by Dekker, Ted
The apprentice hesitated.
Marak growled. "Do you understand me?"
"I-yes, General."
"You may go."
The idiot bowed.
"And what did you see today?"
Pause. "Nothing, General."
"Keep it that way." The servant bowed and fled.
Marak grabbed his cloak and pulled it over his shoulders. He let out an exasperated sigh and squeezed his fist.
Darsal stood waiting, head bowed. Jordan's pendant gleamed in the sunlight.
For an awkward minute they just stood there.
He broke off first. "Come on."
"Where are we going now?" Darsal's eyes narrowed. He deserved that.
"To find my captain who had the audacity to send me one of Sucrow's ingrates." Marak frowned. The frustration was starting to mount again. "I don't want that priest starting another war."
"War and slaughter aren't the same thing," Darsal said. Then she spoke again, the bite leaving her voice. "I should know."
"I'm still under orders . . ." He didn't finish that.
Grumbling at himself, Marak went back through the trees toward the lake. It didn't take long to find his captain and friend along the shore, sweeping for them.
Cassak saw them and turned. Surprise took over his face at Darsal. He tried to mute it but was too late.
"I see my beggar found you," Cassak said.
Marak grumbled. "What did you send that idiot for if you knew I was here?"
"He was backup, in case I didn't find you. You scared him pretty good." The captain surveyed his general and the albino slave.
"I really do have to ask why she's alive, Marak."
"She's the reason they're dead," he snapped. "She'll die when she's paid for it."
Cassak was openly taken aback. It took him a minute to recover from Marak's announcement.
"A little cold, but you're the general. You got my message, then."
"Sucrow agreed to send throaters into the desert with those idiots." Curious. Marak didn't see any point. Although, if the priest thought there was some merit to all this nonsense ...
"Right." Cassak kept glancing between Marak and Darsal. What was going through the captain's mind? Did he suspect anything?
"You really should have just come yourself," Marak grumbled.
"It was more fun watching you toy with him. What did you say?"
A chill worked its way down Marak's spine. Cassak was a good man. Loyal to the bone. But Marak had taught him well. He would go to Qurong. Besides, it wouldn't happen again.
At least Cassak hadn't heard.
"Told him if he bothered me again I'd slit his throat." Marak shrugged. "He's one of Sucrow's, Cassak. I wasn't in the mood."
"He was available. Sorry."
Marak tapped his chin, eager to be off the subject. "How many men is Sucrow sending?"
"Twenty, twenty-five. My source is bad at math."
"I don't want the idiots giving Eram the wrong idea. And if this thing is legitimate, I don't want Sucrow getting credit for it."
Cassak beamed. "I'm up for a ride."
"Good." Marak clapped his friend's shoulder. "Take twentyfive men and follow them. Don't be seen. Make sure"-he grew sober and drilled Cassak with a stare-"make sure the Eramites know this is not a raiding party. It's a sweep of the south desert, nothing more. I don't trust Sucrow to get that across. And bring me the amulet."
"Amulet?" Cassak made a face.
"I'll explain it later. No, I'm not getting suspicious on you. Hurry or you'll miss them."
His captain saluted and raced off. Marak watched him go. There was still the immediate matter of Darsal being alive when she was supposed to be dead.
"Now what?" she asked.
He started back toward the village. "We come up with a story to tell Sucrow."
he idea of going anywhere with a brood of the priest's throaters galled Johnis. But he needed Sucrow's cooperation more than he needed to be stubborn on the point. And Shaeda willed it so.
Therefore, so be it.
Johnis resisted the urge to strike Warryn right off his horse. Or find out what Shaedas power could really do. He had yet to tap into that.
Tempting.
"Patience, my pet .. .
This mental invasion was getting old.
"Yet you enjoy such. . . "
Johnis growled. "I don't."
Shaedas mind flooded him.
Okay, so maybe he did.
