Eyes of Crow (34 page)

“He needs his rest.” She gave Rhia a pointed glance, but moved on without a word when she was finished.

“She’s wonderful.” Arcas watched Elora’s retreating figure. “I would have died without her.”

“Probably.”

“You know of what you speak, right?” A grim smile crossed his lips, then faded. “What about the other Kalindons?”

“Most of the archers survived. I haven’t seen Alanka since Nilo died.”

“And—Marek?” He stumbled over the name.

Rhia flinched as the worry sliced through her again. “I was hoping you had seen him.”

“I’m sorry. To risk his life for people he just met—he was a good man.”

“Not
was
.
Is
. He’ll come back.”

“Of course. Forgive me.”

Rhia brushed her hand against his. “I do.” She stood. “I’ll try to find out what’s happening and let you know.”

As she crossed the tent, a young Descendant stretched his hand toward her in a plea for help.

She went to him. “What is it?”

“Water…please…”

She fetched a flask and supported his trembling head while he drank. His yellow hair, even caked with sweat and blood, felt soft against her hands. The man’s infirmity made him appear even younger than Rhia.

“Thank you,” he whispered afterward.

She nodded with what she hoped was an impassionate façade, then turned away.

“Why do you call us Descendants?”

She stopped and said over her shoulder, “Because you descended from us. Why else?”

“You think we’re below you. That’s the other meaning, isn’t it?”

Rhia turned to him. “How dare you accuse us of arrogance, when you invade our lands, planning to crush us under your heels like ants? You underestimated our magic, our determination, our fierceness, and now you’re paying the price for your mistake.”

His face paled. “I lost my brother out there today.”

“So did I.” Her statement began as a snarl but ended in a choked cry. She took a step toward him, pity encroaching on her rage. “Why are you here?”

He opened his mouth as if to recite an answer, then his certainty faltered. “I don’t know. They tell me to go here, go there, follow my commanders, kill the enemy, whoever they are. I don’t question.” His chin lifted. “I’m a soldier, like my father, and my brother before me. Like your brother.”

“Don’t speak of my brother.”

“I’m sorry.” He regarded the feather around her neck. “What does that mean?”

“It means I serve the Spirit of Crow. He carries people to the Other Side.”

“When they die?”

“Yes.” It unsettled her to discuss the Spirits with someone who didn’t believe in them.

“All people, or just your people?”

“All people, all animals. Every being with a soul.” She knew that now, after feeling Crow take the dying Descendants.

“Animals don’t have souls.”

She almost laughed at the absurd suggestion. “Of course they do.”

“You might as well say trees have souls, or rocks.”

“Rocks don’t scream when you kick them, or trees when you cut them.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Maybe they do, and you just can’t hear them.”

She examined his expression to determine if he were teasing, then pulled a nearby stool to the side of his bed. “May I ask you a question?”

He gestured to his injured leg. “I can’t stop you.”

She sat. “Did your ancestors find the White City, or did they build it themselves?”

“It depends who you ask. It was so long ago, no one really knows.”

“What do you believe?”

“I believe the gods built it for us, that we were chosen.” His brow furrowed. “I could be wrong, though.”

She cocked her head at the notion of such a porous faith. “What’s your name?”

“Filip.”

“Filip, when you speak to your gods, do they answer?”

“Not with words,” he admitted, then looked at her with shining eyes. “But we know they’re there.”

“How?”

“By our success. Their providence makes us rich. They give us strength to overcome our enemies.”

“You haven’t overcome us.”

He shrugged. “Not yet.”

Her blood chilled. The young man’s voice held simple assurance rather than pride. His assertion was not a boast but a profession of faith. He might as well have declared that the sun would rise in the east tomorrow for all the controversy it stirred within him.

She swallowed and fixed him with a narrow gaze. “I’ll die before I let that happen.”

His forehead crinkled as if her words had hurt his feelings. “That’s sad and unnecessary, but—”

“Enough.” She stood abruptly, causing the stool to fall over onto the grass. “May you heal quickly, and leave the same way.”

When she reached the other side of the tent, it had grown crowded with anyone who could stand. People pointed at the far end of the field. She slipped through the small gathering until she could see.

Torin and a man who appeared to be the Descendant commander had met in the middle of the field, both on horseback. Someone behind her uttered the word “truce.”

“Is it over?” she asked.

“I think so,” Coranna said. “Perhaps they’re negotiating for an exchange of prisoners.”

“We’ve got Descendants here who aren’t well enough to travel,” Elora said.

Koli was riding hard toward the hospital tent. When she pulled up, she called out for Coranna and Rhia.

“Torin requests both your presences at the negotiation. Go now. I’m off to find Galen.”

