by Raine Thomas
“To victory,” he said.
“We have found their lair,” Uriel announced.
Gabriel, James and Caleb looked over at him. “Are we close?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes. We should be there within the hour.”
The other elders gathered close to hear what Uriel had to say. Caleb wanted to feel some kind of relief over the news. They had been traveling without rest for hours and were all exhausted with worry. This brief pause had occurred only to allow the groups of Estilorians following them time to catch up. He had been consulting a map with his brothers before Uriel’s announcement, and he couldn’t deny the surge of hope that he had experienced when he saw the Waresti elder approach after conversing with his scouts.
But he recognized the look on Uriel’s face. And he knew the rest of the news wasn’t going to be good.
“The Mercesti have built their lair into a series of connected tunnels within the mountainside.” Pointing to the map, he said, “We have identified camouflaged entrance points throughout these areas here, here and here, and will continue to find others, I am certain. We have never crossed these tunnels in all these centuries. At least, we have not done so and lived to tell of it. This makes me suspect they were created using strong power. From what we have now determined, there are hundreds of tunnels inside the mountain, all of them guarded by Mercesti.”
Gabriel frowned. “Surely we can take some of the tunnels and find a way in.”
“Without any doubt,” Uriel agreed. “However, finding our way through the tunnels will take time. We will risk losing soldiers who become disoriented or are taken unaware by the Mercesti who know the tunnels much better than we possibly can. And there is no way to know exactly where the sisters are being held. There are miles of tunnels.”
Malukali offered, “I can track thoughts to find them if you can get me into the tunnels. I can isolate those thoughts about the sisters and lead you right to them.”
“Not if they have Mercesti capable of dampening near them,” Uriel said, “which they most certainly do. Jean-Marc and Layla will not be their only soldiers skilled in this. That is in all likelihood how Grolkinei anticipates defeating us.”
Malukali frowned and nodded.
“The cats can track them,” James said.
“That will help,” Uriel agreed. “There will certainly be archers guarding from a high vantage point. Sebastian, were you able to design armor for the animals?”
The Lekwuesti elder nodded. “Lucas assisted me in creating armor that I believe will suit them. It should prevent either of them from taking a fatal shot.” He looked at James. “I will need your assistance putting the armor on them, however.”
“Of course.”
“I do not like the idea of battling within the tunnels,” Ini-herit said, shaking his head. “We cannot possibly cover all of the exits. Grolkinei will simply wait to receive word from his soldiers of our approach and move the sisters out of our reach.”
“Grolkinei wanted us to follow him here, though,” Gabriel argued. “He wants this battle. I don’t think he’s going to run.”
“Why not?” Ini-herit returned. “If he can use his soldiers to thin our ranks and kill some of us in the process, would he not do so while incurring the least risk to himself? That would allow him to keep the sisters for his own purposes.”
“We elders will not fall to just his soldiers,” Uriel said with calm assurance. “He will have to also use his power against us if he is to have any chance of success.”
Everyone exchanged looks as they weighed both arguments. Then Gabriel looked at Knorbis. “What do you think he’ll do?”
Caleb hadn’t noticed the obvious strain on the Wymzesti elder’s face until just then. He had been too caught up in his own fear and uncertainty during their travels to pay attention to those around him. But he now saw that Knorbis’ purple eyes were shadowed, his skin pale. He had obviously been plying his power toward figuring out what they should do…what Grolkinei would do. And from the look he gave Gabriel, he didn’t particularly care for the results.
“You all know that my predictions are based on many variables. Nothing I say is certain.”
They merely nodded. Knorbis sighed. “I agree that the battle cannot occur within the mountain. There is too much uncertainty on either side. Grolkinei cannot monitor every one of the hundreds of hidden entrances, and thus cannot assure himself of complete safety within them. He knows that he places himself at risk of being trapped within the tunnels by drawing the fight there.”
Now, he looked at the brothers. “Therefore, I believe he will bring the battle to a location that he identified ahead of time as being to his advantage. And once there, when we have followed him to that site, he will provoke the battle.”
Caleb exchanged looks with his brothers. Because Gabriel knew Knorbis’ thoughts and Caleb and James knew his, Caleb didn’t have to hear what the Wymzesti elder left unsaid.
The act to provoke the battle would almost certainly be the deaths of Saraqael’s daughters.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Grolkinei finished the last sip of his second glass of wine. It was the last he would allow himself or any of his soldiers that night. They were not foolish enough to get intoxicated with so much at risk. Indeed, those Mercesti with dampening powers weren’t even allowed a drop of alcohol to drink. He needed every bit of their concentration focused on Saraqael’s daughters.
As he took another bite from the plate of food in front of him, his gaze settled on the three chairs set in a back-to-back triangle in the center of the cavern where the feast was being held. He had ordered the tables on the ground level set in a large square around the cavern, with smaller tables set up on the ledges leading into the tunnels above the floor level. There were at least five thousand Mercesti in attendance. The remainder of his soldiers were on duty, but would be honored for their efforts on another day in the very near future.
