"I don't know how he plans on avoiding notice," Keevan said, forcing the words from his lips in a calm, steady pace. "But I trust him to keep me alive. Isn't that enough? We can argue about politics later."
"Fine," Nariem relented, grabbing both their cloaks from the hangar on the wall. "Let's get going."
"I ingested fire danica," Keevan said, staring at the extra cloak in Nariem's hands. "That will make me even hotter."
"Better hot, sweaty and hidden, than comfortable and exposed," Nariem insisted, slipping on his own cloak. "Let's get going."
"But how will he recognize us?" Keevan asked, pulling the hood of the cloak over his head.
"He's resourceful," Nariem echoed grumpily, "I'm sure he'll find us."
"I hope I make it that long," Keevan said, hobbling over to the kitchen for one final drought of water. "Let's get moving."
"I will carry you if I have to," Nariem insisted.
"Yes, because that won't attract any attention," Keevan said, rolling his eyes. "Let's go."
They stepped onto the Forger's District, taking a main road toward the East Gate leading out of Issamere. Keevan's burning stomach forced them to make a pit stop at each city well they passed, trying to douse the heat in his belly with a tentative gulp. After a few more minutes though, the trouble moved into his intestines. Swallowed water stopped at his belly.
"Just a little farther," Nariem urged.
Keevan grunted in reply, but the fire burning in his belly made conversation difficult. Any sudden change in pace or position sent tremors of pain through his core. More than he could have imagined from such an innocent powder. All he could do was force one foot to follow the other. Soon, the pain grew so extreme he didn't even keep track of their location, trusting Nariem at his side for direction.
"Alright, we're here." Nariem announced.
Keevan looked up, glancing across the busy gate in the vain hope of seeing Corvan immediately emerge from the chaos. Miners, merchants, laborers and guards hurried through the thick steel-reinforced doors. A small ocean of tents and wagons lined a muddy field beyond the city wall, destitute farmers crowding to Issamere in the hopes of support or protection. A dozen armed guards stalked the area around the gate, watching the passerby with alert, suspicious eyes.
"My badge," Keevan ordered, "It will get us out of the city."
They hobbled to the main gate, but by then, the pain in Keevan's abdomen was too severe for him to care about the words the guards spoke. Nariem flashed the Persuader's badge and the guards let them pass. Keevan glanced up, noting the tangled array of creaking wagons, hastily constructed shelters, tattered tents and mud spattered Rhetans with gaunt faces.
"There, on the edge of the camp," Keevan insisted, pointing to their left. A canal flowed beneath the walls of Issamere, protected by a long line of fence and archers posted on the walls. A narrow stream broke away from the canal, circling the camp to provide the refugees with water and irrigation. Judging by the scent of the camp, however, the current system did a poor job of cleaning the latrines.
Nariem found and turned over a discarded box, giving Keevan a spot to sit. From here, tents of rough canvas and battered huts blocked most of their view of Issamere's entrance. Only the archers on the city wall could see them and their attentions were firmly fixed on the canal and the East Gate.
"How long do we wait?" Nariem asked, rubbing his hands together nervously as he glanced up at the guards patrolling the walls.
"Until he's sure the coast is clear," Keevan muttered grimly. The fire in his belly had moved down into his intestines now, where a cool sip of water could offer no aid. The powder itched and burned, but too deep within his flesh for scratching to help either. The pain grew more intense, to the point where he almost considered disemboweling himself to get at the infernal Danica powder. Almost.
"There has to be something else we can do," Nariem pleaded, kneeling down in front of his son. He untucked Keevan's shirt, wincing as he examined his son's swollen, blood red abdomen. "Please, Keevan, there has to be something more."
Keevan stared at the crimson rash forming over his skin. He fought against the panic welling up in his chest. He was going to die from one of Nariem's experiments, not the machinations of the Harbor Guild or one of Zerik's plots. This was what he got for thinking he had power to protect himself or change things. He curled up into a ball, a captive in his own dying body, unable counter a mere breath of danica powder. Even a Rhetan could survive an attack like this. Keevan should have chosen one of the guild's wealthy contracts and settled for a life beneath the Council's boots.
"What's happened?" Corvan asked, pushing Nariem aside. He stared at the wound in shock. "What is this?"
