Blood's Pride (Shattered Kingdoms) (30 page)

This was precisely what those ancient ashas had tried so hard to prevent: someone rising with power so strong that it could not be contained. Harotha remembered that bright figure, falling in the sun.

As the old priestess spoke, Harotha saw a young man step forward – and all of her thoughts dried up and blew away.

This man was her father.

He was telling the ashas they had a sacred duty to make sure that not one of their company was left alive with the power to do this terrible thing. The elixir must have shown them this future for this reason: the gods were demanding that they sacrifice themselves.

The ashas listened to him gravely, silently, as Harotha wept furious tears. ‘No, no,’ she cried, ‘they
lied
to us! It’s pointless for you to die – you can’t stop it that way. I know why you think it has to be one of you here, but you’re
wrong
. You’re still not the last ones who will have the power. It could be
anyone
! Don’t, please, don’t do it—!’

And now she was pleading with both the elixir and the ashas as she was forced to watch her father embrace the woman who was her mother. She could hear them beat the drums to summon the people of the city to bear witness. With streaming eyes she watched them all climb out onto the roof and stand on the edge of the cliff, their hair and robes blowing in the cold evening wind.

‘Please,’ she whispered uselessly as the first body fell and the vision shattered into a thousand fragments, then drifted away like embers on the breeze. She sat in the empty street with her back hard against the rock, staring in frantic relief at the dusty houses, the scrubby trees, the pitted road.

‘They did it for nothing,’ she said through clenched teeth. She had watched her parents act nobly, bravely, but that was no comfort. She had always tended a little flame of hope: that
if one day she could understand why her parents had killed themselves, she might find some meaning in their deaths. The vision had snuffed out that flame for ever. ‘They died for nothing – because of a lie. They didn’t end anything; they didn’t change anything. It’s still going to happen. It could be anyone.’ She blanched.

‘It’s not me – it can’t be me,’ she muttered. She remembered the dune she’d conjured to save Saria and herself from the landslide. She hadn’t known she’d had so much power – was it enough to destroy the temple? ‘I
couldn’t
. There has to be another explanation. There has to be someone else.’

The baby kicked, and she reflexively crossed her arms over her belly, her eyes fixed on the heat-baked earth. Then she stood up, carefully composed the expression on her face and went back to the party.

As soon as they heard the shouting outside everyone crowded into the street, and the news tore its way through the throng: Faroth and his men had returned from the temple. Harotha followed along with the rest, painfully aware that she still had not decided whether or not to tell her brother about the elixir and the visions.

There was a shriek of joy and Elthion’s mother rushed forward to embrace the tall, skinny man. He pushed her away with a scowl. Harotha could hear the dereshadi snorting and stomping up ahead, and she could hear Faroth’s bellowing voice, but her way to him was blocked. Then Sami came pushing towards her through the crowd, his head down.

She caught his arm as he went past. ‘Sami!’

‘Let go,’ he said dully and tried to pull away, but Harotha held on until he looked at her. When he recognised her, the dark look on his face sagged into something like relief. ‘Harotha,’ he confided to her in a low voice, ‘we didn’t get any of them – not one. We couldn’t get Dramash away from the White Wolf. We almost had him – I think we could have got him out, if it hadn’t been for that last earthquake.’

‘What earthquake?’ she asked. ‘There haven’t been any more since you left for the temple.’

But Sami went on as if he hadn’t heard her. ‘Then Daryan refused to come back with us, and just as we were getting ready to leave, Shairav—‘ He stopped for a moment and swallowed, then whispered, ‘Harotha, he just
died
. His heart gave out, they said. Dead – just like that. It wasn’t Faroth’s fault – he did everything he could – but where does this leave us with the Mongrel?’ He scowled and shook his head wordlessly, then pulled away from her and disappeared into the crowd.

She pushed her way towards Faroth, a cold knot of anger in the pit of her stomach. ‘What happened?’ she demanded. ‘You couldn’t get
any
of them? Not even Daryan?’

‘Daryan!’ Faroth burst out angrily. ‘He refused to come. He doesn’t give a damn about you, by the way.’ He was upset and he was trying to make her angry, she knew that. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion around his mouth.

‘He knows I can take care of myself,’ she told him, refusing to take the bait, ‘but why did he stay behind?’

