fresh air free of the taint of carnage and incense. The late afternoon sun hung heavy in the west, casting long shadows from the nearest buildings. No people hurried about their business.
Are they unconscious, or just being prudent and remaining at home?
Tempor led them in a westerly direction. The street they hurried down seemed exactly like the one on the east side of the temple that she had taken before the guards had escorted her to Ontarem. There was even a fishmonger. Closed of course, but the fishy odor lingered. The doors of all the shops remained shut, the windows shuttered.
Just as well there was no one around to see them. She didn’t relish the idea of a fight—of possibly innocent people, children even, getting hurt or killed.
Tempor slowed. “This is the Western perimeter of the city. The camp is on a peninsula, surrounded by cliffs.” He pointed. “Around that corner is a big open area we must cross before we get to the camp. Everyone stay here. I’m going to take a look.” He flitted around the last building.
Jasmine waited, her heart beating against her ribs. Some of the weaker people sagged against those propping them up.
Tempor reappeared. “The guards must have been affected. Some are lying on the ground. Others are leaning against the gate pillars, looking a little dazed. Usually when we return from our day’s work or doing their errands, they allow us to enter unchallenged. But—” he looked around, “—we are such a big group…”
Indaran followed Tempor’s gaze. “A few at a time. Join in twos and threes. Make sure one person from my crew is in each group, so they can follow your lead.”
Tempor nodded his understanding. “What about our weapons?”
“The first group, go in unarmed. If the guards look like they’re going to attack, we’ll rush in and there will be a fight. With them so weak, we should be able to subdue them. But I’d rather not have to.”
Tempor reached for his sister’s hand. An unspoken communication passed between them. “We’ll go first.”
“Good.” Indaran jerked his head at one of his crew, Paup, the firstmate of the Treasure. “Go with them.”
“Yes, my lord…eh, my king.”
Indaran grimaced. “Go.”
The man joined the two siblings.
Indaran beckoned to Mastin and Yok, and the three of them went forward, pausing at the end of the last building. Indaran looked back for Jasmine.
She gave him a reassuring smile before starting after them, careful to keep Indaran in her sight. No matter what, she wasn’t going to lose him.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Indaran flattened himself against the side of the gray block building, sword in hand, every muscle tense. About three hundred paces in front of him stood the entrance to the camp. The enemy had chosen the site well—a peninsula of land jutting into the ocean. He remembered the starkness of the cliffs, the vertical drop to the rocky sea. No escape that way.
A sharpened-stake fence, about as high as his shoulders, surrounded the perimeter. Only a few inches of space were left between the fence and the cliff. Even if a man tried to escape by climbing over, he’d plunge to his death on the rocks below.
The wooden gate made of wide planks was canted open. Only the gray block pillars on each side of the gate appeared substantial. Inside he could see several tents and tarp hanging from poles dug into the dirt. Not adequate shelter for hundreds of people.
He watched the first three of his people trudge toward the camp. They didn’t have to feign their weariness and fear; their attitude showed in the slump of their shoulders and the way they kept their heads down.
Beyond a single glance, the guards paid them no heed. Two of the guards talked together in excited tones, obviously trying to figure out what had happened. The others seemed too caught up in their own weakness to pay any attention to a trio of harmless slaves.
The three crossed through the gates and disappeared out of his line of sight.
Indaran exhaled in relief, motioning the next bunch to start. In dribbles and small clusters, the large group whittled away, until only the crew holding weapons, and Jasmine, remained.
Jasmine tugged on his arm with her free hand, pointing at the small passage between two of the stores, similar to the one she’d hidden in before she was captured. “We could leave the weapons and this—” she indicated her bundle “—in there.”
“If we have to retrieve them quickly, it will be a narrow squeeze.”
Her mouth turned up in a teasing smile. “Not for me.”
He playfully ran his gaze down her slight body. “No, not for you.” Then he sobered. “I do not like the idea of walking into there—” he tipped his head in the direction of the camp “—without a sword in my hand.”
