Hunted (Book 3) (3 page)

“Before the Pontiff died, he sent a message for me to relay to you and to all Ki’Hal. You must keep this to yourself until you are within safe places and surrounded by people that you trust. He did not indicate how he knew, but he revealed to me that Gen is the Ilch!”

Chertanne’s face transformed from misunderstanding, to shock, to near glee. “We must let everyone know immediately!” he whispered excitedly. “This will finally put an end to his interference! Furthermore, we should send someone back to kill him outright! At last, I have him!”

“No, your Grace,” Padra Athan pleaded. “You must not say a word of this to anyone! If you so much as suggest the idea in that room, you will have a sword at your throat before you can let the last word fall!”

“But surely they should know,” Chertanne argued, “for their own protection, if nothing else!”

“Do you think they’ll believe you?” Padra Athan returned heatedly. “I’m not sure
I
believe it! It does explain why he tried to kill you and perhaps why he was so sickly in Elde Luri Mora, but beyond that, the notion that Gen is the Ilch is preposterous! Only the Pontiff’s declaration that it is so makes me trust that it is.”

“Why should you doubt?” Chertanne countered. “He fought my will at every turn. He set people against me who should follow and obey me. I would say he’s done Ilch’s work.”

“Your reasoning is sound, your Grace, but for everyone else, there will be a lot of pieces that will not fit! Mikkik’s greatest fear is that you and the Chalaine should have a child. Gen could have destroyed the prophecy at his convenience at any time in the last year. You and the Chalaine were both within easy reach of his sword. Instead, he has risked his life for her, and I, for one, am not ready to say or could prove that any of his deeds were faked or disingenuous.”

“Yes, but. . .”

“Hear reason, Chertanne!” Padra Athan’s voice intensified. “You hate Gen. Every Rhugothian noble and aristocrat knows it. If you go in there and start spouting accusations, they will only see it as further evidence of your jealous disdain and turn against you. They honor Gen and revere his actions and his bravery. Anything you say, especially without obvious, demonstrable proof, will be seen as spiteful slander!”

“You are the proof! The late Pontiff is the proof!”

“No!” Padra Athan, disagreed, voice calming. “I . . . I have not been as kind or respectful to Gen as the Rhugothians think I should be—for my own reasons. They think I dislike him, and if I stand with you in this claim, I hope you can see what would come of it.”

Chertanne’s face twisted into a dissatisfied snarl and he hit the nearby wall with the meaty part of his fist. “Why did you even bother telling me if I can do nothing with the information?”

“Because we must prepare some measures for your protection and the Chalaine’s. Ilch or no, Gen will see you dead if he can. You must leave Gen for me to deal with and ask no questions. Do not talk of him, even to people you trust, or get lured into any conversations about him by those loyal to him. Avoid any private conversations with Mirelle at all costs. She is dangerous.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. While we travel tomorrow, I want you to talk to the Chalaine about how you were brought up, the people who taught you, the restrictions placed upon you, the things you enjoyed and those you didn’t.”

As Athan expected, Chertanne frowned. “Why? I don’t think there is a woman alive that hates me as much as she does.”

“That
is
why. Just do it and do not respond in kind if she baits or insults you. It is time for control.”

Chertanne grunted, clearly dissatisfied, and Athan’s stomach clenched with renewed worry. The Ha’Ulrich did accept, however, even if grudgingly.

“Now get some sleep,” Athan ordered. “I have other matters to take care of.”

Chertanne stumbled off to bed and fell asleep more quickly than Athan liked. He thought the man would be sufficiently worried about their circumstances that it would disturb him enough to fend off sleep for at least an hour.

As silently as he could, Athan woke a slumbering Aughmerian soldier. As with Chertanne, he led him out the back of the building.

“What is your name?” Athan asked him quietly.

“Wendeman, your Grace.”

“Wendeman, I need to lay a task to you. This is for you alone and you should speak of it to no one else. Can you do this?”

“Yes, Padra.”

“Good. Listen carefully. I am afraid that in our haste this morning, we may have left something behind that could be potentially dangerous to our mission. I would like you to return to Elde Luri Mora and scout the area. If you find a potential threat still alive, you will need to destroy it immediately. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I would do so gladly, but. . .”

