Hunted (Book 3) (28 page)

The first young man’s head hit the table with a thunk, and Tory raised his head and started counting. His companion’s head hit four seconds afterward. The sentry shook his head. He had tried to measure the drug precisely for their respective body weights so they would fall at the same time. A four second differential, while satisfactory, would not do to help him advance his hopes of acquiring the rank of spy.

Calmly, he pushed the diced carrots into the stew pot and swung it over the fire. Wiping his hands, he crossed back into the main room to find his two victims resting awkwardly on the table.

At least they didn’t spill the drinks,
Tory thought as he opened the bedroom door. A blast of cold hit him. Judin, still in his bedclothes, huddled under several blankets, book in hand. He had opened the shutters wide.

“Is someone here?” Judin asked, displeased at the interruption.

“I’m afraid so. I need to speak with Padra Athan, if you would open the Portal, please.”

“Let me finish this chapter. . .”

“Now, Judin, or tonight’s meal will burn.”

As the sun fell, Gen started to regret his decision to stay outdoors. The departure of the clouds and the arrival of evening ushered in a bitter cold. While mentally he could ignore it, his body wasn’t so silent on the matter. The smoke from the chimney smelled invitingly of warmth, and the woodpile dug unpleasantly into his back. He’d already created a small oval track in the snow from pacing listlessly when he abandoned the uncomfortable touch of the woodpile.

When did I become so soft?
he wondered.

That thought and the faint buzz in his head that signaled the nearness of the Portal reminded him of the enormity and even preposterousness of the mission ahead, and he returned to stand to the side of the house, closing his eyes and disciplining his mind and feelings. He could not fail. He needed to return to the emptiness that had propelled him in his first few months at Rhugoth.

The severity and depth of his guilt and the power of his love for Mirelle, the Chalaine, and his friends had driven clarity from his mind, and he sought it now for their sake. A need to escape pain had motivated him before. Now he needed discipline to help others escape it. He closed his eyes briefly, breathing in and out and emptying his mind.

The sun had nearly set when the front door around the corner opened, and the sound of several heavy footsteps hinted that soldiers had come out of the structure and roughly closed the door behind themselves. The sound of the footfalls was not right, and Gen held up, listening. Gruff voices joked about the cold briefly, the tenor of one sending a chill up Gen’s spine. Inching quietly to the edge of the building, he poked his head around the corner, pulling back quickly. Captain Omar and two Aughmerian soldiers stood guard at the door.

Gen froze. The calm he had invited before dissolved at the sight of the brutish guard that had tormented him in Tell and hurt Regina. Reason told him that Gerand and Volney were captives and that he should flee back to Mikmir, but those voices of wisdom again failed to shout above Gen’s noisy, resurgent emotions. Knowing what strength it would cost him, he turned the corner, striding evenly as he killed Captain Omar’s two companions by unmaking a portion of their brains while simultaneously clogging Omar’s throat. While surprise still held Omar, Gen created a band of stone around the Captain’s arms.

Gen crossed to the ailing brute, the vulgar looks and massive, neckless head queuing unwanted memories in Gen’s mind. Roughly, Gen grabbed him by the top of the breastplate and yanked him forward.

“Remember me, Omar?” Gen asked as Omar’s eyes widened from shock, face purpling. Gen removed the obstruction in his throat. “Quietly now, Omar. Quietly.”

“You are dead!”

“Do you think the Ilch could be killed so easily, Omar?”

Omar’s eyes widened. “Spare me!”

“Oh, I’ll spare you, Omar, if you can remember something.”

“What”

“Her name, Omar. Do you even remember her name?”

Omar’s eyes darted about as if searching different cubbyholes in his mind. Gen reached down for his sword when Omar rammed his forehead into Gen’s face. Gen rocked backward.