“I’ll come with you. I can belt on two of the scabbards under my robe. Any more, and I’d clank when I walk. If, for any reason, you have to fight, I’ll hand you a sword.”
“No. You’re not coming with us.” Fear sharpened the command in his voice.
One of her eyebrows winged upward. “You’re not my king, Indaran. Therefore, I don’t have to obey you. I’m coming.”
Stubborn female. She reminded him of the women in his family—silk draped over iron. Yet, even their strength hadn’t saved them. “Jasmine, it’s not safe.”
“Nowhere in Louat is safe.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Indaran, my othersense is telling me I should stay with you.”
He released a sharp sigh of annoyance. “How can I argue with your othersense?” he said, his tone loaded with irony. If I had listened better to mine, we all wouldn’t be here.
A hint of a smile crinkled the skin around her eyes, and she extended her hand palm-up. “Now, hand over your sword.”
~ ~ ~
The sound of fear-filled voices tugged Pasinae back into consciousness. Pain throbbed through her head, and her hip dug into the hard surface of the raystone floor. What happened? What am I doing on the ground?
Her memory returned in scraps and bits. The backlash from Thaddis’s medallion!
She remembered the burning agony of the energy blazing through her, and fear squeezed her chest. Such power. Pasinae tried to think through the pounding in her head.
The power had to come from a deity. But who? Not Yadarius. Ontarem had subdued the SeaGod. If He’d escaped, Ontarem would have told me.
The culprit must be Guinheld, that paltry excuse for a Goddess. But somehow that deduction didn’t quite fit.
My head’s too fuzzy to think. I’ll figure this all out when I feel better.
If I feel better. She banished the thought. Ontarem will heal me.
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. Night darkened the domed skylight. She blinked at the lusters lighting the room. The light glittered on the gemstones embedded in the wall, reflecting back a thousand pinpricks of jeweled color.
She winced and shut her eyes. I must have been unconscious for several hours.
“Lady Pasinae.”
She recognized Counselor Ogan’s voice, but didn’t dare open her eyes.
“Lady Pasinae, what has happened?” The counselor’s voice quavered with fear. “Why are all the priests and priestesses unconscious? What has happened to Besolet?”
Why won’t the fool shut up? But she risked cracking open one eye to glance at the Goddess. The statue looked unconscious, eyes closed, head lolling forward.
As I would be if I hadn’t had Ontarem’s support.
Thinking of her God, she inched her arm up to touch the pearl at her forehead. The movement set her headache to jangling, and her arm moved as if drained of all blood. Just that small gesture hurt.
Ontarem will help me.
She tried several times to stretch out a mental hand for the link to her God, but the attempts seemed like feeble slaps in the vague direction of Penutar. T
he fourth try connected, but to her dismay, no answering response came. Instead, Ontarem seemed to be in the same state as Besolet.
Impossible. I must be too weak to reach Him. I’ll try later.
“Lady Pasinae, can you speak?” Ogan the Annoying buzzed like a gnafly.
She dropped her hand to her side. “King Thaddis has failed in his attempts to capture Princess Daria,” she whispered, her voice sounding hoarse. “Another deity interfered. Gather together your nobility in this room to pray and give Besolet energy. She will revive.”
Ogan walked over to the door and gave quiet orders to someone, probably a guard. She heard his footsteps return, and the rustle of material as he knelt at her side. The scent of cammor leaves clung to his clothes. “What has happened to the king?”
“I don’t know.” I don’t care. “Send your soldiers to search the desert. That’s where he last was.” I don’t want be here when they bring back what’s left of Thaddis. They might blame me. Turn on me. I need to escape to Penutar as soon as I can.
“I’ve sent for a healer.”
