Shrouded Sky (The Veils of Lore Book 1)

by A. Akers, Tracy

  “They look out of place, and not very happy to be here.”

  “If you think they’re unhappy now, just wait until the game starts. No doubt the Sovereign scheduled it for their benefit.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The Three realms oppose violence for the sake of it and feel the Sovereign’s penchant for it, to quote their words, ‘is an affront to human decency’.”

  “God, Tiersa. What kind of game is this?”

  “Not one for the squeamish.”

  Chandra’s eyes shot toward the center of the arena and she studied it more carefully. All throughout, barriers fitted with spikes were arranged, and between them fires blazed in oily pits. In the middle, a tall pole rose at least fifty feet, and atop it a misshapen object of some sort was perched. At each end of the field a small raised hoop could be seen, no doubt the opposing goals. Here and there weapons and other cruel devices were placed, making the field looked more like a death trap than a playing field. Chandra’s stomach went queasy. “I don’t know if I can watch this,” she said.

  “You don’t have a choice,” Tiersa said. “It’s required.”

  Chandra looked past Tiersa toward Jhon who was watching her closely. “Why didn’t you warn me?” she demanded under her breath.

  Jhon rose and gestured for Tiersa to scoot down. “I did not think it necessary,” he said, taking a place next to Chandra. “From what I understand, Sister World spends a great deal of time and money being entertained by violence. I simply assumed you were accustomed to it.”

  “Well you assumed wrong.”

  “I’m sorry. But you will have to put on a brave face.”

  “I’m tired of putting on a brave face,” Chandra said. “This is too much.”

  “You have no choice but to watch the game, but there’s a method of getting through it that many of us have learned over the years. Simply focus your eyes on something neutral across the way and keep your face as stoic as you can. When the whites cheer, you cheer also. Admittedly it takes practice, but it’s all I know to tell you.”

  Chandra frowned. “So you can just ignore the fact that your son could get hurt down there, or worse?”

  “Do not the sons of Sister World go to war? Do they not face similar harm?” Jhon asked.

  “It’s not the same thing. Pitch isn’t war; it’s a game.”

  “Do they not both have rules of engagement, winners and losers and pawns that move about the field to reach a desired conclusion, be it to attain fame, riches, or power? I fear you are mistaken, Chandra. They are very much the same.”

  Before Chandra could argue further, the crowd suddenly rose to its feet, roaring their approval. Chandra stood, following the lead of those around her. Her eyes gravitated toward a large chariot that slowly entered the arena. It was driven by two men, one dressed in black, clearly a member of the Shield, the other a Pedant clothed in white. Eight horses pulled it, their heads plumed with feathers that matched the crimson robes of the Sovereign who stood in the center of the chariot, one hand holding a tall staff, the other holding to the rail.

  Chandra quickly realized it was not the Sovereign alone that was the focus of the crowd’s cheers, but also the figure of a staggering man chained by the neck behind the chariot, his hands bound. Chandra knew immediately it was Tygg, though he looked nothing like she remembered. She’d not thought of him much these past few days, at least she didn’t think she had. She had been too worried about saving her own skin to worry about his.

  As the chariot drew nearer to the throne, Chandra was able to get a better view of him. He was badly battered, his face bruised, one eye swollen, his bare chest and back marked with burns and other forms of abuse. His leathers were covered with stains, and his bare feet were shackled, making his attempts to keep up with the chariot more difficult than the pain he was probably suffering.

  The chariot stopped before the royal section of the stands and the Sovereign was helped down by the drivers. One escorted her to the steps leading to the throne, while the other unhooked the chain tied to the back of the chariot, jerking the prisoner at the other end of it toward the stairs.

  Chandra stared at Tygg, a part of her hoping he would look up at her, the other part praying he wouldn’t. Her insides were in a knot, and the thought of him knowing she was a witness to his misery somehow did not sit well with her. Against her hopes he looked toward her, but his eyes moved quickly past as if she were no one, just another face in the crowd.