“Help!” Omar yelled frantically. Gen stepped forward, pulled Omar’s sword from its scabbard, and punched it through his heart and into the door behind. Omar’s cry and the sword sticking through the door set footsteps inside the house to sprinting. Gen leaped away back to the woodpile, jumping on top as people in the house worked to push Omar’s corpse away from the door.

Gen pulled himself up onto the snowy roof, hands pushing through the snow to clutch the thatch beneath. He could sense the Portal almost directly beneath him. Scooting forward, he dissolved part of the roof with Trysmagic, finding a bedroom below with a dark-haired man standing near the active Portal in his bedclothes, eyes closed in concentration.

I hope that’s the Portal Mage,
Gen thought as he stood, opening a hole in the roof beneath his own feet. The Portal Mage yelped as Gen hit the floor hard, cracking the wooden planks. The Portal winked out. In a moment, Gen’s blade flashed up under the chin of the frightened man.

“Where are the two soldiers that were here?”

The Mage swallowed hard. “Taken. Taken through.”

“The Portal. Open it,” Gen commanded with a slight prod of the sword. The Portal flared to life, and Gen grabbed the shrieking Mage by the arm and pulled him into the Portal with him. Once they were through, he knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his blade. The Portal closed just as Gen noticed two Eldephaere. As Torbrand had told him, the Portal opened into a small storeroom. A weak lamp behind his opponents turned them to advancing shadows.

They yelled a warning and took a step toward him. Gen surged forward, lengthening his body and thrusting his sword through the neck of the first. Pulling back into a more compact stance, he flicked his blade to the left to decapitate the other before his raised stroke could fall.

All planning voided, Gen kicked open the storeroom door and waded into a kitchen full of Eldephaere. Two he blasted to the floor with the force of his kick, and, with a combination of killing Trysmagic, Kuri-tan, and quick strikes, he cut down eight vacant-eyed Church soldiers and sprinted out into the hall. His magic was nearly spent, but the Im’Tith brand on his chest let him know the Chalaine was somewhere close by, and this infused him with drive. While he could sense her, he had no way of knowing which way would lead to her in the maze of doors and side corridors around him.

This isn’t going to work!
a voice that sounded like Samian shouted in his head. 
You have done exactly what they wanted.
Get back to the Portal and retreat!

Gen weighed his options. He could try to hide in the keep or awaken the Portal Mage and return to his friends. Even as his will wavered, a flood of pain from the Chalaine poured over him as it had almost every day since they left Tenswater.

They are doing this to get to you! Run!

Gen could not obey the wiser voices in his mind. To use the Chalaine so abominably just to get to him was unforgivable. It would stop, either by her departure or his death.

Decided, he sprinted through the halls, one way as good as another, trying to narrow his choices by attrition. Guards popped up in front of doors and around corners with alarming regularity, and he dispatched them all with as much rapidity and stealth as he could manage. The bodies he could not hide, and, as his frustration mounted, a hue and cry was raised in the keep, servants and soldiers pouring from doorways.

Gen ducked into a room from which several female servants emerged, finding what he had hoped—loose servant dresses and veils. Finding the largest he could, he slipped it over his head and affixed the headdress and veil. The sword’s scabbard poked the brown cloth out a bit in the back, and it was shorter than he liked, but he didn’t take the time to feel foolish, stepping out into the hall and resuming his quest in the midst of a chaotic search. None of the men seemed to spare him a second glance, though some of the women regarded him strangely. He pressed on.

After several minutes of wrong turns and avoiding patrols, he found a long, well-lit hallway bedecked with trophies of war and fine tapestries. He walked as inconspicuously as he could until the hall terminated at two darkly stained oaken doors with two Eldephaere standing guard in front. The Chalaine was somewhere in a straight line behind those doors. The two Eldephaere regarded him quizzically for a moment before he used Trysmagic to stop their hearts and send them to the floor. He dragged them away from the door to clear room to open it, listening carefully but hearing no sound from the other side.