The three “guests of honor” sat quietly in the center of the cavern, tied to the chairs set there. He had deliberately sat Skye across from him so he could watch her. Her reactions to things were usually so delightfully expressive.
He had admittedly expected to get more enjoyment out of the feast. It had been his idea to keep the sisters in the cavern with them, surrounding them with the scent and sight of the elaborate food and drink being consumed in honor of their capture. Although he had allowed them to relieve themselves—under full guard, of course—and had given them each a glass of water, they hadn’t been fed. He knew from Jean-Marc that they were used to rather frequent meals and imagined they were all ravenous.
Normally, this sort of torture was a highlight in his day. Now, he found himself frowning.
Skye had spent the beginning of the meal looking around with her usual curiosity. He had seen her eyes focus longingly on a few of the many platters of food as they were being served, which had proven slightly satisfying to him. But she had soon lost interest and was now sitting with her head tipped back against her sisters’, her eyes closed.
Drumming his fingers on the table, he wondered why he wasn’t finding this all more amusing. He finally had Saraqael’s daughters where he wanted them. They would be his key to abolishing this plane and achieving all he envisioned. And as an added bonus, he was scoring a vicious strike against Gabriel by holding his avowed and sisters-in-law captive. He knew their deaths would be beyond anything the Gloresti elder could handle.
He should have been elated.
Instead, he found himself unable to stop staring at Skye…wondering about her. Why did she strike such a chord with him? Was it because she was essentially an outcast among Estilorians, much as he and his class were? That might have been part of it, he silently acknowledged, but certainly not all. Her sisters were equal outcasts and of little interest to him outside of their usefulness to his cause.
She wasn’t as strong and formidable as Amber, nor was she as keenly intelligent or focused as Olivia. And the purity of her spirit�
��and her resulting ability to command holy light—should have made her a remarkably desirable target for his vengeance.
So why wasn’t he enjoying himself?
Irritated, he pushed his nearly empty plate away and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked slowly around the room from the vantage point of the head table, set slightly apart from the others. There was a steady buzz of noise as conversations ebbed and flowed. The volume increased a bit as the second round of wine was consumed.
He noticed many gazes focused on the three sisters. In fact, none of his commanders, all of whom sat with him at the head table, were speaking. But all of them were staring into the center of the room. Much to his surprise, it seemed he saw more curiosity than ire on their faces.
Abruptly, he lifted his knife and tapped it twice against the side of his glass. All conversation ceased. He noticed some movement among the sisters, though Skye’s eyes remained closed.
“I hope you are all enjoying yourselves,” he said, projecting his voice so even the highest levels could hear him.
When his comment resulted in a loud cheer, he watched Skye jerk in her seat and blink slowly as if to clear her eyes. He realized she had actually fallen asleep. He clenched his jaw.
“Now that our meal is coming to an end,” he said, keeping his gaze on her as she focused on him, “I thought some entertainment was in order.”
When another cheer echoed off the stone walls, he got to his feet and moved around his table toward the center of the cavern. “I was further thinking that our prisoners should be the source of this evening’s entertainment.”
The cheer then was deafening. Skye started. He smiled as he walked closer.
When the noise died down, he said, “But the question remains what our entertainment should be. The options are so many, after all.”
A few Mercesti in the crowd tossed out ideas. He watched as the sisters paled over some of the more creative ones. When he was a few feet from their chairs, he walked a slow circle around them, bringing a thoughtful hand to his chin.
“What do you think, Amber?” he asked in a considering tone, pausing near her. She continued to stare straight ahead. “Do you think it would be more entertaining for everyone to watch me cut off one of each of your fingers, or break one of each of your legs?”
Her golden gaze shifted to his, but she didn’t speak.
Smiling more widely, he said, “Decisions, decisions.” He moved a few feet to his left. “Or maybe it would be more fun to ask Olivia to choose which of her sisters will die first.” Her green gaze moved to his. Unlike Amber, she wasn’t very skilled in hiding her reactions. She looked horrified. “And the longer she takes to make her decision, the longer we will torture that sister before she dies. Hmm.”
At last, he moved the remaining distance until he stood in front of Skye. Her eyes were wide and glistening. She also stared at him.
“What do you think of the ideas proposed by my Mercesti, Skye?”
Her gaze moved around the cavern. He knew she couldn’t see much beyond her chair, as her eyes weren’t as accustomed to the darkness as theirs were. Then she looked back at him.
“I think you have a strange concept of what’s entertaining,” she responded.
He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “On the contrary, this is highly entertaining. Here…we can do this,” he said helpfully, waving his hand and producing a long, black switch. He waved again and a wooden flogging post appeared not far from their chairs. “I want you to tell me which of you I should flay with this whip.”
“Me,” she said without hesitation.
He blinked over her response as her sisters objected loudly from behind her. He realized he hadn’t thought through his word choice very well, knowing as he did that they would sacrifice themselves for each other. “No,” he clarified as his smile faded, “I meant you should choose which of your two sisters I should whip.”
“That’s not what you said,” she argued. “And I say you should whip me, if that’s what you think of as entertainment.”