  The driver prodded Tygg toward the Sovereign’s throne, until at last he was made to stop. The Sovereign raked her eyes over him, then stepped onto a cushioned stool and turned to sit in a flourish of red. She snapped a command to one of the sentries, who moved the stool aside and forced Tygg onto all fours before her, unbinding his hands and hooking the chain around his neck to a link on the ground. Tygg winced as the Sovereign planted her slippered feet upon his back.

  The crowd laughed and cheered, but the emissaries seated beyond the throne did not share in their amusement. They kept their eyes firmly ahead, refusing to look at the Sovereign or her prisoner. This did not go unnoticed by the Lady, for she slid her eyes in their direction, a cruel smirk on her lips.

  Chandra’s thoughts began to blur, sending a deep throb to her temples. She closed her eyes and lifted a hand to her head.

  “Chandra?” Jhon asked. But she was barely able to answer. Her mind was shifting and unshifting, like pieces in a Tetris game jockeying for position. “Something’s . . . not right,” she managed. She shook her head, trying to stop the dizzying effects of the images clambering for purchase in her skull.

  She heard a woman’s voice, hushed and anxious, questioning Jhon as to her condition, or perhaps they were arguing about it. Chandra couldn’t be sure. They sounded distant, or maybe it was the din both inside her head and out of it that made them seem so.

  She’s broken past . . . not working . . . what do we do?

  Chandra’s legs began to wobble. Jhon hooked an arm through hers, keeping her on her feet. More than anything she wanted to sink onto the bench or perhaps lie down on it, but the crowd was still standing, and she knew to do otherwise would bring unwelcome attention her way.

  At last the Sovereign motioned for the crowd to sit, and the noise of their banter quieted. Chandra took her place, leaning against Jhon to keep from toppling over.

  “Do you wish Tygg to live?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Do you wish Tygg to live?”

  Chandra forced her eyes to Tygg, and recognition of him exploded inside her: He was her friend and had helped her and been kind to her. He’d come with them to Syddia when Orryn was ill, and now Tygg was suffering on account of them both. She straightened in her seat, remembering his goodness and humor and all that had happened between them. But it wasn’t just Tygg she remembered. It was everything. “What must I do?” she asked.

  “You must put on the performance of your life,” Jhon said.

  Trumpets sounded loudly as gates at opposite ends of the playing field were thrown open. The crowd chanted and cheered as teams in opposing colors, black entering from one end, white from the other, walked toward the center of the arena.

  Chandra held her expression in check as she watched the players enter the field, determined to be in control of her emotions, or at least the arrangement of her face. The men drew nearer, looking more like warriors than members of a sports team. Each held a shield and a sword, and their well-oiled bodies were covered by loin cloths and strips of leather that crisscrossed their bare chests and forearms. The two groups, totaling at least a hundred altogether, joined in the center of the arena, then stopped and formed a line to face the Sovereign.

  Chandra quickly spotted Orryn. His golden hair stood out from the others, though he wasn’t the only fair-haired player amongst them, and he looked like a Roman gladiator as he waited for the game to commence.

  Memories of their time together filled her like a wild, romant
ic dream, reminding her of who Orryn was, or had been. He had made love to her with demanding passion, yet she’d had neither the will nor the desire to stop him. It was as if a rushing current had swept her into his arms and she was only too happy to drown in them. Even now she could feel the exquisite pain of his mouth as it ravaged her throat, and the pleasure of his body as it embraced her gently then pressed hard against her. She closed her eyes, willing the image of him to go away, ordering her heart to forget what had been, yet could not be. He did not remember her. He did not love her. And he never would again, if he ever had at all.

  She forced her eyes away from him, staring across the arena at the blur of fans on the other side. Perhaps if she didn’t watch him play this brutal game, perhaps if she ignored Tygg’s suffering and the Sovereign and everything about this place that made her hate it, maybe then she could slip back into the medically induced coma she prayed she was in.

  Again the woman’s voice sounded in her head. “How is this possible? Can it be made right?”