They rode along the edge of a sharp cliff with even higher, more perilous verticals on his left and behind him. Rises that came to points so narrow and sharp that even if they could be scaled, no human could ever hope to stand at the pinnacle.
Before him: desert he'd crossed once before, once when it was yet uncharted, on a mission that really should have killed him right at the start.
Of course, that meant nothing.
"Trust runs both ways, boy," Warryn said.
"I never said I trusted you. I said your priest is a rock in my shoe." Johnis scanned the horizon again. Campfires dotted the rises well to their west, smoke curling.
"Eramites," the serpent warrior commented. "Blasphemous half-breeds."
Johnis gave a snort and went back to his horse. He mounted and looked at Silvie.
"To hell and back again?" he asked.
Their last quest had taken them west. But they prepared to go south, just as Shaeda had instructed him.
Retrieve the charm.
Prove Eclipse would work.
Conquer the Horde.
Get rid of Shaeda.
Keep her power.
Johnis winked at Silvie. Her lip curled into a smirk. "To hell and back again."
Warryn didn't have a clue. They were riding again, and Johnis enjoyed the opportunity to gloat. If this man knew half of what Johnis planned for his priest, he would run them through.
Or, at least, would try.
Johnis spurred his horse. A sharp curse and a thud. He spun back around.
Silvie had fallen off her horse. Warryn's right-hand man jumped down faster than she could recover and stomped a foot on her back. His sword pressed her throat.
He'd knocked her off.
Shaeda was oddly quiet. He should feel a surge of power. Instead he seemed more interested in leaving, in continuing on alone.
Leaving Silvie.
No. He would never leave Silvie.
Warryn laughed. Someone brought a torch forward, illuminating their faces in the night. "Didn't you hear, boy? I own hell."
"Hell is owned by your master," Johnis fired back. His heart pounded.
Shaeda, I need you. I need you now!
Shaeda wasn't giving him the clarity, the focus, the resolve he needed. No, no, now was not the time to be stuck in this lethargy!
Power. He needed her power.
No time.
The torch hovered over Silvie's bared skin. The throater licked his lips. "What red-blooded soul wouldn't want this pretty?"
Johnis snarled.
Think, think! You have to move! Shaeda!
But Shaeda couldn't hear or wasn't listening. Which made it possible for her to not always know his mind.
Maybe.
Later.
"What do you want?" he demanded, only to buy time while his mind and body caught up to themselves. He knew the answer.
"Don't touch her."
Warryn chuckled. He dropped down beside his men and crouched. Ran his hand along Silvie's body. "Tell me where we're going." The throater sniffed her skin.
"South of Natalga."
The claws and darkness punished him, tormented, even taunted him.
"Fail me not, my pet .. .
Why won't you help me?
"Your lack of faith ... "
Johnis started to shake, unable to throw off the internal vise on him, the one that demanded he leave them all and take off in a dead sprint to the canyon.
The one that said if he crossed these men, he would lose a
lliance with Sucrow. He couldn't give them the information. He couldn't give them Silvie.
Warryn's cackle swelled. Clearly, he misunderstood Johnis's plight. Silvie thrashed but couldn't free herself.
"Josefl"
Silvie's scream broke the stranglehold.
Johnis whipped his mount back across the twenty yards or so between them and jumped on the startled throater.
Shaeda blinded him completely. Sharp pain ripped through his mind, down his spine, down into his toes, into his hands.
Do not betray me. . .
You betrayed me!
Warryn tore at him. Johnis flung the stunned elite guard down and dug his knife against the serpent warrior's soft throat.
"Let her up," he snarled. "I swear I'll tear your leader to shreds and tell the priest it was his own doing."
The man didn't move. Johnis nicked Warryn and watched the blood trickle out. For a minute they remained at a stalemate. Evidently they had all expected two passive commoners, not two warriors.
Silvie broke loose and drove one of her knives into the man who'd pinned her down. "Kill him," she snapped.
