|
The wind brought the choking smoke and the scent of burnt flesh. Screams and battle cries were the only sounds. Desperately sucking fouled air into their lungs, the three small figures stumbled through the charred field, clinging to each other as they raced the death bearing down on them. Therindelle burned behind them and with it, any hope of holding North Manthrin against the merciless Tashiri.
"You haven't done your filthy work yet, Layla? I'm long finished with the Amyrlin."
"He's stronger than he looks. I would like to see you handle him half this well."
The youngest boy stumbled and fell, barely stifling a cry. His sister struggled to haul him to his feet, but she was skinny for her age and there was no strength in her after the famines. The eldest child – a boy of thirteen – drew his belt knife and stepped between his siblings and the mounted warriors riding toward them. They had no reason to hunt children, save for the sport of it. The boy had seen what had happened to his brothers and sisters and parents – to all of those who had taken refuge in the Order's sanctuary. The memory gave him strength.
"Do you have names, at least? Anything? Or do you need my help for that as well?"
"To Persuade requires more finesse than causing pain. And more courage, I might add. You aren't placing yourself in the patient's mind."
"Do you have names?"
The Tashiri bore down on him, swords gleaming in the moonlight.
"Nothing useful. He is Jakob and he thinks an Elzabeth and a Jonaton are important, although he will not tell me why. And he is not White, before you ask."
White. A white stallion bearing a girl in a flowing white cape. Her curved sword was made of blue fire as cold as her eyes. Her dark hair rippled behind her. And a banner not borne in two thousand years heralded her, exposing her to the full fury of the Tashiri army.
A glittering serpent with four legs and a lion's mane, all on a field of white.
She must have known. She must have understood that she would be noticed – that she would die for her banner and her power. A girl who could channel, even one as powerful as she, could not escape the might of an army. And yet she rode forward, slaying the men as they prepared to separate the boy's head from his shoulders.
Such power – such potential – given up for three children in a farmer's field.
"The Paladin rode at Therindelle."
He was aware of two women turning from their own bickering to stare at him. Then the older one put her hand to her mouth as the blood drained from her face. "Great Lord preserve me. Morgaen."
***
Brendell knew every inch of his old cell, which was why he had chosen it as the safest and most easily defendable place in the Dreaming. It would be impossible for anyone to slip even the most subtle attack past the barriers he had put up, since he would notice the smallest change immediately. Everything about it – the four paces he needed to cross it no matter which way he faced, the chink in the wall, the loose floorboard to hide crusts of bread under, the sketch of his family smuggled to him by an indulgent guard – it was all there.
"Where are we?" Mai asked softly. "Where did you take me?"
"Home." He prodded the ghostly dam'a collar shoved under the bed. "In the Manifest."
"The Manifest?" She sat up quickly as if to flee, but the movement was hampered by the wound in her side. Reluctantly, she settled back on the hard mattress. "Light, Brendell, I can't stay here. If a Sister sees me in her dreams..."
"The Sisterhood doesn't even know the Dreaming exists. I wouldn't be here if they did." He wanted to change the bed into something softer, but there was always the off chance someone would slip into the Dreaming for a moment. Seeing a dam'a boy with a girl in his cell might be believable, but not if the girl was resting on soft silks. "It's not that hard to get into," he said, more to hear himself speak than anything else. It was one thing to help the Paladin from afar, but having her watching him with those strange multi-colored eyes was something different altogether. "I mean, it isn't for me. I learned because I wanted to escape and you can't be collared in your dreams, right?"
Mai watched him, her eyes shifting from emerald-green to a smoky blue-gray. "Collared? With an a'dam?"
"A dam'a," Brendell corrected, looking away from her quickly. Her eyes were disconcerting. "Maybe you call it something else in your country."
"In North Manthrin?" Mai laughed. "We don't care enough for the Order to learn anything about them. They handed us over to the Tashiri."
Brendell nodded. He knew what had happened, even if he had been only seven years old. "Some Brothers and Sisters opened the gates of the capital for the Tashiri, right?"
"And when the people tried to hide in the Order's sanctuary, those Brothers and Sisters locked them in with the Emperor's personal troops." Mai's voice was soft and bitter. "I had family in Therindelle. I remember that the only time my father spoke to me like I was a real person was when he learned all the other DeShellay lines were dead."
Brendell risked a look back at her. Her eyes were green again and full of tears. "I was born on the same day that the siege started," she continued almost to herself, "the same week that the Pretender decided to fight against the Tashiri on Manthrinian soil. I looked Tashiri and I had this on my face." She touched her golden mark. "They said that I must be the Pretender's heiress – that I would curse our people just by existing. I remember that on the day Therindelle fell, my own grandmother said that I should be left in the woods for the wolves." She looked away quickly and scrubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. "I still don't know why my father decided to save me. He never did anything for me before and he hasn't since."
"Vereni." It made sense in a twisted sort of way. "I mean, you couldn't fight the Dark One if you were dead."
"I wouldn't have to destroy my friends, either!" The air in the room was suddenly as cold as ice. The thin blanket covering the young Paladin flung itself at the wall in a solid sheet and shattered.