A healer can’t help me. She thought of the emptiness inside where Ontarem’s bond should be curled around her heart, and wanted to cry. But she wouldn’t. She hadn’t cried since she was a tiny child and she and her brothers were taken from their parents to be raised in the temple. Very soon after, Ontarem had become father, mother, lover, God. Please Ontarem. Gather your strength and return to me.
“Find someone to carry me to my room,” she commanded, trying to suffuse strength into her tone. She didn’t open her eyes. “The healer can wait upon me there.”
“I’ll see to it right now, Lady Pasinae.” Ogan rose again, going to the door and giving another order. In a few minutes booted feet pounded into the room.
“Over here, man,” Ogan ordered. “Careful now. Lift. That’s it. Carry the Lady Pasinae to her room. The healer will be with her in a few moments.”
“Yes, Counselor Ogan,” the guard rumbled in a deep voice.
Strong arms beneath her shoulders and knees pressed her body close. He smelled of man sweat and horses, as if he’d recently been riding.
Pasinae couldn’t suppress a moan of pain.
“I’m sorry, milady. I’m tryin’ to be careful.”
She didn’t bother to reply, intent on remaining conscious and containing the sudden wave of nausea that seized her stomach. She’d never been so miserable in her life. But through her misery, one thing she was sure of…
Whoever has done this would pay.
~ ~ ~
We are the last.
Making sure Jasmine stayed close to his side, Indaran shuffled toward the gate of the compound, careful to keep his shoulders bowed and his gaze lowered. Walk like a tired peasant, not like a prince.
Adrenalin raced through his body, and he forced his hands to remain loose, rather than reaching for his non-existent sword.
The closer they approached the gate, the more he could hear of the two guards’ argument. He strained to understand the guttural accent.
“I tell you something is wrong with Ontarem. Can you not feel the difference?”
“You blaspheme.”
“Then why did we wake up on the ground?”
“Perhaps some drug was put in our food or drink. It is an escape attempt of the prisoners.”
Oh, no, not a good line of thought.
“Then why are the prisoners still here, still returning to the camp? And why do I not feel the connection with my God?”
“The drug’s effects haven’t worn off.”
“Then go to the temple. Seek out a priest or priestess. Find out what has happened and what we must do.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Indaran saw one of the guards take off at a shambling run, then slow, as if moving too quickly was beyond him.
In a few minutes they’ll discover our escape. But Ontarem’s condition will terrify them. Who knows how long before a search is organized? They won’t think to look here, he reminded himself, hoping. Kokam will think we’re escaping from Penutar. The soldiers will race out to the plains or guard the way to the docks. They might even mount a house-to-house search. I’ll have some time to plan what to do next. See what our resources are. Not a lot of time, but some…
They drew level with the guards. The one who’d been arguing reached out a hand to stop Jasmine. Although he possessed a well-muscled, hulking body, his head was small, giving him a beetle-like appearance.
Indaran tensed.
“Why are you going into the camp, pretty one?”
“I’m a healer. There is sickness among some of the slaves.”
The other guard studied her. A scar ran from the right side of his wide-set eyes to under his square jaw.
“Such pretty eyes you have,” Scarface said. “Exotic. You must have foreign blood.”
Indaran clenched his fist, holding back from punching the guard.
Jasmine ignored the guard’s familiarity. “What is your name?” she demanded.
“Landers, healer.”
“And you?” She sent a pointed look at the beetle.
“Kase.”
“Well, Landers, Kase, Trine Kokam sent a message for me to investigate the slaves. Ontarem doesn’t want any illness spreading to his people.”
“It’s just laziness, healer,” Kase drawled. “If there were serious illness, I would know.” He didn’t remove his hand from her arm.
Indaran wanted to break his fingers.
Jasmine raised a haughty eyebrow. “Are you questioning the wisdom of Ontarem?”
With a scared shake of his head, he backed away.
Good for you, Jasmine.
She nodded in approval. “I just heard you speaking of being unconscious. That’s one of the symptoms.” She reached for Kase’s wrist, counting the pulse. “Humm. Slow. Do you have a headache?”