Someone pressed a jug into Faroth’s hands and while he paused to drink deeply, Binit answered for him. ‘He wants to stop the White Wolf in the temple. No one knows what’s going on up there – the governor is dead and the White Wolf has taken over. We think she’s already killed Lord Eofar – at least you’ll be happy hear to that. She’s organising the soldiers for something, so Daryan stayed behind to try to figure out what they’re up to.’

‘Lord Eofar is dead?’ she asked, keeping her voice as steady as she could. ‘Who said so? Why do you think that?’

‘Well,’ said Binit, sympathetic for all the wrong reasons, ‘I can’t say for sure, but he was supposed to be the next governor, wasn’t he? So, how can the White Wolf take over if he’s still alive?’

‘I never wanted Daryan here in the first place,’ Faroth said, staring into the distance with smouldering eyes, ‘but Shairav – it figures he would decide to die just when he might have made himself useful. And he took everything he knew with him.’

‘Harotha, you don’t look well,’ said Binit solicitously. ‘Maybe you should sit down somewhere?’

‘I’m all right,’ she muttered. They all moved aside to make way for the two nervous dereshadi, who were being led away to a quieter, shady spot. ‘And Dramash? What happened there?’ she asked, unable to keep the harshness from her voice.

‘I’ll tell you this,’ Faroth vowed darkly, to no one in particular, ‘if Daryan comes back here without my son, I don’t care who he is – I’ll kill him myself.’

Alkar came trudging towards them, his maimed hand tucked fastidiously under his opposite arm. ‘I just talked to Sami,’ he said to Faroth as he reached them. ‘He’s right about one thing, anyway. They must be planning something up there. There’s not a single patrol left anywhere in the Shadar, and no guards at the mines. We’ve been keeping watch the whole time.’

‘Maybe the Dead Ones really are going to leave the Shadar,’ Harotha mused, stroking her bottom lip with the tip of her finger, ‘just like Saria said.’

She became aware of a change in the level of noise around her, a sudden silence, and she looked up to find Faroth staring at her intently. Even before he asked the question, she realised the horrible mistake she had made.

‘How did you know Saria said that?’

She twisted her mouth into a derisive grimace. ‘Oh, these women! They never stop gossiping. I know more than I care to about the last two years – it’s no wonder I have a splitting headache.’

‘Faroth!’ a voice cried out from behind them and Elthion came forward, pushing Jachad in front of him. ‘I found him hanging around – spying.’

‘Didn’t you go back to the desert? Aren’t we done with you yet?’ snapped Faroth.

‘I came back to help, if you want to call that spying,’ Jachad explained pleasantly, his breezy manner unaltered by Elthion’s rough treatment. ‘I saw you land. Where is Meiran?’

‘Who?’

‘The Mongrel.’

‘Her?’ Elthion burst out. ‘She sent us up there for nothing! It was a trap – I knew it would be. Daryan wouldn’t come with us, the White Wolf still has Dramash and Shairav is dead. And she’s still up there – she’s probably telling the White Wolf everything she wants to know about us.’

‘Shairav is dead?’ Jachad asked. Tension pulled at the Nomas king’s usually engaging smile. ‘How?’

‘His heart. It gave out just as we were leaving,’ Binit repeated, clearly relishing his role as the bearer of bad news.

‘Oh, how sad. I’m sorry to hear that,’ Jachad answered, but
Harotha wasn’t fooled by his attempt to sound sympathetic. She could tell he was relieved.

‘You’re the one who told us to go up there,’ Faroth said to Jachad. ‘Well, we failed – so now what? What does the Mongrel expect us to do? If this has all been some kind of trick, we’ll kill you, even if you burn us all alive while we do it.’

‘Faroth,’ she broke in, taking his arm. She tried to draw him aside, but there was no place to go; the crowd had been steadily gathering around them and now people pushed in on all sides, waiting to hear what Faroth had to say. ‘I think we’re missing something. Why did the White Wolf take Dramash? She’s never done anything like that before. There has to be a reason.’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Elthion, with a haughty wave of his hand. ‘The White Wolf knows about the rebellion now, and she knows Faroth is our leader. She took Dramash to get at him. She knows she’s losing her grip. She’s desperate.’

