As Dragons from Sleep (The Tahaerin Chronicles Book 2)

by J. Ellen Ross

  Coming to a decision, she looked at Ani and the others. “Please find a way to make this meeting with Ceslav happen safely. I’m not going to let him just walk away. Come play bodyguard with me?” she asked Zaraki. Once they stepped through the tent flap, they could see Andelko striding through camp as people jumped out of his way. “Let’s see where he’s headed off to. I think I’m supposed to go and talk to him.”

  At the edge of camp, they caught up with him finally. He sighed when he saw them, disgusted with the entire situation, embarrassed and upset at the part he believed he played in it. Keeping his distance, Zaraki tried to give them a measure of privacy as Leisha went to stand near her cousin.

  “I’m so incredibly sorry for all this,” Andelko said, making a sour face and scuffing a boot through the dirt.

  Leisha shook her head, hating the discouraged and downhearted sound of his voice. In eight years, she had never seen him despair like this. “I don’t blame you at all. Ceslav went hunting for a reason—he was always hunting for a reason. You just provided a convenient one.”

  “Perhaps,” he said, still sounding wretched. “It doesn’t change that I should never have agreed to take the position at the castle in the first place. I knew the risks then, and like a selfish ass I accepted your offer. I just—I wanted to help you. I missed court, and part of me relished the chance to be in the middle of things. I should’ve stayed hidden.” He meant all this as a confession of his sins, real or imagined.

  “No, Andelko.” Leisha laid a hand on his arm. “I’m glad to know and I’m glad you accepted my offer. It means so much to me to be able to call you cousin and to count you as part of my little family.”

  Leaning back against a tree, he scratched at his beard. “I remember when you were born. We were staying at Branik then, with your awful mother. You were so small and pretty. Your father told me it was my job to protect you because you would be queen one day.” Now he laughed, remembering her as a tiny infant. “My father was furious because suddenly I was second in line instead of first, but I was enchanted.

  “I’ve always wanted to tell you how proud I was of you and how proud your father would be. I think Davos would have abdicated in your favor, once he met you.”

  That took Leisha by surprise, and she felt an unexpected tightness in her throat. She remembered nothing of her father and rarely thought well of him. But perhaps because she had lived with his ghost for the last eight years and now stood to lose everything, every connection to her past, the thought that he might approve, touched her.

  “I wish I remembered you, or him,” she said. “But Andelko, this isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine. I’ve been naïve. I’ve always thought while the lords might not like me, we were all working together towards the same goals. We might quarrel, but we were all Tahaerin.

  “As usual, I’m so blind to some things. I believed because I was queen the nobles would come to accept me if I made them fat and happy, but even some of my supposed allies hate me. I’ve failed because I didn’t want to move against the lords. Because in my pride, I wanted to force them to accept me.

  “I’ve finally opened my eyes and I see they’re working against me and my people. They’re traitors.”

  That explained why she wanted to meet with Ceslav. To hear him say it, to hear him admit he preferred to hand over the kingdom to murderous zealots rather than have her as queen. She wanted to hear it, because once she did, everything would change.

  ***

  Eamon and his party made swift progress as they traveled in the direction of Otokar and the Deojrin army. For a week, Sarika sensed nothing, but still they kept to small cart paths and untended roads. They slept in abandoned homes and barns when they found them and ate cold food.

  After nearly two weeks of riding, Tibor went scouting and returned, flushed and panting, his horse’s sides heaving as it gulped great lungfuls of air. “In a valley, about five miles, I saw them, on the move.”

  “Excellent,” Eamon said. “Sarika? Are you still up for this?”

  She looked terrified but resolute. “Yes, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”

  Pulling themselves into their saddles, the pair rode in the direction Tibor indicated. They moved slowly, and most times Eamon held Sarika’s reins so she could concentrate on searching the woods for any whiff of Deojrin or their cursed slaves. If spotted, they would turn their horses and race back to the others before riding away to find a place to hide.

