Nolo jogged toward it, followed by Ranispara and Gregori. Enchanted monoliths framed an honest to God pathway, creating a straight shot through the forest for an uncountable number of miles.
Gregori laughed so hard he had to lean against a menhir to stay on his feet. “Oh, you brilliant boy—I knew you had it in you.”
“What the hell are you talking about? Speak sense man,” Nolo demanded, rounding on his friend.
Gregori shook his head unable or unwilling to get a grip on his mirth.
A rhythmic pounding interrupted further attempts to get the man talking. All eyes returned to the forest as it erupted into a sea of grappling branches.
“What’s happening?” Gregori retreated, his eyes wide and horror-filled.
“Stay back!” Nolo threw out an arm and shoved Ranispara behind him.
Two refulgent green ribbons shot out of the sylvan chaos cleaving a path through the violence. But as Nolo watched, the ribbons sparked and frayed as they broke apart. The pathway narrowed as the fighting trees gave ground. Before it disappeared completely, Sarn slid through the gap.
Nolo caught the Kid before he collapsed and dragged him across the circle of menhirs. A black branch coated in tar slammed into the cordon the stones maintained. For a moment, the air between the menhirs fluoresced a soft white then faded as the branch shattered in a shower of black sparks. Not one passed within the circle. They were saved by the Queen of All Trees’ blessing.
Remembering his charge, Nolo shook the Kid. “Sarn? Talk to me.”
While Sarn stared off, his emerald eyes bled the fire filling them, sending radiant rivers coursing down his pale face.
“Let go of me.” Sarn struggled against the arms holding him up.
“Can you stand on your own?”
Sarn nodded, and the arms fell away, freeing him. The magic cast everything into shades of green, but a few slow blinks banked the fire in his eyes allowing other colors to filter back in.
Gregori opened his mouth to say something asinine, but Sarn coldcocked the Ranger before he had a chance. Gregori dropped to the ground, but the thud of his body hitting the earth left Sarn empty, spent and now sporting sore knuckles. For some reason, the magic had elected not to soften the blow. He shook his smarting left fist and stepped over Gregori’s prone form. Nolo stepped in front of Sarn forcing him to halt.
“Let me go. You owe me.”
Nolo looked him over, but before the Black Ranger could speak, Sarn shook his head. He chopped both hands through the air in negation.
“I won’t go to the fu—” Sarn broke off. Cursing would piss off his master, and he still needed an official dismissal. Damn his indenture and its stipulations. Sarn took a breath and tried again. “I don’t need to go to the infirmary. I just need to rest.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands to stop their burning. “Let me go. Please?”
Sarn let his hands fall back to his sides and checked to see if his plea had any effect. He started when he noticed the struggle beyond the menhirs. Had the corruption reached Mount Eredren? Was it in his cave? He poked his sixth sense, but it ignored his question. Maybe his magic was tired.
“It can’t pass. We’re safe from whatever is happening out there. And here, I brought you something to eat.” Inari gestured to a basket slung over one arm. She stood inside the second ring of standing stones, on the meadow side.
“You’d better do as she says and eat something. You don’t look so good,” Ranispara said as she stepped over her husband’s prone form. She gave Sarn a dip of the chin acknowledging something.
Hunger assailed Sarn. He wanted Inari to be right, but his gut disagreed. His boots slid off his shoulder and thudded on the ground. Sarn ignored them and staggered toward Inari and her basket of goodies. What culinary masterpiece lay under the checked fabric? Lead filled his legs, but when he crossed the threshold, he met no resistance. Nothing hindered him except his exhausted muscles and this curious lightness.
Was he floating? Could he fly back to his son? A quick downward glance confirmed both his numb feet touched the ground. Sarn swayed. Had Inari retreated or had the world receded? The ground rose to meet Sarn cushioning his fall. He lay there unable to move as three voices blurred together. They tossed around the dreaded I-word—infirmary.
“I’m not hurt,” he said or tried to as everything blurred then faded to black. I’m sorry son. I tried.