"He ingested fire Danica," Nariem answered, "dust, only a breath's worth. I had no idea-"
"Go," Corvan insisted, pulling one of Keevan's arms around his neck as he lifted Keevan onto his feet. Keevan tried to stand up straight, but gasped in pain and sank to his knees. "I have a plan, but there isn't room for a third person in it. Go."
"I can't leave my son like this, not with someone like you," Nariem insisted, folding his arms stubbornly.
"You will if you want him to live," Corvan growled, "Every moment you waste, his insides burn. Without functioning intestines, he'll die as surely as a dagger to the heart. Go."
Nariem's bluster melted away. He put his hand to Keevan's head, tussling his son's hair. "Be safe," he whispered, kissing his son's brow. "I'm so sorry."
"He's not beyond saving," Corvan said assuredly, "trust me. He's the only one of my kind on this continent. I'll do all I can for him."
Nariem sighed in relent, nodding in understanding before departing. Keevan noted Corvan's immense strength as the Varadour lifted him onto his feet. Every fiber in Keevan's body begged him to curl up into a ball, a vain attempt to bury the pain, making walking impossible. Corvan carried him along without difficulty. Soon, they reached a covered wagon with a worn and patched canvas roof.
"Change of plans," Corvan muttered, tapping against the wagon's backboard. "He's injured. Get us somewhere quiet."
"Why'd you have to hurt him? I thought you said he trusted you," Someone asked, matter-of-factly, as if discussing slices of ham at the market.
"He was already wounded," Corvan explained. "Either way, you got what you wanted. Both Outlanders. Let's move. Keevan doesn't have long."
Rough hands took Keevan by the shoulders and laid him onto the wooden planks of a wagon's bed, a couple hawk faced Rhetans Keevan didn't recognize. Corvan climbed in next, kneeling down next to Keevan. He rapped his knuckles against the back of the seat, which creaked with the driver's shifting weight as he said something Keevan couldn't make out.
"Congratulations Touric," Corvan snapped, sarcasm thick on his tongue, "you got both Outlanders, just like you wanted. Now help me save the boy's life, or you'll only have one."
Chapter 15
"W-what have you done?" Keevan gasped, curling into the fetal position.
"Live first, talk later," Corvan insisted, tearing Keevan's tunic aside. "It's fire Danica, right? Amplifying the heat in your body?"
"Yes," Keevan grunted.
Corvan paused a moment, putting a hand on Keevan's belly and his other on Keevan's head. Warmth Keevan once thought soothing stretched through his body, peering into his flesh but offering no relief from the tide of pain surging through his insides.
"Not. Working." Keevan muttered, moisture building behind his closed eyes.
"This is much more serious that bruises and cuts," Corvan sighed, eyes closed. Keevan could feel something at work in him, slow, cautious. "You're cooking from the inside out. I can't heal dead tissue. But I might be able to delay the process." At some silent signal, someone put a thick strip of leather into Keevan's mouth. The strap tasted salty from someone else's sweat and scraped roughly against his tongue.
"Bite on this," Corvan instructed, "This will not be pleasant, but it's the only way. Hold him down."
&nb
sp; Grizzled, scrawny Rhetans clambered into the wagon, but in Keevan's agonized condition, they could have been wearing feathers and Keevan wouldn't have noticed. Strong hands took him by the ankles and feet, bearing down on them hard. For a brief moment of confusion, Keevan laughed at the idea that the pain could actually get worse. Then, his stomach twisted in on itself. Burning and healing flesh spun together into a roiling bundle of agony.
"He's strong for someone so skinny," The Rhetan holding his ankles said in surprise.
"He's burning from the inside out," Corvan said grimly. "I would only wish this on my fiercest of enemies."
The next hour passed in a nightmarish haze, amplified each time the wagon met a pothole in the muddy road. The Rhetans holding Keevan down had to take turns, so fierce and consistent was Keevan's thrashing. Corvan worked with military discipline, eyes closed, his power digging around in Keevan's insides like a colony of ants ravaging a corpse.
Expelling the Danica was the worst part.