  Several times, Sarika sensed something at the edge of her range and turned them away. Her gifts allowed her to guide them around enemy patrols and up close to their army faster than a normal scout could dream of. Eamon made a note to tell Aniska this. If they could find a way, Cursed spies would be incredible assets for them.

  It took hours of careful, patient riding to approach the valley and take the horses up the backside of a large hill. From here, they could overlook the long valley their enemies moved through, but they were far too high to make out any figures clearly.

  Below their feet, the land fell quickly away before rising up again in a small hillock. “All right,” Eamon said, pointing. “That hill in front of us? Can you sense anything there?”

  Sarika squinted but then shook her head. “It’s too far, but I don’t feel anything between us and there. On the way, we can stop to check again.”

  For another hour, they picked their way down to the overlook. The hill they chose had trees enough to cover them from prying eyes, but not the minds of any curious slaves, so they stayed mounted in case they needed to run.

  Eamon looked down at the army as it slowly ground forward. “Damn,” he groaned, seeing blocks of black-robed Cursed marching behind the soldiers. There had to be a hundred of them, probably a few more.

  Suddenly, he heard Sarika’s horse shift as she jumped, startled. “Eamon, they know,” she said, panic rising in her voice.

  “We’re okay. We’re too far for them to catch us, but let’s go now.” Together, they urged their mounts down off the hill and out of the valley, heading back to find the rest of their companions.

  Survivor

  Eamon and the others rode hard to put distance between themselves and the Deojrin army. They all understood why the enemy scouts always traveled with mind readers. Sarika’s presence allowed them to travel faster and keep to well-maintained roads. Twice she steered them into the woods when she caught wind of an approaching scouting party.

  One detour took them down a pretty tree-covered lane leading past an abandoned farmhouse. Summer wildflowers filled the field running up to the road on the left. But when Sarika looked to the right she gasped.

  The bodies lay in a pile on the side of the road, five black-robed men and women discarded with no attempt made to hide them. All had repeatedly been stabbed in the chest and belly. At first, Gellert thought one of their patrols had killed these Cursed, but when Tibor dismounted and rolled the first one over, they all saw hands bound behind his back. It looked like an execution, and the state of bodies said the massacre happened several days before.

  “Our men didn’t do this,” he said, shaking his head. “We could never have gotten this close to five of them.”

  Looking at the road, Eamon noticed horse tracks leading up to the spot and back the way they had come. In the dirt, he picked out a few shoe prints mixed in. They came from up the road and ended at the bodies. “It looks like they drove these people here and then killed them. Why would they kill their slaves?”

  Sarika tugged at his sleeve and put a finger to her lips, signaling for quiet. She pointed to a trail of disturbed ground that led to the woods. If one of the slaves survived, he or she might still be dangerous. Dismounting, she walked past the dead and crouched down. Old, dried blood coated blades of grass.

  At least one lived long enough to crawl away. She paused, searching the nearby woods for signs of life. In the trees. It’s a woman, weak but alive. I can put her to sleep.

  Drawing his blade, Eamon pointed to the woo
d and then nodded.

  In her weakened state, the woman made no attempt to protect herself. Sarika slipped into her mind, feeling the woman’s pain and fear. Just as she reached out to whisk her off to sleep, Sarika felt a thin, reedy cry.

  Help me.

  Sarika fell back on her hands, startled and shaken by the desperation in that plea. Without warning the others, she scrambled onto her feet and followed the trail of blood through the grass to where the trees reared up. She heard Eamon and Tibor hissing for her to wait but ignored them.

  In a crumpled heap on the ground lay a small form. Blood covered everything, her hands, her face, the numerous rents in her black robes, the grass and leaves around her. Sarika could not imagine how the woman managed to drag herself this far or how she had survived so long with her terrible wounds. She wanted to weep seeing Deojrin cruelty this close up, and she wanted desperately to help this poor creature. Reaching out with a hand, she touched the Cursed woman’s brow and sent her to sleep.

  “She’s quiet now,” she said as Eamon and the others joined her. “She’s alive, and we have to figure out how to bring her with us.” If the others wanted to argue, they kept it to themselves.