Although she didn’t know it, she had just helped give him an out from the suddenly less appealing idea of wielding the whip. Threading the switch through his fingers, he said, “Are you implying that you could entertain us in other ways?”
“I can name thousands of activities more entertaining than torture,” she said, her eyes warily following the movement of the switch.
“And what would you be willing to do to entertain us?”
A round of shouts and whistles erupted from the crowd, but she ignored them. She looked steadily at him, seemingly gauging his sincerity. He watched with interest as her expression transitioned from fear to hope the longer she held his gaze.
“Well…I could dance,” she offered.
“Ah,” he said, taking a step from her and looking at the table housing Jean-Marc and Tristan. “We have heard that you are a rather talented dancer. What do you think, Jean-Marc and Tristan?”
The two non-Mercesti Estilorians hadn’t eaten much during the feast. He wondered if either of them regretted their actions. While he had found jealousy to be a strong motivator for converts, it was also difficult to maintain when removed from the source. Jean-Marc’s jealousy over the relationship between his class leader, Malukali and the Wymzesti elder, Knorbis, had simmered steadily when he was receiving nearly constant reminders of it at the Estilorian base, making it easy for him to decide to strike out against them by kidnapping the sisters. Similarly, Tristan’s jealousy of Caleb and James over them having been chosen to pair with the sisters rather than him had been easy enough to provoke into action.
Soon, however, when they faced killing the sisters to complete their conversions, it would be their moment of truth. And if they changed their minds, they would simply be killed. Grolkinei was satisfied either way.
His eyes bored into theirs as he asked, “Is Skye’s dancing worth bypassing a sound thrashing as far as entertainment value?”
It felt as though the entire room held its breath. Tristan turned narrowed eyes toward Skye, making Grolkinei raise an eyebrow over the obvious hostility in his gaze. But Jean-Marc must have sensed Tristan’s thoughts. He reached over to grip the former Gloresti’s arm as if in warning.
“Yes,” Jean-Marc said at last, holding Grolkinei’s gaze.
Grolkinei realized with some surprise that the Orculesti knew his thoughts. It raised his respect for the potential convert a notch. Tristan frowned, but wisely didn’t argue.
“Very well.” Grolkinei waved a hand and made the switch and post disappear. “A dance it is.”
There was a round of cheering as he walked over to Skye, but he knew it wasn’t as loud a cheer as it would have been if there had been about to be a public whipping. It really made him realize how uncivilized he had allowed his class to become. He smiled.
After he untied Skye, he used his power to push the three chairs—including the two containing Olivia and Amber—to the edge of the center space. Then he looked down at Skye, who stood next to him. She had kicked her boots off and was now stretching.
“I want you to dance provocatively,” he said in a low voice.
Looking puzzled, she said equally as quietly, “If a dance isn’t provocative, then it isn’t being done right.”
His mouth opened slightly as a response formed, but he withheld his comment and asked, “Any music requests?”
Now she looked surprised. “Oh. Sure. Maybe something with strings. And some piano. Varying tempo. Common time—not a waltz.”
He studied her for another moment and then nodded. After walking back to his seat and leaving her alone in the middle of the cavern, he said in an amplified voice, “I will allow you to be the judges. If you find her dance entertaining enough, I will forgo the whipping for tonight. Otherwise, perhaps I will allow one of you to administer the whipping for wasting our time.”
Cheers resulted from the announcement. Catching Skye’s gaze, he gave her a dark smile. T
hen he held a hand up and dimmed the lights further. Soon, only she was illuminated. The noise silenced completely in expectation.
She did a few more stretches, then stood quietly with her head bent and her eyes closed. He watched the steady rise and fall of her chest as she centered herself. She reached up with her left hand and pressed her palm against her heart. He noticed the gleam of the light on the silver ring she wore. Then he saw her nod, and he cued the music.
After a moment of listening to the opening piano and strings, she shifted so she was lying on the ground with her eyes closed, muttering something that looked to him like, “Beyond say, halo,” when he read her lips.
Intrigued despite himself, he again crossed his arms over his chest and settled into his chair to watch.
As the soft notes of the lead-in built into the first crescendo, she opened her eyes and looked around as though she was just getting to an unknown destination. She sat up and looked at her arms and legs as though she had never seen them before. She mimicked looking into a mirror, gently touching her face with an expression of surprise and awe on her face. Every movement was precisely in sync with the music.
He realized she was reenacting her transition to the Estilorian plane.
She got to her feet and started to move. She made it seem that the music filling the room had been written for just this moment.
She danced near the head table, bringing the light into focus on his commanders. He watched as she conveyed the Becoming ceremony and the fight afterward. She gave herself the appearance of flight through long and fast leaps, then clutched her head and fell to the ground. Even that, she made appear graceful…a part of the dance. She rolled easily back to her feet and then danced near her sisters, falling to her knees beside Amber’s chair and covering her face as though crying. Even her shoulders moved to accentuate the emotion of the scene. Then she moved her hands from her face, and her anguished expression turned to one of radiant joy.