Rhia and Coranna hurried down the hill. When they arrived at the conference, Torin motioned for them to step with him out of hearing range of the Descendant commander.

“My opponent, Colonel Baleb, has offered a truce, but one with troublesome terms. I’ve asked you here,” he spoke to Coranna, “as the senior representative of the Kalindon delegation. It concerns one of your people. And you,” he said to Rhia, “because it concerns someone close to you. Besides, I believe both of you to be wise, one well beyond her years.”

Rhia wanted to acknowledge the compliment but her reaction was muted by dread. Torin said nothing more as he waited for Galen’s arrival.

She examined the Descendant colonel, who rode a magnificent golden stallion with a silver-white mane. Unlike most of her people, he sat upon a saddle; the leather of this one was adorned with opulent red and yellow designs, matching the flag carried by the young officer at his side.

Baleb’s breastplate gleamed bronze in the late morning sunlight, setting off the deep red of his sleeves, which were embroidered in sharp-angled patterns of gold. For all his defiant posture, the man seemed afraid, specifically of her. He must imagine her to have immense power to compensate for her lack of stature and maturity. If he only knew how little power her exhaustion had left her.

Galen arrived shortly on his own horse.

“What are your terms for a truce?” he asked Colonel Baleb. “If you wish to exchange prisoners, be advised that many of your wounded are being treated by our healers.”

“We have taken no prisoners from this battle,” growled Baleb. “If our wounded must stay, let them. Your prisoners cannot and will not serve you well in battle, lacking any magic of their own.” His greedy gaze lengthened to take in the far end of the field. “Our price for leaving Asermos is five hundred horses.”

They cried out in disbelief.

“Five hundred?” Galen gestured toward the village. “We would be crippled by such terms. All of Asermos has no more than that. We might as well be arming you for another attack.”

“Your shortcomings are not my concern.”

Torin rode forward and unsheathed his own sword. “We don’t need a promise to depart. We have only begun to display our magic. Retreat now while some of you live.”

Baleb merely smiled. “In addition to our departure, we will return your spy.”

Rhia’s heart stopped. Marek.

“Either turn over the horses, or we will kill him.” He reconsidered. “But not before examining him, thoroughly.”

“He knows nothing of us,” Galen said. “He is Kalindon. You’ll get no new information out of him.”

“Perhaps, but I will enjoy trying.” Baleb turned a malevolent gaze on Rhia. Suddenly she knew how to solve the problem, if she dared such a risk.

“How do we know he’s even alive?” she asked the colonel, then turned to Galen. “If he’s already been tortured, he may not survive. Let me see him so I can determine his chances. If he’s dying, they have nothing to offer us, and no right to demand such a ransom.”

Galen seemed to search her eyes for signs of insanity.

“Please,” she mouthed.

He turned to Baleb. “Bring us this scout, so that we know your word is true.”

The colonel shrugged, then waved at one of his soldiers standing at the edge of the woods. The man disappeared into the trees. Baleb motioned to Rhia.

“You and your commander will meet with me and the spy away from the others.”

He handed his sword to the nearest Descendant officer. Torin left his own weapon with Galen, who cast a warning glance at Rhia. She shared the Hawk’s unease: one miscalculation, and she could forfeit Marek’s life and the future of her people.

Rhia followed the two commanders across the field, but the gamble she planned made it seem more like a valley of sleeping hornets.

He looked as if he had been left out in the sun for hours without shelter. Every patch of exposed skin—his entire body from the waist up—blistered and peeled where it wasn’t dark red from dried blood. His parched lips tried to move as he gazed up at her from the wheat field’s scorched grass.

“Rhia…” he mouthed without sound. She sank to the ground next to him, aware that Baleb and Torin were watching.

“They want to trade you for all the horses in Asermos.”

“Don’t let them,” his voice rasped. “I’m not worth it.”

Her faith in her plan wavered. Now that Marek was here, she couldn’t let him go. She took his hand and whispered, “To me you’re worth all the horses, all the people in the world.”

Colonel Baleb shouted from his mount. “How long does this take?”

She glared up at him. “It depends. I’m tired from all the people who have died today because of you.”

“Hurry up,” he huffed.

She returned her gaze to Marek’s eyes, one of which was nearly swollen shut from a blow.

He shook his head, so faintly that no one else could see. “Don’t.”

“How do I choose between you and my people?”

“I am one man. That’s how.”

A tear fell from her eye, landing on his forehead. He winced as if it burned him.

If she had the strength of a Bear, she could snatch him up and run away. Rhia turned to Torin. His face held the exhaustion of a long battle and the resignation that some would be lost. He would not be so bold as to carry Marek off under the nose of his opponent. She looked around the field and saw no other Asermons close enough to help.