Athan understood his worry. “If there is anything behind us, it will be weak and little able to defend itself. You shouldn’t have much trouble, especially if you keep your distance and use a bow. If anything is there, of course. I will establish a connection with your mind. Should you need to inspect the Hall of Three Moons, you need but think the wish and I will drop the ward so you may enter. Once finished, return immediately. Do not report to me. I will know how you fared through the link to your mind. If anyone asks, I ordered you to scout about. Lord Khairn truthfully knows nothing of this and you will aver to such if asked.”

“I understand.”

“Now I will establish the link.” Athan palmed the soldier’s head, incanting softly for a brief moment. “Now go. Stay out of sight, especially from Maewen.”

Wendeman left, slowly picking his way through the wet forest to the rear of the building. Athan bit his lip, hoping against hope the half-elf had occupied herself elsewhere. Wendeman was no match for her skills.

Reentering the building, Athan noticed Dason sitting wide awake by the sleeping Chalaine, eyes toward the front of the building, where, Athan noted thankfully, Maewen stood staring into the night. The Padra reclined on his uncomfortable bed, and, unlike the slumbering Chertanne, remained awake through the night listening to the thunder roll overhead.

“I can’t see a thing,” Volney whispered as he and Gerand peered through the open entrance of the Hall of Three Moons into an absolute blackness. Cloud cover obscured the light of the moons, and the fireflies that had illuminated the ceremony the night before did not appear to sense their plight or deem it important enough to return. “What do we do?”

“We wait,” Gerand said, stepping to the left of the entryway and secreting himself inside the dense wall of flowering bushes that lined the building. Volney pulled his cloak about himself and hunched down next to his companion, boots squishing in the mud.

After arranging the branches to minimize their uncomfortable poking, Volney whispered, “If you don’t mind me saying so, Prince Kildan, you seem to be quite angry about this assignment. I thought you should be happy to aid your prestigious countryman, whatever his mistakes. At the very least, it is an honor to serve the First Mother.”

Gerand’s tone reflected his unhappy feelings. “Maewen asked us to do this, not the First Mother.”

“You know better, Gerand. Maewen acts on the First Mother’s instructions. Surely you do not regard what we are doing as dishonorable?”

“Dishonorable? He nearly killed the Ha’Ulrich! Do you understand what that means? I dislike Chertanne as much as any decent person, but whether we like it or not, the world must have him. If Gen would have succeeded, this whole trip and the lives sacrificed to get us here would be for naught! This world nearly met its end at Gen’s hands last night.”

“I understand, but there’s something else at stake here, isn’t there? Something is eating at you.”

Gerand sighed. “I think by accepting this assignment, I will, at last, have sealed the dishonor of my family.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you a little family secret, Volney. You remember when Dason lost the Protectorship?”

“Certainly.”

“My father has not written to Dason since then, and the letters I received before this journey were nothing but admonitions to be circumspect in my behavior lest I further disgrace the family name. Dason was my father’s pride, and I continually strove to match him in skill and honor. Once Dason fell from his position, my father looked to me to restore our good name among Rhugothians and to staunch the gossip in the courts at home. What will happen when the news spreads that I deserted the Ha’Ulrich and the Chalaine to aid the man who tried to assassinate the Savior of the World?”

Volney frowned.“Then why accept this assignment at all, Gerand? You could have declined and Kimdan would have taken your place.”

“I have asked myself that very question repeatedly for the last two hours,” Gerand answered. “I might ask you the same. You cannot be ignorant of the potential consequences for you or your family.”

“I did this because I think the First Mother and the Chalaine wish to see Gen safe. I know Chertanne is my King, but I feel no attachment to him as I do to them. And Gerand, while Gen endangered Ki’Hal, can you not see that Chertanne not only wished for but planned out and invited the confrontation? He hoped Gen would attack him so he could demonstrate his power, a folly that almost turned to his own ruin. If Chertanne were any other person, every decent man would pledge their support to Gen now.”

“And therein lies my difficulty,” Gerand said earnestly. “Chertanne isn’t just another man, and Gen has never given him any consideration for his station or his mighty purpose in the prophecy! He impudently and repeatedly crossed the most important man in the world. That is recklessness. If Chertanne wrote the invitation to a confrontation, then Gen addressed and sealed it.”