The man rubbed his forehead. “Yes.”
Jasmine pulled her eyebrows together in a frown, dropping his wrist.
Indaran suppressed a smile.
“And your stomach? Does it hurt?”
The guard rolled his eyes downward, obviously assessing his internal condition. “No.”
She turned her attention to Landers. “What about you?”
“The same, healer.”
“If you should have pain in your stomach, see your healer right away. Do not delay.”
“Yes, yes, I will.”
“Now, I must be about my task. But in the meantime, ask the rest of the guards about how they feel. After I’ve examined the sick ones, I’ll be back to assess their condition. Do not come into the camp. I don’t need more of you falling over ill.” Without looking at Indaran, Jasmine swept through the gate.
The guards, too preoccupied with their physical conditions, barely glanced at Indaran.
Indaran didn’t break from his shuffling, shoulders-bowed carriage.
Inside the fence, a large rectangular canopy fluttered over a scattering of straw bales. Round metal buckets, containing wooden dippers attached by strings, circled the perimeter. Beyond the area, several square tents blocked his view of the rest of the camp. No people. Where is everyone?
Indaran detoured to glance inside one of the buckets.
Water.
He stopped and scooped up a dipperful. The water tasted warm and a bit stale, but he didn’t care. No food or drink had crossed his lips in years, and the soothing feeling of the liquid rolling over his tongue and sliding down his throat tasted better than his memory of the finest wine. He closed his eyes, savoring the rest of the dipper.
Then he opened his eyes and smiled at Jasmine, who’d halted by his side, watching him with what he was beginning to recognize as her healer’s expression—a slight crease between her brows and an intense look in her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my poor manners. Contrary to appearances, I have not been raised in a stable.” He lifted the dipper in her direction. “Would you like some?”
“Yes, thank you.”
&nbs
p; He scooped up another dipperful, holding it to her mouth.
As Jasmine drank, she watched him, her steady blue gaze trusting. When she finished, she nodded her thanks.
“Come.” He slipped his hand under her elbow. “Let us find the others.”
He steered her around the tents, and there found his people, silent, waiting in an open area ringed by more tattered square tents.
A ragged bunch. Gaunt, blank faces, as if they’d seen too much pain and couldn’t imagine life would bring anything better.
Tempor bounded forward. “Welcome, my king. The word has spread of your arrival. I thought it best to congregate here, out of sight and hearing of the gate guards.”
“That was well thought out.”
Tempor made a come-here sweeping motion with his arm.
The crowd hung back.
Indaran’s gaze fastened on some children in the front row who waited, unusually still, lacking the impatient bounce of healthy youngsters. “You have children here?”
“The reavers killed all the little ones, saving only those old enough to earn their keep—about eight or nine is the youngest age. And we have a few babies who were born after we arrived here. For some reason, those women have been allowed to keep them.”
Children. He gazed at their young faces with hunger. He hadn’t seen a child in years. He remembered his younger brothers…his small sister, Daria. The loss grabbed his throat in a chokehold and wouldn’t let go.
One young girl, wearing a tattered, too-small blue gown, her blonde hair dangling in long braids, stepped over, a sheath of weedy yellow flowers clutched in a two-fisted grip. Her green eyes in a pointed, thin face fixed on him.
She looked so like Daria, perhaps a few years older than the little sister he’d left behind, that tears blurred his vision. He didn’t remember Daria with color; in his mind’s eye, her braids shaded into gray. But perhaps by seeing this little one, he could soon color his memories of her. He hoped so.
She shuffled toward him and bobbed a curtsey, holding out the flowers. “These are to welcome you back to your people, King Indaran,” she said, the sentence carefully rehearsed.
He crouched down, wanting to be at eye-level, and took the flowers, sniffing the bitter scent of the yellow blossoms. “I am welcomed, indeed. What is your name, child?”
Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) Page 14