Nolo rushed forward too late to catch the toppling youth. Sarn lay flat on his belly and mumbled something about killer trees and mud men. His body tensed and shook as a seizure claimed him.
Everything stopped, and the sudden silence drew all their gazes to the forest. Not a single branch moved. All the trees’ attention focused on the Kid thrashing at Nolo’s feet.
“Stay back.” He threw out his arms to hold back Ranispara and his wife. “Give him room. It won’t last long.”
“How long?” Inari asked. “How long has he suffered like this?”
Nolo met her concerned eyes but said nothing. He had to concentrate to gauge the length and severity of the seizure. Come on Kid, snap out of it. You’ve survived worse.
“How long has this been going on?” Inari’s question cut across the pep talk looping in Nolo’s head.
“Since Hadrovel,” Ranispara answered, taking the burden of explanation on her slender shoulders. “We don’t know if it happened before that monster got ahold of him.”
“I thought there wasn’t any brain damage?” Inari’s dark eyes shot back and forth between her husband and her friend seeking confirmation.
Ranispara shook her head, and looked away but not before Nolo saw the same regret feasting on her.
“The Kid’s been knocked around a lot. The incident—” Nolo had to stop. Talking about that incident raised memories in all their gory detail. He swallowed regret, and it burned all the way down. Why had he ignored the Kid? Sarn had run away four times before he’d thought to investigate. Hadrovel had played the part of a shocked guardian well. No suspicion had fallen on the beast until it was too late.
“Repeated head trauma,” Ranispara volunteered, answering Inari’s question.
Perhaps she still saw a bandage-swathed Sarn clinging to life on a spare cot. No matter how many times he'd apologized, the Kid still waited to be handed over to his abuser, a man long since executed for his crimes. Movement drew Nolo’s eye to his wife, and he blinked at her as he returned to the conversation at hand.
“The incident was five years ago. Are you telling me you’ve done nothing to help?” Inari’s spine firmed, and her dark eyes hardened—a sure sign of trouble. There stood the huntress who’d captured his heart more than a decade past—a heart now divided by conflicting loyalties. Every day drove a wedge deeper into the gap, widening it.
Ranispara nudged Nolo with her hip. “You better answer her.”
The seizure ebbed, and Sarn stilled. Nolo knelt and rolled the Kid onto his back, so he could check for signs of life.
Inari sank down on Sarn’s other side. “Answer me. Isn’t there something you can do to prevent this?”
“Yes, there is, and we’re doing it,” Jerlo said. No one had heard his approach. The instant he’d spoken, they’d all flinched. “How’s the Kid? Is he still breathing?” Jerlo nodded to Sarn. The commander stood behind Inari with his ink-stained hands clasped in front of him.
“Yes, and I can guess who caused the seizure.” Nolo transferred his gaze to Gregori, who showed signs of returning consciousness. He glared murder at his semi-conscious friend.
“Stress definitely,” Ranispara said holding up one finger. She nudged her husband’s side with her boot. “Did you leave him with any food or water?”
“What, No, I taught the Kid how to forage for himself. So I left him to it. There’s plenty to eat in there if you know where to look, and he does.” Gregori rubbed his head and sounded less groggy than expected. “The Kid’s got a mean left.”
“You d
eserved it.”
Nolo nodded to Ranispara in complete agreement with her. Magic might have also caused the seizure, and it would explain the light he'd seen corralling those trees, but not their striving. What the hell had gone on out there?
“So, let’s review. We have stress, no food or water except what the Kid can rustle up if he bothered. We have an untold number of miles he ran on no sleep through a bunch of warring trees. Did I miss anything?” Ranispara shot her husband a glare, and it dented his ego.
“You’re making it sound worse than it was.” Gregori picked at a grass stem.
“Am I? I’m laying out the facts as I see them. You should have thought this through.” Ranispara shrugged.
“Enough. This isn’t helping. And someone had better explain that warring trees comment.”
Jerlo shot Nolo a look ordering an explanation, but all he could do was shrug. Sarn would have to explain when he woke up.