With a breath that twisted her heart, she forced out the lie. “He’ll die either way. Not today, but soon. Let there be no ransom.”

Baleb let out a sharp gust of air. “I’ll have the heads of the idiots who tortured him so.” He barked at the soldier who had brought Marek. “Take him away.”

“Wait!” She changed her face to that of a mournful lover. “Give me a moment to say goodbye.”

“You have wasted too much of my time already.” He rode forward as if to grab Marek himself.

She quickly bent close to Marek’s ear. “We’ll come for you tonight. Do whatever you must to live until then.”

A rough hand jerked him away from her. A foot soldier heaved Marek to the back of Baleb’s horse. He moaned when the rough hide scraped his burned skin.

“What of the truce?” Torin said.

Colonel Baleb turned in his saddle. “Consider it fragile.”

He rode toward the woods, the foot soldier trailing behind.

When they were out of earshot, Rhia said to Torin, “Who shall we send to rescue him?”

“Rescue?” The general looked down at her with surprise.

Rhia’s throat tightened. “We’re going to get Marek back.” He didn’t reply. “Aren’t we?”

Torin wiped a sleeve across his forehead and glared at the bright sky. “How do you propose we do that? Storm the Descendant camp? Look at my forces.” He waved an arm toward the field, where soldiers sifted through the smoldering grasses to retrieve the dead. “They can barely stand up, much less mount an assault.”

“We don’t need an assault, only a few people,” she said. “We’ll go under the cover of nightfall.”

“He’ll be under guard at all hours. They’ll be waiting for us to try.” Shaking his head, Torin started to ride across the field toward Galen, who moved to join them. “I won’t sacrifice any more of my fighters.”

“Then I’ll go.”

He stopped his horse and turned to her. “Absolutely not. Your gifts are too rare. We can’t lose you.”

“Lose her how?” Galen approached on foot and looked at Rhia. “What happened?”

“I told Baleb that Marek would die.”

“Is it true?”

“Not unless we abandon him.” She made another plea to Torin. “Marek saved Asermon lives by disabling those horses. This is how you thank him?”

“I regret he has to suffer for us. But he understood the danger when he volunteered.” The general grimaced. “I won’t throw away your life on top of his.”

She gave Galen a desperate look, though she knew his answer already.

“No, Rhia. The risks are too great.” The Hawk closed his eyes as if in pain. “I am sorry.”

She stared at the woods where Marek had disappeared. He would die, and with him a part of her would perish, too. She wanted to lie down on the field of battle and let Crow take her with all the others.

No.

Her simmering rage smothered her ability to speak further with Torin and Galen. She turned toward the archers’ wall at the other end of the field. There were still those who believed in loyalty.

The midnight air lay thick and dank over the earth as Rhia, Lycas and Alanka slipped from the cover of one tree trunk to the next, making their slow, secret progress toward the enemy camp. No one, not even Tereus, knew of their mission.

A few trees ahead, Lycas gave Rhia an impatient wave, and she picked up her pace. She longed for her siblings’ night vision, now that the yellow crescent moon had dipped below the horizon. Fortunately most of the previous autumn’s leaves had decayed to create a soft, noiseless surface on the path. She checked for twigs before taking each step and passed her hand over the freshly sharpened hatchet secured against her trousers with a leather tie.

Alanka scurried back to them. “The camp’s just over that ridge, in a large meadow.”

“How many guards?” Lycas caressed the sheath of his throwing dagger.

Alanka observed the gesture. “Two at the entrance to the camp and two guarding Marek. You may have to kill.”

His grin flashed white in the darkness. This mission had given all three of them a focus, an excuse to delay their grief for Nilo.

Alanka turned to Rhia. “I stayed upwind of Marek so he’d catch my scent. He opened his eyes and looked toward me—not enough to draw attention but enough to show he knows we’re here.”

Rhia let out a breath. “He’s alive.”

“The bastards must have thought they could torture more information from him.” Lycas gripped his knife. “I’ll show them how it feels.”

“You have time for nothing but a clean kill,” Rhia told him, “and then only when necessary. That was the plan.” She hated the idea of cold-blooded slaughter, and didn’t want to give the Descendants any excuse to attack again, but taking the guards by surprise was the only way to overcome their disadvantage in number.

Alanka explained the location of the guards and the relative position of Marek.

“Ready?” she whispered. The three of them clasped hands and squeezed. In that moment, Rhia felt Nilo’s absence more acutely than ever.

Alanka disappeared to circle around the front of the camp. Lycas and Rhia reached the outskirts and waited in the woods’ dense undergrowth. About a hundred paces away, two guards roamed the west side of the perimeter, near an opening large enough for wagons to enter. Many of the camp’s tents lay rolled up on the ground, ready for transport. Clearly many Descendants slept a more permanent slumber tonight.

