Alec closed the distance to the whirling rock and pushed against it, ignoring the pain erupting in his side. He deflected the rock from its course, and it tumbled past her head, smashing into the brush behind her.
The soldiers regrouped. One clutched a large hammer while the other lifted a second rock. With time, Alec could take them. He could manipulate them into killing each other. But his vision faltered. He only just held on to consciousness.
Holding back his regret—this might be the only chance to avenge her father—he sliced the bindings at Rayen’s hands and feet. As the three soldiers came toward them, he lifted Rayen—staggering as he did—flared his Speed, and disappeared into the wilderness.
Chapter Eighteen
NOLAN SHIFTED HIS ATTENTION to a flickering campfire as light danced off nearby trees. Laughter broke through, and a fiddle played a quiet, merry tune. Nolan squeezed his hands into fists, wishing he could strike some of the happiness out of them—whoever they were.
He forced himself up, grabbing the iron bars for support. As soon as his hands touched the cold metal, the bars glowed. Yanking his hands away, he closed his eyes. What in Brim’s light happened to him?
The last thing he remembered was trudging off to his room on the eve of Emery’s wedding day. A bottle of ale sat on his desk with a thick-handled mug next to it. He had drunk some to drown away his pathetic sorrows, but he’d only had one glass—not even a glass—and everything after that was gone.
Nolan attempted to sit again, smacking his dry tongue on his lips; his mouth tasted bad. There must’ve been something else in his drink. Poison, maybe? But who would’ve poisoned him? And why? He strained, trying to see in the dim light. He’d attempted to use Perception, to see who his captors were, but the effort had left him unconscious. His power was too low.
Tentatively, he raised a hand to the bars, touching a fingertip to the metal. Once again, it softly glowed. His Shay pulled away from him, leaching into the metal. He yanked away, rubbing his fingertips together. Guardian steel.
Nolan scanned his environment. Woods bordered his cage. Dark, shadowy Nass danced around a campfire, shooting up and disappearing into the night sky. Other cages, similar to his own, lined a small clearing. Light flickered off more shapes in those cages, which rested atop wheeled wagons.
In one enclosure, a two-headed bear slumped in a corner. Another held a woman with four arms. Reading a book by lantern light, she used two of her arms, while the other two petted something furry in her lap.
Nolan turned and found another cage. This one held … Nolan sucked in a breath. A Guardian stood, and their eyes met. Not Greer, Malik, or Sanawan. Another Guardian. As he opened his mouth to speak to this new Guardian, a figure approached from the shadows, slinking toward Nolan’s cage. He sat straighter; finally, he’d see his captor.
Long, olive legs and numerous braids stepped into the fire’s light. The metal from her bracelets clinked on her slender wrists. It was Jezebelle, the gypsy.
“Ah! He is awake, at last.”
Suppressed anger made Nolan’s body tremble. Jezebelle had poisoned him? He ran a hand over his chin, realization fermenting. Was he now a part of some sideshow, some freakish gypsy attraction? He’d heard of them before but had never seen one … until now. How could he have let this happen?
A memory, Jezebelle’s words, rang in his head. “This isn’t over, freak. You will be mine.”
Nolan stood, and his world lurched. He grabbed the bars to catch his fall, but once again, the bars glowed—Shay light leaked from his hands to the steel. He flared his Strength, pulled against the bars, and his vision darkened.
***
Nolan awoke to a chorus of singing birds. Sunlight splashed through the bars of his cage, sending stripes of shadow over him. He sat, or tried to at least, feeling weaker than he had before, his powers nearly depleted. He punched the floor to his cage. What was he thinking? He wasn’t strong enough, didn’t have enough Shay, to break through a cage made with Guardian steel. He’d been too angry, so intent on breaking her traitorous neck, he’d forgotten to restrain himself.
He couldn’t use any more. Brim had told him he would die without the stones or the light. At his full strength, he might be able to break free. But he’d gone to his room weak—it was stupid of him to allow his power to get so low. He’d used too much when the Talasian ships appeared. He’d sapped most of his power soothing people, trying to keep the peace. He should’ve taken the stones right after, but instead, he’d opted to sleep. Where were the stones? He needed them.