Breathing deeply, he grabbed the two iron rings bolted into the doors and pushed. The hallway behind was empty save for a single figure who Gen scarce had time to recognize before a crushing scream only he could hear tore through his mind, ruining the spell he had ready. His attacker smirked at him as he fell to his knees in pain.

“Cute,” Padra Athan mocked, and Gen knew no more.

“Are you sure you broke all the seals?” Athan asked a drawn Padra Nolan. Padra Nolan removed his hands from Gen’s head and walked unsteadily toward a pitcher of wine and a goblet laid out on a small, darkly stained table.

“I believe so. It is amazing the amount of information Mikkik packed away in his mind. The blood magic that Aldemar alluded to in his documents was gifted to Gen, as well. It is an odd form of magic, and corrupt, but what Gen needs to know for bringing Chertanne back is there. In fact,
you
could perform the ritual if you had time to learn it. I am shaken, Athan, shaken and scared.”

“What frightens you, Nolan?”

“The learning Mikkik bestowed upon Gen has revealed to me more plainly than any other study I have done the dark and devious nature of our common foe. But more particularly, by having the seals broken, Gen now possesses terrible knowledge to accompany his power, spells that far eclipse anything Chertanne was ever taught. I am scared to awaken this young man. If it weren’t for the necessity of Chertanne’s revival, I would kill him now.”

Athan nodded gravely, rubbing his chin. “Fortunately, Trys will not wax full for a few more months, and his power will be limited. The Chalaine will act as our check against whatever retribution he wishes to exact upon us.”

Nolan rubbed his eyes. “He does possess strong feelings for her, but are you sure it is safe to put her and the Child in her belly in the same room with him? What if there was something I missed? Some hidden command?”

“It is a risk we must take,” Athan said. “For the magic to work, the one bled must be willing, and she is the only one he will listen to. Do not fear. He prizes and honors her above all and surely would have killed her long before now if Mikkik controlled him. But I agree that he should be destroyed. If what you say is true, I cannot honor my bargain with the Chalaine. Once the ceremony is done, we will rake his mind thoroughly one last time and kill him.”

“That is wise," Padra Nolan agreed. "I would like to write down what I have learned while it is fresh.” He turned to leave.

“Yes, but one last question,” Athan said. “Are you sure that Millim Eri sealed Mikkik’s training from him?”

“I am positive. There were two—a male and a female—that watched over him during his youth and adolescence. They appeared directly after every one of Joranne’s sessions and blacked them out of his mind. With the Chalaine’s revelation about Aldemar still walking Ki’Hal, it is time to rewrite some doctrine as it concerns the Millim Eri surviving the Shattering.”

“Indeed. You may go. Send in the Chalaine.”

Padra Nolan cracked the door, revealing the Chalaine pacing in the hallway outside. As soon as the door swung open, she stepped past the genuflecting Padra Nolan before he could straighten and invite her to step inside the small room. Gen lay unconscious on a small pallet, and the Chalaine inspected him carefully, filling her eyes with his familiar form. She could find no injury upon him, and she tried to be as clinical and calm as she could, not wanting to show Padra Athan how desperately excited she was.

Gen breathed in and out comfortably. He wore traveling clothes, his face shaven and hair cropped neatly. The Chalaine choked back tears, and, noticing Athan’s watchful stare, steeled herself quickly.

She cleared her throat. “You cleaned him up.”

“Yes,” Athan confirmed, stepping forward to shut the door. “He and his companions arrived looking little better than slave beggars. “

“What did you do with Volney and Gerand?”

“They are resting comfortably in a cell with their fellow Dark Guard.”

“Then if you would kindly wake him and step out,” the Chalaine said, “I will be true to my commitment to convince him to aid us.”

“I will not leave, Chalaine.”

“But I said. . .”

Athan stepped forward. “I know what you said, Highness, and I did not agree to it. I must remain here and addle his mind sufficiently so that he cannot work his magic again, lest he conjure a way to escape and start another bloodbath in the Keep. I don’t expect you to like it, but those are my conditions.”