  “I have a few flowers I took off a patrol a few weeks ago,” Tibor volunteered.

  Eamon glanced over at Gellert, knowing they should leave the woman to her fate. The information they carried had to reach the army, but his natural curiosity wanted answers, and his instinct said this slaughter might be important, too. He found it hard to fit this event into what they knew about the Deojrin. “I’d love to know what happened here, but moving her might kill her.”

  “And it might be a kindness,” Gellert said quietly. “We’ll have to move more slowly if we bring her.”

  Sarika glared at him. “You’ll bring her with us or you leave me here with her. We’re not just abandoning her on the side of the road.”

  Shrugging, Gellert turned and headed back to the horses. “I’m just here to escort you. The spymaster said you were in charge, Eamon. So it’s your choice,” he said over his shoulder, unhappy and uncomfortable.

  The woman moaned, a sound like dried leaves rustling.

  Sarika look up at Eamon, pleading. “The queen would want to talk to her. You know that. She’s a victim of them as much as we are.”

  Eamon made a face and came to a decision. “Give her the flowers and I’ll carry her. When we camp for the night, we can look at her wounds.”

  Pulling out his pouch first, Petrick produced a small yellow blossom.

  ***

  Around the small fire that night, Sarika ate in silence, away from the others. The soldiers did not like having the Cursed woman near them, and she could understand why. They had been fighting and killing them for months. She forced herself to shutter her mind to their unhappiness and displeasure.

  Looking at the sleeping form of their prisoner, Sarika felt such pity for her. She remembered the woman’s desperate plea for help, her suffocating fear. Avrid never asked for help, he only raged and clawed at the walls.

  Sarika knew waiting until the queen could clear the compulsion away would be better, but the chance of this woman surviving for another three days, on horseback, seemed unlikely. She would never know freedom, and their chance to question her would disappear.

  Sinking into the stranger’s mind, Sarika saw the black web of threads. Unlike Avrid’s compulsion which appeared vague and indistinct, this lines of this weaving stood out in sharp relief. This one seemed somehow smaller and less complex, with far fewer strands than had imprisoned Avrid. Sarika could also hear the sounds of the woman’s mind as it breathed and beat, very unlike the out-of-tune harmonies she heard in his mind. Plucking at a few of the strands, it felt almost as if the compulsion might unravel on its own.

  Reaching out with a tentative thought, Sarika touched one of the threads, not immediately understanding how to remove it. As she turned the problem over, thinking hard about how she could break the constraint, a presence rose up. The once-sleeping woman had awoken, and Sarika felt herself seized in the grasp of the other mind.

  She panicked, cursing herself for not keeping better track of time. As she tried to retreat, she heard the woman struggling to string thoughts together.

  Help me, please. I won’t hurt you.

  Shocked to hear the frightened plea again, Sarika hesitated, remembering how Avrid attacked the queen before Leisha removed his compulsion. But she felt no threat from the other mind, only distress.

  Rest, Sarika said, putting the stranger back to sleep.

  For a long while, she sat staring at the fire with her arms wrapped around her knees. No one in camp would be happy to hear about this or about the decision she had come to. Nevertheless, just as the queen had said, the Cursed were prisoners of the Deojrin, unwilling pawns. Everything about this was monstrous and allowing this poor woman to die, still snared, still trapped in their black web, felt immoral to Sarika.

  “Eamon, I want to remove her compulsion,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. “She started to wake up, and before I could put her back to sleep just now, she spoke to me. It’s just like Her Majesty said. She’s still in there.”

  “She spoke to you?” Eamon asked, disturbed by the thought. “What did she say?”

  “That she won’t hurt us. I’ve been looking at her compulsion and it looks weak, frayed around the edges. I couldn’t help Avrid, but his constraint was so complex. This one looks fragile, and she’s near death. I want to try to remove it and give her a chance to be free.”

  Frowning from the other side of the fire, Tibor said, “I don’t like it. At all. I’ve heard the stories about the queen’s pet.”

  “His name is Avrid,” Sarika snapped.