  “I don’t know.” Jhon’s voice this time. Chandra looked at him, but he did not look back. “Could it be that she is a mind walker?” he asked.

  Chandra’s jaw went slack as she realized, or thought she realized, he had not spoken the words with his mouth, but his mind. “Mind walker?” she wondered.

  Jhon’s attention swung to her. “You heard?” he said. But no words left his lips.

  “By the gods,” the woman’s voice said. “Is it possible?”

  Jhon glanced at the red-haired emissary, prompting Chandra to look in her direction. “Can you hear me, girl?” the woman asked, but she did not look at either of them, just continued to stare straight ahead.

  Chandra swallowed, at a loss for words in any form.

  “Answer me, girl,” the woman snapped. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes,” Chandra thought, but she felt foolish for it. Reading minds was impossible. Everyone knew that.

  “You’re wrong, Chandra,” Jhon said. “It’s called mind walking, and it appears you have the ability.”

  “This can’t be happening.”

  “Listen to me,” the woman said.

  “Do I have a choice?” Chandra asked.

  It occurred to Chandra that if they could enter her head, then they could read her thoughts. And if they could read her thoughts, they would soon learn everything she knew, including what had happened with Orryn. “Stay out of my head,” she ordered them both. “Do you hear me? Out!”

  “It’s only a form of communicating,” Jhon assured her. “It’s not the same as melding.”

  “So you don’t actually see what I’m thinking?” Chandra asked.

  “Correct,” the woman said. “We hear your words and you hear ours, but you are not yet skilled, so may find yourself blathering on about things you would just as soon keep to yourself.”

  “Thanks. That makes me feel so much better. Can everyone do this?”

  “Good gracious, no,” Jhon said. “Until now, only Edrea and I and two others that I know of.”

  “Who’s Edrea?” Chandra asked.

  “I am Edrea,” the woman answered.

  The energy of the crowd intensified. Chandra looked toward the throne to see the Sovereign lifting her staff into the air. For a moment it hovered there, but then she swiped it down and the voices of the crowd burst into an earsplitting roar.

  The players on the field took off running, rushing in coordinated moves to gather up the additional weapons that had been placed throughout. Maces, swords, spears, and daggers, all were soon in the hands of the combatants. Some of the men planted their feet in defensive stances, while others sprinted in various directions on the field.

  Orryn ran with the grace of an Olympian as he scooped up a dagger in one hand, his gleaming sword held in the other. He stopped and spun, plunging the blade of his sword into the belly of an opposing player, slashing his dagger across the throat of another.

  Blades met with sparks and clanks of metal throughout the field. Daggers were bloodied and spears thrown. It was a frenzy of winner take all, and it wasn’t long before players from both sides were sprawled in the dirt, some moaning and wounded, others silent and still.

  Chandra breathlessly struggled to follow Orryn’s form as he wove through the chaos. Thus far he had outmaneuvered his opponents by either dodging or murdering them, working his way over and around barricades as he made his way closer to the pole in the middle of the field. Players from both teams appeared to have the same goal in mind: to reach the pole and capture whatever was perched atop it. More than one player had already made it there and climbed part way up, but all were soon struck down by the defensive players who finished them off the minute they hit the ground.

  Suddenly Orryn stopped and made an unexpected detour.

  “What is he doing?” Jhon asked with alarm.

  Chandra’s turned her attention in the direction Orryn was now sprinting, and it was then that she saw Pey maneuver toward the pole. But as Orryn drew closer to the Commander, a circle of Shield began to stalk him from the rear, surrounding him ten to one.

  “They’ve trapped him!” Chandra exclaimed, surprised she even realized it. There was so much taking place on the field, it was hard to recognize what was strategy and what was brutality for the sake of it.

  Jhon’s eyes traveled hurriedly over the field, searching for something, or someone, but Chandra’s focus was fully riveted on Orryn who was now fighting several Shield at once.