"Easy, we're almost done." Corvan winced, rolling Keevan on to his side. Someone pulled his trousers down and pinned him down by his shoulders. Something writhed in his stomach and a spout of black smoke puffed out of Keevan's hind parts, along with the foul odor of seared flesh and burnt excrement.
Corvan coughed, a poor attempt at disguising a chuckle.
"Masfeasf," Keevan grunted, sweat pouring from his face. Rough hands clung to his, but in his pain he didn't bother to look at their faces. The agony in his belly was all-consuming, nothing else mattered.
"Look on the bright side," Corvan offered, wiping the sweat from Keevan's brow with a strip of wet cloth. "Next time a woman complains about the pains of child bearing, you'll have a general idea of what that's like. You'll make a far more understanding husband than most men."
"Ahfeafe!" Keevan grunted, haunted by the taste of salt and sweat from the leather strap in his mouth.
"Ah, quite right," Corvan agreed, "First you'd need to learn how to kiss a Tri-Being without inflicting self-injury."
"Effaefa!"
The burning metal exited Keevan's body in a smoldering, bloody mess. The agony tripled when each clump of smoldering powder crawled through the only narrow passage available, before slipping out into the open air. Each blackened pebble of dead flesh housed a clump of Danica powder, searing his buttocks as the toxic substance oozed down his left buttocks.
"Beletok's fury," Someone swore, shadows shifted around Keevan. "They are still burning the boy's skin."
"Not to mention the wagon floor," Corvan echoed. Keevan groaned and coughed, the little wagon bed already stank of smoke and burning excrement. "Get a bucket of water. Hurry."
The agony did not abate until the last bit of powder fell gurgling into a bucket of water. Gentle hands washed Keevan's face, torso and buttocks. Keevan winced in pain when they tried to wipe away the bloody stool. He bit back tears when he realized the source.
"This will take time to heal," Corvan sighed. Something cool and rough scraped against Keevan's buttocks, cleaning around the protruding flesh.
"Clearly," another Tri-Being chimed in, uttering a low whistle. "Pretty sure those parts of the body are supposed to stay, you know, inside a man's arse."
"I can tend to it," Corvan insisted, "Just keep it clean."
"If you say so," The Tri-Being echoed, his tone dubious.
Finally, Keevan lay too tired to do anything but breathe, coated in a fresh layer of sweat. His abdomen ached as if he'd spent the last day vomiting his innards onto the ground. The slightest movement set his teeth on edge, unleashing a dull ache throughout his abdomen and buttocks. The wagon eased to a stop, drawing a sigh of relief from Keevan's lips.
"Get him up stairs," Corvan ordered, sagging against the back of the wagon. His skin looked gaunt and haggard and his limbs were shaking feebly. "He'll need to sleep. Then a bath and a healthy meal once he wakes. We'll discuss our terms with him tomorrow."
They pulled the canvas away from the rear of the wagon, exposing the back of a modest inn. The back door was propped open with a wooden chair, the way watched by one of the broad-shouldered Rhetans, a thick scar over his right eye. Another Rhetan, smelling of sweat, dung and polished leather, held Keevan in his arms like a child, gently carrying him into the inn.
The hallway was dark by comparison to the outside world. The dung scented Rhetan carried Keevan up a narrow staircase to a wide oak door, which opened into a modest guest room. The Rhetan set Keevan on a bed of fresh linens, pulling the blankets up over his tired shoulders.
"Rest now," the burly Tri-Being said. A spiked mace hung from his belt, ornately crafted.
"Mmmm," Keevan answered, too tired to question why those elaborate engravings seemed so familiar. The portion of his brain responsible for problem solving whispered of danger, but so great was Keevan's fatigue that he didn't pay those unsettling thoughts a second glance. Sleep overtook him in a tide, hauling him away to a dreamless slumber.
*****
Bahjal felt Madol's presence, before she saw him. In the city hall's dusty confines, only the elements of the scribes kept her company. She could feel their constant calm, not the conditioned control over water one expected of Suadans, but the simple peace of people content to spend their days rummaging through various records, day in and day out.
The Persuader though, was a Beletokan through and through. She felt his warmth on her back, the anger in his elemental field teasing her mind with various thoughts of rebellion or revenge. Then there were his heavy boot falls, and the whisper of leather rubbing against chainmail.