Harotha stared hard at Elthion and then looked at her brother. ‘That makes no sense. It’s ridiculous.’

‘It’s true!’ Alkar averred, daring her to challenge him. He raised his voice to address the crowd at large. ‘The White Wolf killed Faroth’s wife and took his child! It’s true, the White Wolf is afraid of Faroth!’ A murmur of excitement, of pride, swept through the crowd.

She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples and asked her brother in an incredulous whisper, ‘You don’t really believe that, do you?’

Sharp fingers gripped her shoulder: Trini was standing next to her, frowning angrily, with a basket of bread under her arm.
‘Come with me, girl, and let the men have their talk,’ the older woman insisted, none too gently. ‘There’s better things—’

‘Take your hands off me!’ Harotha exploded in frustration, jerking away. She spun back to her brother. ‘Faroth, don’t be a fool! The White Wolf didn’t take Dramash because of
you
. To her, you’re nothing more than another worthless Shadari cripple.’

Even as the words left her mouth Harotha knew she’d made another dreadful mistake.

Faroth stared at her with a terrible look on his face as a deadly silence swept over the crowd.

‘Bread! Thank goodness. I’m starving!’ Jachad cried brightly. He scooped the basket of bread away from Trini with one hand and with the other he took Harotha’s elbow and turned her smoothly around. A moment later, she found herself strolling with the Nomas king towards the same large flat rock that had offered her refuge earlier in the day. She was sickeningly aware of the way the other Shadari subtly retreated before them.

‘Bread?’ he asked, pushing her gently down onto the rock, then sitting down next to her. He proffered the piece he’d just torn from one of the loaves.

She took the bread without a word and looked at it. The thought of eating turned her stomach.

‘I don’t suppose I’m doing you any great favour, sitting here with you,’ he said quietly as his shrewd eyes took in every hostile glance cast in their direction, ‘but I didn’t like the way that conversation was tending and I thought it might be prudent to end it.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, matching his tone. He was right, of course, on both counts. He had rescued her when her own presence of mind had failed, but now his companionship was arousing more suspicion, even amongst those who hadn’t heard what she’d said to Faroth. She should go, find some way to repair the damage she’d done, but she didn’t have the energy. The teetering structure of pretence she had built for herself was ready to topple over, and she was afraid that she no longer had the strength to keep it up.

She looked over at the redheaded king sitting beside her, contentedly chewing his bread. She had a feeling that pretence was useless with him; she felt like he could see straight through her. She had been raised to believe that the Nomas never gave away anything for free, but she had a hard time believing that he expected anything from her in return for his friendship. And so they sat together in silence, idly watching people bustling in and out of the houses or moving purposefully up and down the street.

Eventually she forced herself to take a bite of the bread in her hand. The sun would be setting soon and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. She squinted up at the fiery orange disk hanging over the mountains. ‘Do you really believe the sun is your father?’ she asked, breaking the silence.

He turned to her. ‘That’s not the kind of question I’d expect from a Shadari,’ he commented, arching his eyebrows. ‘Do you really want to know?’

‘Yes, I really want to know.’

‘Then, yes, I do.’

She thought for a moment. ‘And does he answer your prayers? Does he tell you what he wants from you?’

‘Ah, now that,’ he said sagely, ‘is exactly the kind of question I’d expect from a Shadari. You have a very complicated relationship with your gods, you know that? Ours is much simpler. Our gods don’t want anything in particular from us, and we don’t expect them to pay us any special attention.’

‘You don’t believe that your gods have some purpose for your life?’

‘If they do, that’s their business. We’re a practical people, and most of us feel that trying to know the unknowable is pretty much a waste of time. We’d rather try to solve the problems nearer at hand.’

‘But you pray.’

‘Oh, yes,’ he agreed emphatically. ‘Shof gives us light and warmth; that’s reason enough to be grateful, isn’t it? But we don’t believe that he requires our worship to climb into the sky each morning. That would be tremendously arrogant, don’t you think? And as you can see, he shines just as brightly on those who don’t pray to him at all. Frankly, I don’t have too much respect for gods who love only one group of people and let the others go hang.’

‘So, do you think that the gods can be cruel?’ she asked, keeping her tone light. She took another bite of bread.