“He is strong-minded, Athan. He thinks you’ve tortured me these past weeks. Are you sure you want to risk it?”

She knew it a desperate argument, but she had to confess her love to him before the secrecy drove her mad. With Chertanne dead, the guilt she felt over her feelings for her Protector had dissolved into the winter wind. He had to know, but she would not speak of it with Athan in the room.

“I am confident in my skill, my Queen,” Athan pronounced expressionlessly. “Please prepare your arguments well. His mind will be impaired, so keep your speech and questions simple. Remember, he must accept with an oath.”

Athan stepped to a corner outside Gen’s field of vision and incanted. Gen’s eyes popped open. Immediately the Chalaine could discern the effects of the spell. His green eyes that had always shone with nobility and intelligence were dimmed and cloudy. It required several seconds for him to recognize his companion, and when he did, he smiled drunkenly, his hand flopping tentatively for hers.

“Chalaine,” he intoned pleasantly. “Did you bring the cards? I’ve come all this way for a game.”

Her tears came freely now, and she rubbed his hand and arm briskly, hoping the friction would polish some clarity into his eyes. “No cards today, Gen. Listen carefully. Do you know about Chertanne?”

“Yes. Good old Jaron. Good man, that one. Happier days for you, then? I bet Dason is pleased, eh?”

The Chalaine bit her lip at his implication and tumbled on. “Gen, the Padras say you can bring Chertanne back to life.”

He laughed, and when he talked, the words came slowly and a little slurred. “Like anyone wants to. No one knows how to do that. . . Do they?”

His eyes widened and rolled about questioningly for several long moments. “I . . . I know how to do it. . . I know. . . horror upon horror!”

He pulled his arm away and convulsed, falling from the palette. Padra Athan incanted again, and Gen fell back into a sleep. The Chalaine knelt beside him as he twitched uncomfortably.

“What is he talking about?” the Chalaine demanded, noticing Athan’s troubled look.

“He is coming to grips with Mikkik’s training. I underestimated the effect it would have upon him. I will try to calm him.”

The Chalaine watched Gen’s face, his eyes convulsing behind his eyelids. “Mikkik’s training?”

“Mikkik taught Gen many things that the Millim Eri hid from him. Of a necessity, we had to reveal them to him.”

“So you admit, then, that Gen was not complicit with Mikkik when he attempted to kill Chertanne in Elde Luri Mora?”

Athan shrugged. “Perhaps not consciously. But we’ve no time to be pedantic about this. One moment and I will wake him again.”

When Gen opened his eyes again, he lay perfectly still, eyes open, face bewildered, ashen, and lost, like a drowned man staring up out of the water. The Chalaine stroked his face gently, trying to comfort him, but his terror and stupor diverted his attention inward, and several minutes passed before his eyes finally found hers, now filled with sadness and concern.

“Gen. . .”

“Do you want me to do this, Chalaine?” he groaned. “Do you want me to help you bring Chertanne back to this world, to be its King and your husband?”

She couldn’t tell the truth, and she didn’t have the heart to say yes, so she chose something in between. “It must be done, for the sake of the prophecy. You must swear to it. The lives of us all are at stake.”

“Then I will do it, for your sake. I swear.”

Before she could utter another word, Athan incanted and Gen fell back into slumber. She grabbed his hand fiercely and pressed it to her cheek as the tears ran unseen down her veiled face. Frustration and self-loathing smothered her, and she fought to breathe.

“Well done, your Highness,” Athan complimented her smoothly. “We will begin immediately. I will keep him asleep during the bleeding. When it comes time, I will of necessity need to allow Gen his full faculties. When he performs the ceremony, no one is to be in the room with him save Chertanne. Wait here a moment while we clear a section of the lower prison. Guards! Take Gen below. I will retrieve the Chalaine personally in a few minutes.”