Brendell covered his face as sharp shards sliced the skin on his hands and arms. With a thought, he made the remnants of the blanket vanish. All that was left was Mai clutching her bloody side with eyes now blue, now green, now gray. She hugged her knees to her chin and watched him defiantly, as if waiting for some sort of condemnation.
"You realize you probably told whatever's chasing us where we are," he pointed out crossly.
"I don't care." For one so important and powerful, the Paladin sounded remarkably like a petulant child. Then, almost as a spiteful afterthought, she added, "You know I'm not going to help you. I never have."
Brendell shivered. Wonderful. The girl I'm supposed to help is crazy. Why bloody not? He grabbed Mai's arm. "Don't do anything stupid. I think I know somewhere else to hide."
Need.
The world shifted around them.
***
"Wat? Wake up, fool boy." Tamla prodded the shepherd, but it was no use. Exhausted by long days of fear and despair, Wat had simply collapsed.
Mel shook his head. "It's no use. He'll sleep through the night."
Tamla glared at him, her eyes flashing like the ruby on the dagger's hilt. Mel tried to ignore the filthy thing, but it was no use. He could not shake the feeling that it was watching him. If he had been crazy, he might have thought that it was trying to figure out what to make of him.
And Tamla was not helping matters. He liked the songmistress. He truly did. But during the long hours while they kept vigil over Mai and Tem, all through the day and now into the night, she had watched the Red Hand as if expecting an attack. To be fair, the Band was not a welcoming lot, but that did not mean she should keep telling everyone to be careful and cautious.
He clutched his staff and watched the bustling camp. Despite all evidence to the contrary, he could almost feel the distance between his companions and the Red Hand widening into a vast chasm. He was suddenly very glad that Ihvan was keeping watch.
***
The green stone went dark behind them, shutting out Aravalon and any aid the Black Tower might provide, leaving the little group exposed to the woods and the starlit sky. Hal clutched the hilt of his belt knife and fervently wished that circumstances had not forced them to leave. The lack of freedom available to him, a potential Soldier, had been starting to grate, but the safety so many channelers offered almost made up for it.
Except that it was no place of safety any longer. There was nowhere to turn.
Elena went pale as she saw the sight all around them. Troc corpses lay rotting all around the stone, sending up such a stench that Hal pulled the collar all Brothers wore up over his nose. The Novice took his proffered kerchief gratefully and wrapped it around her own face, large brown eyes as wide as saucers. "A'sh'man? What happened here?"
Unperturbed by the smell or the bodies, Quentin stepped over a pool of gore and knelt down to examine a smaller body. "Chanois," he said after a moment. "With the personal crest of the Empress. They must have stumbled on the Trocs and defeated them."
Hilden's nose twitched as she frowned at another body. "It was a small scouting party, if the tracks are anything to go by. I wouldn't think they could have defeated this many Trocs." She walked over to the green stone. "This has human scent on it. I can't separate everything, but I think almost everyone went through the stone."
"They could be on the other side of the world by now." Hal wanted to throw his hands up and scream at the uselessness of it all. "What's the use of coming back here if we don't know where they went?"
"There are other ways of finding things besides tracks," Quentin said mildly. His Guardian gave him a quick look, almost a question. "Hilden, do you mind?"
"I will not be able to find all three of them. Understand that." Without waiting for a response, the Guardian tilted back her head and howled.
Elena glared at Quentin. "Are you crazy?" she demanded. "She'll give us all away."
"A wolf will not give anyone away," Quentin said calmly. Besides," he added with a faint half-smile, "you and Hal together draw more attention than Hilden and I."
Hal glared at him. During his short stay in the Tower, he had been told many times that his potential was the greatest seen in many hundreds of generations. He hated knowing that – knowing that he had little control over enormous power and that any slip could give his allies away. The fact that Elena shared in his plight was small comfort.
The Novice did not even blink when howls began to echo all around them. She touched Hal's hand and smiled faintly, almost as if to comfort him.
Hilden tilted her head to one side. "There is a camp of the Red Hand not far from here, but the wolves will not go near it. And there is someone else to the southwest. Someone they call She-Bear."
"Jaia." Quentin nodded. "As I suspected. If she is with the wolves, then she is safe for the moment. We will have to head for the camp."
Hal shook his head. "A'sh'man – Quentin – we can't. Wolves are the enemies of the Dark One. If they won't go near the camp..."
"Then we must learn what frightens them so. I know you want to find the others, Hal, but you must trust that the Wheel will weave as the Wheel wills."
"I do." Hal stepped away from Elena and lowered his voice. "I don't want to put her in danger," he hissed. "She's just a child."
"A child?" Quentin smiled tightly. "Would it ease your fears to know that she is powerful – much more than even you?"
"No," he snapped. "It wouldn't."
"Elena has strength enough to defeat Mai, if she was so inclined."
Hal felt something inside him go very cold. "I thought that wasn't possible."
"So did I." The A'sh'man shook himself as if trying to be rid of his troubled thoughts.
Hal wished he could do the same. "Does she know?" He swallowed hard as a horrible thought occurred to him. "Is she a demon?"
Quentin glanced back at Elena, who was slowly approaching a dead human and removing his belt knife with her fingertips. "I wish I knew, Brother. I wish to all the forces of Creation that I knew."
|