He scanned the other cages again and met the stare of the Guardian. Who was he? How did they keep him locked away? Maybe they’d imprisoned him in another cage of Guardian steel. Nolan could speak to the Guardian with his mind, but he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t use any more power.
A metal plate clanked to the floor of his cage and scraped across the ground, passing under the bars. A gypsy man with hair knotted in thick, sausage-like links stood at the side of his cage. He shoved a glass of brown water in after.
“Miss Jezebelle is still trying to come up with a name for you,” he said.
“I already have a name,” Nolan snapped.
The gypsy strode away, his gait relaxed and bouncing. He headed to the fire and threw a bucket of water on the flames. The blaze hissed and smoke rose into the air. A few gypsies climbed onto their horses while others piled into a wagon filled with women and young children. For the first time, he noticed the wooden plaques affixed to the top of each cage.
Two-headed bear.
Octopus Woman.
Lizard Man.
Lizard Man? On the Guardian’s cage?
His prison cart lurched, knocking the glass over and spilling a trail of water on the dirt-caked floor. The plate of food slid, and Nolan caught it before it could slip under the bars. The smell of food wafted, making his stomach complain in a low grumble. How long had it been since he’d eaten? It was a hunk of deer meat, he suspected, along with a pile of wild greens. With more impulse than thought, he ripped into the meat, swallowing it before he chewed.
After he cleaned his plate, he leaned back; the cage jostled with each bump and stone. Thick fog covered his mind, and he wondered if his food had been poisoned like the drink in his room. His answer came as the heavy feeling of drugs clouded over his thoughts.
***
He woke, his head aching. The angle of the sun shone well past midday. He glanced over, expecting to see the ring of cages once again. But instead, they’d lined up his cage with the others from end to end.
“He’s awake,” a female voice said.
The four-armed woman stared at him. Arranged like a formal sitting room—apart from the bars on all four sides—her cage held a comfortable chair in one corner, and a colorful rug lay on the clean floor. She sat in her chair; her skirts were short, showing nearly the entirety of her legs. One set of her arms rested on the arms of the chair, the other pair arranged her graying hair.
“What are you supposed to be?” she asked. “A strong man? You look the part of a strong man, but you don’t act so very strong. And you’re not deformed.”
Nolan examined himself, sucking in a breath when he caught sight of his clothes. He’d been stripped and wore only a piece of cloth covering both sides of his private regions, much like the Talasian warriors. It was more revealing than the blanket. Who’d dressed him? And when?
He stood on unsteady feet as his head throbbed. He almost instinctively grabbed the bars of his cage but stopped his hand inches from touching it.
The woman whistled. “You are a big boy, aren’t you? I can see why they brought you here. I would pay to see you.”
“Leave him be, Morna,” a voice said.
Nolan turned and saw the Guardian standing in the neighboring cage.
“Hideous, isn’t he?” Morna said with a chuckle. “He always attracts a good crowd. No wonder Jezebelle put you next to him—to give them something pretty to look at next to the ugliness.”
The Guardian had bronze, straight hair that ran halfway down his back. His square jaw had no facial hair at all, like his fellow Guardian counterparts. And his white-orbed eyes continued to examine Nolan. Wearing the same skimpy loincloth, the Guardian’s golden armor was gone. He’d never seen a Guardian without their armor. It made Nolan’s defined muscles look small in comparison. The Guardian’s skin glowed, even in the light of the sun. Magnificent, not ugly at all.
Nolan stepped toward him, getting as close to the bars as he dared. Only two arm lengths separated their cages. Nolan met his eyes and said softly, “I see you, Guardian.”
The Guardian’s stony expression dropped, shock smacking him across the face. His arms dropped from the bars, and he took several steps back.
“All right, my creatures.” Jezebelle appeared in front of the cages, jumping on a tree stump and facing them. “We’ll have a good crowd tonight. Remember … behave. Do your part, and there might be something extra for you come morning.”