  “Sorry.” Embarrassed, he dragged a stick through the dirt at his feet. “Anyway, I’ve heard how he was. Clawing at the walls and such.”

  Eamon considered for a moment. “Let’s bind her. She’s weak and sick. If she wakes up and is out of control, we can try just putting her to sleep and feeding her flowers.”

  “Just be gentle,” Sarika said. “She’s not going to hurt you. I’ll keep her asleep.”

  Cautiously, Gellert approached the injured woman and bound her hands. He started to tighten the ropes, but catching the look in Sarika’s eyes he decided otherwise.

  Once more, she sank down and the compulsion appeared. Black and sinister, now that she understood it better, it reached long tentacles out and plunged into the recesses of their captive’s mind. With a tentative touch that grew more confident as she worked, Sarika cut her free.

  When she opened her eyes, she saw the others watch closely. “It’s done. We can wake her whenever you’re ready.” They all stared back, deferring to her.

  All right, she thought. Apparently, I’m in charge of this. With hesitant fingers, she reached out and touched the woman’s shoulder. Behind her, she heard the men draw back as if a few feet of distance would save them.

  Eamon and the others watched as their captive began to stir and then moaned. It took several moments for her to shake free of the sleep, but when her eyes opened, she appeared alert. Her eyes darted between their faces.

  “Hello, I’m Sarika. I’ve just removed your compulsion.” She did not know if the woman would understand, so she filled her thoughts with images of what she had done.

  The other woman coughed and pulled at her bonds. Finding her hands tied she frowned, confused and suspicious suddenly. Sarika felt her probing touch and then saw her relax as she found something to reassure her.

  Sarika thought how much easier this would be, sending to each other, but she wanted the others to hear what their captive had to say. Perhaps then they would relax and stop flooding their campsite with their anxiety and worry. “We’re Tahaerins.”

  “Of course you are,” the woman croaked. “You haven’t killed me yet.”

  “We’re here for the queen of Tahaerin. To observe your army.” As Sarika spoke, Gellert glared, t
rying to silence her, but she ignored him. The stranger could ferret out their purpose easy enough. “Are you thirsty?” She remembered the queen talking about the terrible thirst the flowers gave her, and the awful taste they left behind.

  “Yes.” After drinking slowly from the cup held to her lips, she rasped, “It’s not necessary to keep me tied. I won’t hurt you. Your friend can tell you I’m no threat.”

  “Can you tell me your name?” Eamon asked, ignoring her words. Bright blue eyes fixed on his as the Cursed woman turned to look at him.

  “Petrine,” she said, once she reassured herself he was not an immediate threat.

  “It’s too late, and she’s weak. Let her rest,” Sarika said, cutting Eamon off before he could start questioning Petrine. “Tomorrow, we’ll talk more.” Without asking, she untied the woman and scowled at the others, daring them to say something about it.

  ***

  The next morning, Petrine seemed a bit stronger. She drank the water Sarika offered and ate some cheese and nuts, but would not stomach the rabbit meat from the snare Petrick set. Afterwards, she lay silent, propped up against a tree, and watched camp as they woke up and moved about. Sarika checked her wounds and apologized again for not being a doctor.

  While the others prepared to leave, Eamon came over to crouch by Petrine, staying a respectful distance when she shied away from him. “Do you mind if I asked you some questions?”

  “Like what?” she asked suspiciously.

  “Why did they try to kill you?”

  Sarika saw quick, bright flashes of violence flickered through Petrine’s mind, and the injured woman gave a small laugh.

  That hurt and Petrine grimaced, pressing a hand to her wounds. “Your queen,” she wheezed, struggling to draw a full breath. “She’s infected some of us. She makes a lie of all we’ve been taught. It’s why the Visarl is so terrified of her. Why he has to capture her.”

  Her words came in a rush, as if she feared not having enough time left to speak them. “What does that mean?” Eamon asked.

  “The Deojrin teach their god has turned his face from the Cursed.” The woman started to cough, and Eamon almost told her to stop.