Two burly Eldephaere grabbed Gen under the armpits and dragged him indecorously from the room. The Chalaine sat on the palette where Gen had lain and put her head in her hands. Gen had no future now, and for all her thinking she could find no scheme or leverage to employ to win his freedom or even his life. Athan held complete control, and with her mother imprisoned and herself restricted to her room, there was no influence she could bring to bear to manipulate the inevitable path before her. She prayed to her God and hoped he would find some way to see Gen through whatever Athan held in store.

The Padra did not tarry for long, opening the chamber door and signaling for her to follow. She smoothed her dress as she crossed through the open door and down a gray spiraling stairway discolored black and green by moisture and mold. The scent of mildew and uncleanness spun her head, the enclosed space upsetting her frayed nerves. Rats screeched as soldiers ahead of her kicked them down the stairs or crushed them outright.

After several turns, the stairs terminated on a small landing. Directly in front of them was a heavy wooden door with a set of small bars affixed in a square at head height. To their left, another stairway, even narrower than the one they had just descended, dropped off into the dark, moans and sobs ascending from it as if the prison below were the belly of some beast slowly digesting its victims.

“This place is not humane!” the Chalaine exclaimed as a whimper of terror greeted them from below. “Please tell me you do not have my mother in this place!”

“Open the door,” Athan commanded the Eldephaere, ignoring the Chalaine’s question. The door shrieked open, and Athan followed her inside. From appearances, the room was used for storage. Barrels and sacks had been shoved to the side to make room for a massive cauldron. A single lantern atop a pile of grain sacks glowed dimly, and the Chalaine felt like a thief meeting someone surreptitiously in some dark place to divide ill-gotten spoils. Gen lay in a heap on the floor, guarded by two Eldephaere.

“Take three of the barrels and place them in a line next to the cauldron,” Athan commanded. “Lay Gen on them and hang his arm over the cauldron.” This was done quickly. Two other Padras joined Athan as he removed a thin-bladed knife from his robes. The Chalaine swallowed hard.

“Come near him, Chalaine. Whatever the cost, do not let him die. Do you understand?”

She nodded her head in acknowledgment but felt fearful. Usually, she could tell when someone neared death by touching them, but touching Gen would heal him prematurely. She had to rely on sight and sound, and she feared her own inexperience might kill him. Before she could think about it, Athan slashed Gen’s wrist, blood spurting into the cauldron. Thanks to Athan’s magic, Gen did not twitch or cry out, though she knew even awake he would have shown no reaction. As for herself, her stomach lurched, and it felt as if her knees might buckle at any moment.

Walking carefully forward, she put her face close to his so she could see it more clearly and watch the rise and fall of his chest. Time crawled by haltingly on broken legs, discomfort and disgust apparent on every face. Slowly Gen’s face paled. His breathing slowed, and the blood pulsed more and more weakly from his wrist. As his breath grew ragged, she healed him, health and color returning a warmth to his marble white features.

“Six more,”Athan announced gravely, slashing Gen again. The Chalaine closed her eyes and groaned inwardly as the blood ran into the cauldron, the drips echoing uncomfortably in the small room. By the time they finished the fourth bleeding, the Chalaine’s head throbbed from the intense concentration.

“I need rest before I can continue,” she complained. “I need fresh air and some refreshment.” Athan measured her up for a moment and then acquiesced.

“Take her to her quarters for half an hour. I will stay with the blood.”

Emerging from the dismal pit of the dungeon and into the comparatively well-lit confines of her room eased the constriction squeezing her chest and mellowed the headache. She threw herself down on her bed and exhaled to expel the tension.

She did not want to brood anymore on the impossibility of freeing Gen, and she quashed the tears threatening to well in her eyes. Flutterings in her belly, growing stronger by the day, distracted her, and she was reminded that within the confines of her womb grew the object worthy of sacrifice. She had hoped that if any sacrifice were needed, it would be her own life and not those whom she counted so dear.