Jezebelle jumped from the stump and sauntered to Nolan’s cage, a confident strut in her step. She stopped in front of him, displaying pristine, white teeth.
“I’ll kill you for this,” Nolan said, his threat pathetic. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
She laughed. “Will you, Emissary? What do you think of your cage? We were told it could hold even a Strength Rol’dan; I doubted it at first, but it seems to confine you quite well.”
Nolan leaned forward, hoping the wench would step close enough for him to reach through and snap her neck. But she kept her distance. Unfortunately, she was smarter than he’d expected.
Life exploded before him. A musician started playing a lyre. The man sang, but somehow two voices came from his throat at the same time. Another man juggled, tossing a dozen balls in the air. A woman juggled next to him, except she swung fiery torches. Nolan stared. If he wasn’t a part of the spectacle, he might have been impressed.
Jezebelle grinned. “The show is about to begin.”
The crowd came next. Couples dressed in fine garments. Merchants with families in tow. Men and women of all ages poured into the clearing, handing coins to a gypsy waiting at the entrance into the clearing. The spectators laughed and pointed at all the sights to see.
Nolan turned to where Jezebelle stood, except she’d already left. He caught sight of her braids and heard her laughter drifting over the growing crowd. Clenching his fists, his nails bit into his palms. He’d get out of this cage and make her regret it—as soon as he figured out how.
A pair of male gypsies approached, both carrying long spears. They eyed Nolan with amusement.
“Are you ready for this?” the one said to the other.
“Of course. Let’s have some fun.”
“Ew! Look at that, Mummy,” a child’s voice said. A family stared at the Guardian, disgust plastered on their faces.
A gypsy stood in front of the cage and said, “See the lizard man, dragged from the swamps of Boden. His flesh is hard as stone and as dry as the tips of the Tremain Mountains. One bite from his deadly fangs will leave one paralyzed while he consumes their flesh.”
The boy squealed and buried his face in his mother’s skirts.
Nolan snorted. He’d never heard such a load of horse droppings. It did, at least, explain why the “Lizard Man” sign hung on his cage. For some odd reason, the Guardian had chosen the form of a freak.
The family proceeded forward, stopping in front of Nolan’s cage. Nolan crossed his arms over his chest and turned away. If they thought he’d perform, they would be sorely disappointed.
“See the ancient warrior of Mina …” the gypsy said, his accent thick. He flung out an arm, presenting Nolan. “Found on the islands of Orama. Starving. Nearly dead. We saved him and brought him here. Some say the warriors of Mina are much like the feared Rol’dan, taking the secret powers for their own. Except, unlike the Rol’dan, they can obtain more than one power. And they are much larger than any normal man.”
Nolan groaned. Ridiculous! How did they come up with this tripe? For Brim’s sake, he didn’t have to put up with this. He uncrossed his arms and turned to the family, just as the other gypsy rammed the spear through the cage.
Pain tore into Nolan’s gut. He gasped, his eyes dropping to the impaling spear. The gypsy yanked it out, tearing it free. Nolan blinked, too stunned to speak.
The woman turned her face away, a cry escaping her lips.
“Do not fear, maiden,” the gypsy crooned. “Watch and see the magic of the Mina warrior.”
Nolan crumpled to his knees, gasping. He brought his hand to the wound and blood ran down his side, his leg, trailing to the floor of his cage and dripping through the slats. Even though his powers were nearly gone, his Healing responded; green light filled his eyes as his wound closed.
The family applauded, pleased with Nolan’s performance. They moved on to the next cage, where Morna danced using all four arms.
Nolan’s limbs trembled, his body spent. He’d healed the wound, but at what cost?
Other observers came, and the gypsies repeated the atrocity. First the story. Then the spear. Nolan tried to dodge, attempted to grab the wooden shaft, but he could hardly move. With each spear thrust, his body’s self-preservation used Healing. And with each wound, he weakened.
Body trembling, Nolan stayed on his knees the rest of the night. Nass slithered through his bars and across his cage, as if mocking him. Nolan hadn’t the strength to do anything about it. Instead, his mind drifted between consciousness and dark void, as he desperately clutched onto life.