"Not yet." Johnis dragged Warryn up. "Didn't you hear, throater? Thomas Hunter himself has sung our praises. Never forget that. The next stunt you pull, I run you through. I'm in command here, not you." He let go and remounted.
And he was reeling. He'd defied Shaeda. He'd defied Shaeda.
"You will pay for such, Chosen One. . . "
Silvie kept her hands close to her blades.
"I require a human, son of Tanis. Which I choose matters not. Remember such. "
Johnis fought the heady, dizzy sensation. Was that really the key? Silvie meant more to him than anything. Than life itself. Than Shaeda's power. Her will.
Several seconds passed as he took in that thought. And Shaedas chilling threat.
Reddish-purple haze overpowered him. Her eyes seeped into him. Razor-sharp vision cleared his mind.
The mission.
"Keep a sharp eye on the west," Johnis said. "I hope your boys are in for a hard ride."
Walking into a hidden Black Forest dead on his feet would be suicide. But stopping to rest would give Warryn and his men time to pull something.
His head was pounding, the migraine digging hard into his skull, tearing at his brains. Shaedas eyes ... the haunting eyes that forever watched him.
Through her eyes he saw desert. He saw the canyon.
"Come along, my pet. . . "
"We can't go on forever," Warryn said.
His mind was worn thin. He couldn't resist. No longer wanted to. Besides, Shaeda didn't care much for Warryn either.
"You may finish him in due time, my pet ... "
He could live with that.
"Are you priests or warriors?" Johnis scoffed. "Warriors ride hard and fast, and they certainly don't talk like that."
He drove the horse faster, chuckled to himself when Warryn had to work to keep up.
CASSAK SQUINTED IN THE MOONLIGHT, WAITING FOR THE scout's report, watching the lone figure run over the dunes and toward his twenty-five warriors in black robes. All mounted, spread out far enough to be out of sight, but not signaling, range.
Twenty-five soldiers to make sure twenty-five serpent warriors didn't do anything foolish and start a war. Of course, the numbers were mostly for protection from Eram.
He'd sent a message out to the general, on Marak's order, so the man wouldn't think this was a war party. Not that he intended to be seen.
But Marak's head wasn't in the game. Not this time.
Apparently his quarry had earned the displeasure of the dark priest, who wanted the pair in custody badly enough to send out the throaters.
A lot of trouble for a piece of wood on a leather cord. They'd all gone insane.
"Bad enough they squabbled over a pack of albinos," Cassak muttered. "Now we get to squabble over a myth. Shataiki lair ..."
What Marak didn't know was that Sucrow wanted the pair dead once he had the amulet. He suspected but didn't actually know.
"Captain." One of his men broke Cassak's thoughts.
"What?"
"About the general's slave ..."
Oh. Right. The wench. That was another problem. She was supposed to be dead. And Cassak wasn't entirely convinced he was buying Marak's new sadistic streak.
The general hadn't been right since his family's death.
Since Cassak exposed them to Desecration.
Even albinos shouldn't scream like that. And then they'd stopped screaming.
"What about her?"
"Well, sir, she's ... albino."
"Glad you noticed, fool. Get back to business and let the general handle his own." The man saluted and left without further protest. Cold, yes, but not something Cassak cared to deal with yet.
Two guards on watch stopped his scout at the front line and questioned him, then allowed him through. The little scout hurried over the sand and dropped to one knee before his captain.
"You've found them?" This was an unnecessary question. The scout would not have returned otherwise.
"They're almost into open desert, Captain." The scout rose. "Still headed south. I overheard part, sir. They're headed toward a canyon. If we press through the night we won't be far behind."
Cassak nodded. "We'll spread out farther and surround the canyon. Tell everyone to stay quiet or lose their heads. Borrow a horse and go."
MARAK RETREATED TO HIS ROOM AND PULLED OUT RONA'S leather journal. She'd started writing in it when they met, and when she became albino she sent it to him. His mind's eye could still imagine her strong, slender hand penning each page in her neat script.