“Shouldn’t he have come around?” Inari’s hands hovered over Sarn. She hesitated for a moment more then let them drop into her lap.
“No, he usually stays out cold for a while following one of these episodes.” Nolo rose and swung the Kid over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “We’re drawing too much attention.”
His wife's gaze questioned his actions. “Can you move him without harming him?”
“It never has before.” Ranispara left off interrogating her husband and moved to stand by Inari. She placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder and squeezed.
“Where are you taking him?” Jerlo fell into step with Nolo.
“Where do you think—the infirmary.”
“He forbade that or did you forget?” Ranispara said.
Before Nolo could reply, the weight left his shoulders as Gregori took his burden from him.
“Least I can do,” the man muttered. He carried Sarn, like a lost and broken child, draped across both arms.
“He won’t stay in the infirmary.” Jerlo shook his head. “He’ll bolt the second he wakes.”
“Where else can we stash him, so he’s out of sight?”
Who could they trust with the secret of his existence? Nolo waited for an answer. When it came, it surprised him, but he could find no fault with it.
Sarn woke to dragons. They stretched their wings on one panel and torched a turret on a wall hanging. In still another, a dragon rose out of a lake trailing watery wings. On a nearby bookcase, dragon sculptures pranced, lazed and stood claws ready to rend. Paintings, murals, and tapestries competed for space on the walls. Statues fought with furniture for floor space. Every single one of them captured dragons in full color and splendor.
Sarn levered himself up from the divan. Dragons cavorted on the carpeting and upholstered the chairs as well. Only one person was obsessed with dragons—Jerlo. Great, he sat now in the commander’s lair at the man's mercy. Sarn buried his face in his hands as he propped his elbows on his knees to wait.
A door opened, and Jerlo made deliberate noises as he approached. Some Rangers claimed thoughts of the commander summoned him. Other rumors claimed the commander employed a legion of spies who had secret methods of signaling him. However, neither was the case here. The commander must have heard the divan creek when he’d shifted his weight on it. Likely the lacquered door Jerlo had entered by led to his office.
The clink of glassware tempted Sarn to lower his hands. Thirst burned in his throat. A glass of water ringed the head of a dragon battling a tentacular creature on a nearby table. To avoid talking, Sarn guzzled the water, soothing his throat.
“Now tell me everything you've done since the last time I saw you.”
Jerlo took the wingback chair across from Sarn. It too bore dragons picked out in gold and orange. Jerlo’s collection of dragon-themed stuff managed not to clash with itself. Arranging items with complementary colors near each other had helped.
Where should he start? Would the commander believe any of it? Sarn put the glass down. He wanted more water, but he refused to ask for it. How could he possibly explain what had happened out there when so much of it was inexplicable?
“Tell everything. Leave out nothing.” Jerlo leaned back, and the chair swallowed him. But the commander’s personality loomed large, overshadowing Sarn.
Sarn pushed to his feet needing the height advantage nature had given him. But Jerlo’s presence expanded until it filled the room, dwarfing him even more than before. Sarn sat. After all the running, he had no energy to pace.
“Talk,” shadows veiled Jerlo’s face. The man had chosen a chair outside the glow of Sarn’s eyes on purpose. The commander gave nothing away.
“You know what happened.”
“Talk, and you can go. Refuse, and we can spend all night here.” Jerlo’s words struck Sarn hard.
“It’s night already? How long was I out?”
“Not long enough, but by the looks of you, you’ll remedy that soon if you talk.”
“Didn’t Gregori tell you?”
“We had a chat, yes. He won’t do it anymore. It’s over.”
“You made the same claim three years ago.” Sarn shoved a hand through his hair. His head still felt light, but not as if it might float off his shoulders. Maybe he needed to eat something. He pressed his bony elbows into his thighs again and leaned his forehead against his wrists.
Somewhere deep inside him, a child raged against the bars of his silence. Why did you hand me over to that monster?