Chapter Nineteen
NOLAN WOKE with a finger in his mouth.
He yanked back from the hand, gagging at the strange taste. The Guardian stood next to his cage, his arm laced through the bars. Light swirled up from a small slice in the Guardian’s finger, then it disappeared as the wound closed.
Night had fallen. The crowds dribbled away, leaving the clearing eerily quiet. The moon glowed only a sliver in the sky. It was a black night, one of the darkest Nolan had seen. The light around the Guardian glowed, though not as brightly as it should.
Nolan flinched at a sharp pain at his side. His head dropped, and the spear wound sealed closed with Healing.
“You were dying,” the Guardian said, his voice deep and rumbling. “You would not respond to my Healing, which is strange. Your body failed to heal on its own. I did what I could.”
The Guardian had shared his light. “H-how’d you do that?”
He shrugged one large shoulder. “I was uncertain if it would work, although I am glad it did.”
The Guardian stood in the grass just outside Nolan’s cage. He’d released himself from his own confinement somehow.
“I have never seen the likes of you before.” The Guardian cocked his head, his white eyes examining him. “I sense the Shay powers inside you, but I can feel the power of the Guardian as well.” He placed his large palm on his own chest. “And you can see me. How do you know what I am?”
“I can see the true forms of all Guardians,” Nolan said. “Greer. Sanawen. Malik.”
The Guardian’s posture stiffened. “Greer? He lives?”
“Yes. And if you get me out of here, I’ll take you to them. They are at the castle in Faylinn.”
The Guardian shook his broad head. “No. I must stay.”
“Why?” Nolan asked. “The new king is a friend to Guardians. You’d be welcomed.”
“The king might welcome me; Greer would not.”
Nolan scratched the back of his neck. Why wouldn’t Greer welcome him? He’d want to know of another living Guardian, wouldn’t he?
Nolan reached for the bars, then hesitated, remembering not to touch them. “Can you get me out of here?”
“I cannot. It is Guardian steel. Neither you nor I can move those bars.”
“Where in Brim’s light did she get a Guardian steel cage?”
He dropped his gaze, examining his feet. Suddenly, the Guardi
an resembled a child caught stealing pastries before dinner.
“You?” Nolan asked, scowling. “Why in the Darkness did you give her a cage?”
“I … well … ” He released a breath of air. “She spoke of wanting to contain one with Strength. As far as I knew, only the Rol’dan had Strength. I have seen many of those men do terrible things. I would not pity them caged.”
Nolan’s mouth dropped open. This Guardian was far different than the others he’d met. Greer would never talk of caging a human.
“Greer is nobler than I,” he said, answering Nolan’s thoughts. “However, our vows are against killing mankind. It says nothing about caging them, especially if they deserve it.”
Nolan snorted. “Why have such a cage to begin with?”
The Guardian raised his glowing eyes to meet his. “We originally created it for Alcandor.”
Nolan stood and staggered. Alcandor had been locked … in here? He shook his head. How odd that, after locking Alcandor away, Nolan would end up in the same cage that once held the fallen Guardian. With more impulse than thought, Nolan reached for the bars, desperation urging him to escape. Immediately, the bars glowed, pulling on his Shays. The meager power Nolan held wilted. He staggered, his knees buckling; he fell to his hands.
“Hold still,” the Guardian said. He produced a small dagger and passed it into the bars of the cage. Before Nolan could stop him, the Guardian brought the blade to his fingertip and pulled. He grunted softly as the stripe of white shone on his finger, and silver blood traced its way down. He shoved his finger into Nolan’s mouth.
Nolan flinched, gagging, but stopped as Brim’s light leaked inside him. The Guardian’s blood didn’t taste like any blood he’d tasted before—or like anything else for that matter. He leaned into the Guardian’s hand, feeling the tremors in his body relaxing. Then, abruptly, the Guardian yanked his hand away. “I’m sorry. That is all I can share for now.”
The light around the Guardian had dimmed even more; his eyes were less luminous.
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