But as he read, his mind also wandered. He'd barely spoken a word to Darsal since noon and finally sent her back to the house while he completed his work for the remainder of the day.
He shouldn't trust her. She wouldn't get far with her legs chained and his men all over Middle. Sucrow would know he hadn't killed the wench. Then there was the search party in the south desert. Tempting the rebels to arms.
Cassak would keep the peace. He had to trust his captain.
He'd come home to a clean, mostly dark house complete with a candlelit dinner. Darsal hadn't said a word, and he didn't comment on it. After the meal he'd put her in the study and had told her to stay there. His only means of being alone right now.
Darsal.
After today there could be no more touching. Marak grumbled to himself and stood. He wanted a dip in the lake.
Darsal's silhouette was in the doorway, watching him.
"May I come in?"
He grunted and stepped past her. "I'm going to the lake to bathe."
"Why do you bathe in the lake?"
The question surprised him. Marak didn't respond.
"Middle Lake won't heal if you bathe in it. And it isn't red, so you can't drown. Why bathe in a muddy lake?"
"What kind of question is that?" He didn't know if he should be offended or not. It was an odd question. A direct, personal question.
"An honest one."
"You should know the answer."
"I've been away a long time. I don't know what's happened here in the last five years. And five years ago you wouldn't have done a ritual bathing, muddy water or not."
Marak frowned. He knew the answer but didn't like the idea of her making him explain it. "I think you should stop asking questions."
"I have a lot to catch up on. Humor me."
After trying to kill her, why not?
"After the drowning, when we took Middle, many of the albinos came over to us because they refused to drown. It became permanent. Some of them continued the ritual bathing out of habit, as tribute to Elyon. The few who still believe such a person exists."
"I thought you couldn't change."
She didn't say Scab. Interesting.
"Since the drowning, that's true."
"And you bathe?"
His jaw tightened. True, that was one ritual he adopted.
But the cool water felt good on his skin. It was only the red water that was dangerous.
This question-and-answer session was over.
Marak started to leave. "Stay here and try not to get into any trouble."
"I've been through worse."
He swerved. "You understand what happens when Sucrow hears this, don't you? Do you have any idea-"
"My life is already forfeit." Darsal spoke softly. It was that very look that had spared her life in the dungeons. The dark hair, the wide eyes. The defiance, even when staring death in the face.
"So you're determined to bring me to death with you? Is that it?"
"No."
"Darsal, do you have any idea what Sucrow can do to an albino?"
"Yes. I'm well aware of what the Dark Priest can do."
Moonlight streamed from the bedroom window through the door and lit her face, pronounced her scar. Her eyes were glossy in the silver beams striking against her long black hair.
She was gorgeous. Darsal had bathed and put on a floralscented morst spiced with citrus, and a simple, light-colored nightdress she'd made from an old tunic of his. A sash belted it around her slim waist.
Shake it off, Marak. She's albino. She's an enslaved albino condemned to death. Shake it off
That careless touch changed everything.
All the emotions he'd had for Rona were now directed toward this diseased woman who could fight like a man and who carelessly threw her life away for a fool's notion of Elyon "curing" him.
"Why did you come back, after all of that? You would have escaped. You would be safe and at home with family by now. Surely your scouts would have ..."
Darsal's head lowered.
"Would have ..." Marak trailed off, watched her cover her face with both hands.
His blood ran cold. "Your family is gone, aren't they?"
Darsal didn't answer right away. Her breath came in short, forced spurts. "My story is a long one, Marak. I didn't drown until the day you took me for your slave."
Jordan. It had to be Jordan and Grandfather. They'd made another one sick. But how? How had she ... ?
"My parents died when I was a child," she continued. "I was raised by an uncle who was a drunk." Her voice caught, and she took several moments to compose herself. "If you call that being raised."
Quiet.
"You don't have to tell me."
Darsal gave a soft smile.
Rona, coming close for a kiss.