  Orryn went down, dazed or wounded, Chandra could not tell, as Pey marched toward him. His men backed away, allowing their commander his time in the limelight. But as Pey raised his sword to strike, the Sovereign suddenly kicked Tygg aside and rose to her feet, booming an order that echoed through the stands. Her face looked ashen as she thrust her staff into the air.

  Pey hesitated, his sword still raised, but the Sovereign glared down at him, daring him with her eyes.

  The Commander lowered his sword and bowed to her, as did the rest of the players, while Orryn staggered to his feet, barely able to stand.

  The crowd grew quiet as the Sovereign barked a command to one of her sentinels who unhooked Tygg’s chain from the ground and dragged him down the steps. She then ordered a second guard who hurried off toward the playing field.

  “You will come to my receiving room at once,” the Sovereign said, aiming her piercing stare at Jhon. “And you will bring the Imela with you. It is time I found out what she truly is.”

  Chandra felt her knees go weak, but then the Sovereign shifted her attention to the emissaries and said, “The Three realms are hereby summoned. Prepare to state your purpose.” She snapped her fingers, and several well-armed escorts arrived.

  The Sovereign took a step, then seemed to sway on her feet, but the two raven-haired attendants were immediately at her side, and together they melted with the rest of the red cloaks from the stands.

  As soon as the last hint of red disappeared from sight, voices in the crowd erupted with comments, questions, and confused opinions. Never before had a Pitch tournament been halted without a victor named. Why now? they asked. What could it mean?

  Several of the Councilmen glanced at Jhon as he hustled Chandra, Mayra, and Tiersa toward the aisle leading out.

  “Mayra, you and Tiersa must head home straightaway,” Jhon said, directing them to a quieter place outside the arena. “Talk to no one. Allow no one inside once you arrive.”

  “But Jhon,” Mayra began.

  “No time for explanations. Just do as I say.”

  “What about Ren?” Tiersa asked. “I was to meet him after the game. He’ll wonder where I am.”

  Jhon stopped and turned to face her. “I will find him and tell him,” he assured her.

  “What will you say?”

  “That you took ill or—”

  “You know he’ll only come to see about me! You know how he is.”

  “Do not worry about Ren!” Jhon said, exasperated. He drew a calm
ing breath. “Listen, I’ll think of something to tell him, all right? Meanwhile you must go with your mother.”

  Tiersa nodded, biting her lip, and did not argue further.

  “I’ll be home soon,” Jhon said, turning to Mayra.

  “I know you will,” she replied, then to Chandra, “You take care.”

  “If I don’t see you again,” Chandra said, “thanks for everything you did for me.”

  “I pray we’ll see you again,” Mayra said. “Contrary to what Orryn says about where Imelas are allowed to live, we can petition for you to stay with us if you’re granted citizenship. You’d have to work for your keep no matter where you stay, but at least you would be with us.”

  For the first time, Chandra felt a glimmer of hope. “I—I’d like that, very much.”

  “Then you must trust Jhon when you are brought before the Sovereign, for he’ll not steer you wrong.”

  “Thank you. I will.”

  “Go,” Jhon said to Mayra. “Chandra and I must not appear late before the Sovereign.”

  “Of course. Come, Tiersa,” Mayra said, and together they turned and headed toward the crowd and to the carriages that waited on the other side of it.

  CHAPTER 29

  The Receiving room was very different from the Council chamber where Chandra had first met the Sovereign. While the Council chamber had been black and white and polished, this room seemed more like a large parlor than a place to conduct business. The walls were draped in tapestries of gold and sienna, and throughout the space cushioned chairs and pillows were arranged, as if inviting guests to relax rather than plead for their lives. Tall candelabras gleamed throughout the room, but strangely not all were lit, leaving some areas draped in darkness. Along the far wall was a dais elevated by several steps, and upon it the Sovereign was seated in a gilded, throne-like chair. Her gown was the same deep red she had worn at the game, and Chandra wondered if her face was the same ashen shade. But Chandra could barely make out the woman’s features, much less any emotions they might convey. It was as if a veil of shadow had been draped across the Lady’s face, hiding all but a few subtle shapes of it.