Because of the lack of obstruction, Rhia could see a makeshift pen in the middle of the camp, bordered by two standing torches. A figure lay on its side on the ground, unmoving. Marek.

To their right, an owl hooted twice, then three times—Alanka’s signal. Lycas called back in a similar fashion, with a different sound pattern, so as not to raise suspicion.

They were ready.

An arrow thumped a tree on the other side of the guards. One of them gestured to the other to check it out, watching his companion as he disappeared. Lycas moved in a blur of speed and crooked his arm around the second guard’s throat. By the time Rhia caught up to him, the Wolverine had inserted his stiletto under the Descendant’s ribs, up into his lung, providing a soundless death. No breath would rattle his throat and alert the others.

Her brother removed the blade and laid the dying body quietly on the ground. Rhia stopped as Crow’s wings pounded within her mind. She would never get used to that sound.

Lycas touched her shoulder to calm her, then put a finger to his lips and directed her into the camp. He slunk off to find the other guard.

Rhia hurried from one tent to the next, listening for sounds within before moving toward Marek’s pen. Though some men tossed in their bedrolls—no doubt reliving the day’s events in their dreams—none seemed to hear her. Outside one tent she felt the presence of Crow alight. Someone within was dying; breath rasped and teeth gritted. She moved on, more quickly.

When she had reached the tent adjacent to Marek’s pen, she untied her hatchet and examined the nature of his captivity. A rope led from each of the four corners to one of his limbs. Staked into the ground was a fifth rope, leading to Marek’s neck. They were treating him with the contempt they would show a wild beast.

One of his guards watched the surrounding area while the other kept a steady gaze upon Marek’s immobile figure. No doubt they knew by now that he could become invisible, and wanted to monitor his movements without blinking.

A soft whinny sounded to her right. Though most of the Descendant horses stood with their heads lowered in a sedated haze, one eyed her with curiosity. Colonel Baleb’s gold stallion. He wore nothing but a leather halter, the end of which was looped around a stake outside the largest tent.

When the horse shifted his feet to get a better look at her, he drew the attention of the guard who wasn’t watching Marek, a tall, fair-haired man with slumped shoulders. Rhia shrank back behind the tent out of sight. She could no longer see Marek’s pen. She strained to hear any sound.

Booted footsteps approached. The Descendant guard must have thought he was walking softly, but compared to most of her people, he was so loud, he might as well have wrapped bells around his ankles. The image—and the fact that her nerves were stretched to the breaking point—almost made her laugh. She clapped a hand to her mouth.

The footsteps halted. Rhia raised her hatchet and thought of the wet, sickening thud it would make in the soldier’s flesh.

A mockingbird twittered a familiar tune. Alanka and Lycas were in place on the opposite side of the camp, but the guard was too close for Rhia to answer. Besides, fear had dried her lips too much to whistle even one note.

The footsteps began again. In just a few moments he would discover her. She remembered the gray wolf who had saved her life near the river. If only the wolf could appear again…

There was one animal she could call. But in the middle of the night? And for such a purpose?

Rhia closed her eyes and asked forgiveness, then began a silent prayer of beckoning, the one that would call the crows at a funeral. Her inward recitation was quick and urgent, meant to disturb more than coax.

From a nearby treetop, a rustle came, then an irritated flap of wings.

Please,
she added to the prayer.
Help me.

A soft caw emanated from the branches. The guard’s steps halted again, and he murmured a baffled oath. Rhia repeated the prayer, shouting inside her mind, pleading for the crow to wake and fly.

With an indignant
grokkk!,
the bird dropped from the tree. Rhia opened her eyes to see a shadow descend and skim the forest floor. She winced, fearing the daylight-loving bird would fly into a tree trunk. Instead it landed about thirty paces away and rustled within the undergrowth, sounding like an intruder to the enemy camp.

The guard ran past her to investigate and disappeared into the woods. Rhia peered around the tent. The other guard was headed in Alanka and Lycas’s direction. Now was her chance.

She ran to Marek’s pen and climbed over the side, since it had no gate. His face held a mixture of despair and relief as he held out the rope that bound his neck. She wanted to kneel at his side and salve his wounds with a caress, but there was no time. She planted her foot on the rope between his neck and the stake in the ground, then swung the hatchet to slice the binding clean through. Its impact created a loud thump.

Marek’s guard turned at the sound. His mouth opened to yell an alarm, then his body went rigid. He collapsed, an arrow protruding from his back.

She cut the other ropes, Marek pulling each one taut to make it easier. When they were all severed, she turned to him.

His face was etched in horror.

They were surrounded.