Sarn fought the question as memory and reality mixed. Hadrovel’s hand gripped his bruised shoulder hard, and Sarn winced. But Jerlo never looked up.
“Take him and go,” the commander had said. “Next time keep a closer eye on your ward.” He kept flipping through the papers on his desk as blood ran down Sarn’s arm and dripped onto his boot.
“Off topic, but you’re right. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Jerlo tapped the table recalling Sarn to the here and now.
The memory receded leaving Sarn stunned. He couldn’t have heard that right. “What did you say?”
“I said I thought I’d put the fear of God in him. Now I have—”
“Him who?”
Jerlo slapped the table and made the glassware jump. “Pay attention. You know damned well who I’m talking about—Gregori and his ill-timed ‘test.’ Which won’t happen again. I’m not asking you to trust me. You don’t do trust. Fine, I get it. Let’s move on to what I want to know.” Jerlo speared him with those impenetrable black eyes.
Sarn sat up straight. “Is this an apology?”
“What did you think it was? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Jerlo rubbed the bridge of his nose.
But it couldn’t be an apology. The commander never apologized to anyone for anything. No, the man wanted something. Well, so did Sarn.
“If I tell you what you want to know, I can go? No healers? No stops at the infirmary?”
Jerlo almost smiled, but his facial muscles found the expression too alien to carry off. So they fell back into their customary line. “Got it in one, talk and you’re out of here free and clear until tomorrow night.”
The bells of Mount Eredren rang twenty times announcing the hour.
“When tomorrow night?” Sarn pushed.
“Twentieth bell, are you satisfied?”
Sarn sat on the edge of his seat ready to seize the promise dangling in front of him. A full twenty-four hours he could spend catching up on sleep, safeguarding his son, and doing some much-needed brotherly bonding. Magic infused his voice when he spoke. “You promise? If I tell you what you want to know, I’m free for twenty-four bells? Yes? No healers, no minders of any kind?”
Jerlo nodded.
“Swear it. Swear to what I said. Swear to it all, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.” Magic rang in his voice, twisting his words into one-half of a chain, and he let it. He'd do anything to secure such a promise.
Jerlo looked discomfited, but he nodded. “Have it y
our way. Tell me what I want to know, and you can go. No one will hinder you, but you must return in twenty-four bells to my office. To this, I swear.”
The magic freed itself from the bonds of flesh and bone. Rising, it captured the commander's words and bound them by their terms. Sarn sagged in relief. He was almost out of there.
“Dawn came, and so did Gregori. He told me he had something for me to do. We went down to the docks, and I woke up in the middle of nowhere. I ran and ran and ran until I got back here. I struck Gregori, and I woke up here.”
Sarn pushed to his bare feet and stopped. His boots rested against a statue of a dragon whose wings curled over a basket. A familiar checked handkerchief covered baked goodies, and their fruity scent made his mouth water. He stumbled over to them, catching himself on bookshelves and dragon statues.
“And the warring trees? What about them?”
Sarn froze. So they weren’t a hallucination. “I don’t know what that’s about.” But he had a few guesses he wasn’t ready to share yet. The hollow feeling in his belly demanded food, so he grabbed his boots and the basket and fled before Jerlo withdrew his promise. As he ran, he wondered how long he had to solve the riddle of the ghost, and the murders, before whatever happened to them targeted someone else.
Sarn stuffed an oversized muffin oozing sweet cherry jam into his mouth. He leaned against a wall in an alcove formed by a dip in the tunnel’s wall. Rock protrusions on either side hid him from sight, but not the glow of his eyes. Jerlo’s office crouched in its corner a half mile away in a more trafficked tunnel.
Crumbs tickled his throat making him cough. Uncapping a flask provided with the meal, he took a swig and almost spat it out. He took a cautious sip of the tea but detected no astringent aftertaste this time. Inari would never drug him but Jerlo might. The tea did its job, and he quit coughing. Capping the flask, he placed it and the basket on the ground. He’d just finished tying his boots when he heard footsteps.
Curse Breaker_Enchanted [The More Epic Version] Page 13