Bahjal stiffened, setting down her quill. She smelled alcohol on his breath. She pictured a serene field in her mind. Thinking of the tranquil scene drew moisture to her, which she dispatched to form a puddle around her feet, just in case.
"Good evening, Madol," Bahjal said carefully, glancing over her shoulder at the battle hardened Persuader. An ample supply of candles kept the room well illuminated, exposing the Persuaders general lack of balance and the dark circles under his eyes. "What can I do for you?"
"You can pick up a sword and start fighting," Madol slurred, pulling over a wicker chair and taking a seat next to her. A few of the scribes looked up from their studies, staring blankly at the Persuader, like a goat herder seeing a book for the first time. "Might as well. This city will be bathed in blood any day now."
"Keep your voice down, Madol," Bahjal said soothingly, scooting her chair closer so they could talk without the nosey scribes overhearing. "I'm sure at least one of these men is an agent of Morgra's, keeping an eye on me."
"I suspected as much," Madol rumbled, holding his head in his hands. "After everything you and Keevan shared in the last few years, I couldn't accept that you'd just 'moved on'. What did Morgra threaten to make you push Keevan away?"
"You're as direct as ever, even drunk," Bahjal noted, closing her books and sliding them across the table, away from Madol. Whether his anger or nausea spiked, she couldn't risk harm falling on those precious records. Malik's orders or no, preserving her family legacy did hold a place in her heart, Keevan's wellbeing merely held a higher one.
"Time is short," Madol sighed, rubbing his temples. "For Keevan, I fear time has expired completely."
"What?!" Bahjal snapped, whirling on the Persuader. "What happened?"
"We were practicing with fire Danica powder," Madol growled, slamming his fist on the table. The wood cracked underneath his blow, leaving splinters in his hand. He glanced at the wound with mild curiosity, like an adult chuckling at a child's laughable attempt to attack him. "The boy inhaled the stuff."
"Fire Danica," Bahjal said, shuddering. "His body can't counter internal elements. By Raejin, even Suadan healers can't affect the elements inside an Outlander's body! Is he... Is he..."
"Officially, he's missing," Madol reported, looking bored while he pulled splinters out of his palm. "You know, when he was little, I picked him up after a fight with Merkim. I was a weak Haustran then, too scared t
o identify myself. When I agreed to recruit him, I thought I could help train him. I meant to keep him safe, not put him in more danger. Nariem carted the boy outside the city, to draw out Corvan. They figured Outlander powers could tend to Keevan's wounds better than the Suadans'."
"And?" Bahjal pried, feeling her heart leap into her throat. "Did you come here to tell me he's dead?"
"I wouldn't be here if he were," Madol grunted, pulling a particularly large splinter from his hand. Blood seeped from the wound, only to slurp back into his hand as he drew the liquid back into his body. "We've received word he's recovering somewhere outside of the city. Corvan's message was cryptic, as you can imagine."
"Oh good," Bahjal sighed, dizzy with relief.
"It doesn't matter,. Not for you, at least," Madol grunted, pinching the wound in his palm together while the skin knitted into a scar. "Malik Morgra has ordered you to keep your distance, defying him could cost you dearly."
"I don't care about that," Bahjal grunted, shrugging the concerns away. "I can disappear if need be."
"So, who did Malik Morgra threaten?" Persuader Madol asked, eyes cold and serious.
Bahjal hesitated a moment, pursuing her lips. She stared down at the table, scratching the broken wood, bloody from Madol's fist. "Keevan's parents."
"I suspected as much," Madol sighed, inspecting the fresh scar on his palm. "Malik Morgra demands a high price for entering the circle of his closest agents. Hadrian and I were both asked to leave our old identities behind. Morgra will demand the same of Keevan, in time."
"Why are you here, then?" Bahjal said with a nervous gulp. "To insist I stay away?"
"No," Madol said seriously, "The opposite, in fact. Stay with his parents, until Keevan gets back."
"What?" Bahjal replied, "The Malik won't stand for that."
"Bahjal," Persuader Madol said, leaning in close. "This city is about to explode into open riots. Malik Morgra needs Keevan to sever all familiar ties. What better chance would Morgra have to secretly attack Keevan's parents than in the middle of a riot?"
Splintered Loyalties Page 16