“I can see your point, Gerand, but I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to answer it truthfully.”

“As I answer all questions.”

“Of course,” Volney snorted. “The first night we were on duty and Gen challenged Chertanne for the Chalaine’s honor, how did you feel when he won?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Oh, yes it is!” said Volney. “It is the very crux of the matter! I’ll tell you how you felt. Your whole soul rejoiced! Joy, pride, and satisfaction coursed through your veins! You felt honored to be his countryman. You counted yourself blessed to keep company with and wear the same uniform as such a man. You chided yourself for not taking the initiative in the matter before he did. You cursed your brother, Dason, for his weakness in not supporting him. Tell me it wasn’t so.”

Gerand rubbed his eyes. “You know I cannot.”

“Then how can you fault that same man, Ki’Hal notwithstanding, for confronting personal and despicable attacks from even the Ha’Ulrich himself? Should he have sought Chertanne’s life? No. But for pity’s sake, you must see that save for the Ha’Ulrich’s calling, Gen was entirely justified! That is enough for me. Chertanne’s destiny is holy, but his cause has yet to be just.”

Gerand kept whatever he felt to himself, and they settled in to wait until morning light. Following Maewen’s instructions, they had loaded their armor and their portion of food onto one of the horses and led it back to the holy city. They staked the horse behind the Hall of Three Moons and had tried to cross into the building, only to be met with a severe shock from Athan’s ward that addled their minds and set them on the verge of vomiting. They had called Gen’s name several times with no reply and then resigned themselves to watch, for the half-elven tracker feared that Chertanne or Athan would attempt to end Gen’s life.

The wind blew more frequently as the night deepened, and booms of thunder in the west portended more rain to come. Gerand and Volney backed further into the bushes until they encountered the outer wall of the building and sat on a small, rounded ledge at its base. Trees and bushes bent and swayed in the wind, boughs and limbs creaking and bending in sudden gusts.

“Do you think anyone will come?” Gerand quietly asked.

“Not really,” Volney yawned.

“You are wrong. Get low and be quiet.”

They slipped from the ledge and crouched among the pink and white blossoms, pushing them softly aside to gain a vantage point on the walk leading up to the entrance of the Hall. At first, Volney thought Gerand was mistaken; save for the weather, all was preternaturally still. But after several minutes of trying to tame his pounding heart, he heard and then saw a man approaching. His drawn sword glinted dully in the weak light, but despite the night’s obfuscation, they recognized him as one of the Aughmerian soldiers.

The soldier ascended the steps warily. In his surprise, Volney’s fingers slipped from the branch he had lowered and it snapped upward noisily. Gerand dug his fingers into Volney’s arm with one hand and placed the other on his own sword hilt. The Aughmerian stopped and squinted into the dark in their direction. Volney stiffened as a wind kicked up, noisily disturbing the trees nearby. The soldier surveyed the area around him for several long moments.

“Curse this darkness,” he muttered before planting his feet in front of the arched entryway and bowing his head. After a few moments, he stepped forward tentatively, sword pointing ahead of him, until he at last passed inside.

“The ward is down!” Volney whispered excitedly. “We have to get in there!”

“Take off your boots,” Gerand commanded, sitting on the wet ground and working at his own.

“What?!”

“Just do it! Quickly!”

Gerand led Volney out of the bushes and to the edge of the entryway. Water soaked into their woolen stockings, but as they neared the entry, Volney understood Gerand’s reasoning. The Aughmerian’s booted footsteps echoed loudly through the empty chamber.

Gerand pulled him back from the door. “Hug the edge of the entryway and pass inside quickly. We will be silhouetted against it momentarily. If he is looking this way, he may see us. Go!”

Without further explanation, Gerand slipped inside. Volney followed him, hugging the cold entry stones as he rounded the corner. Gerand touched Volney’s shoulder once inside to signal where he was. The darkness in the Hall was complete. For several seconds they listened to the soldier wandering aimlessly to and fro about the Hall, boot steps echoing through the dome. The blackness foiled an easy search, evincing a great deal of foul language from the searcher. All torches and lanterns had been lost in the giant’s attack, and the wet weather spoiled their ability to create new ones.

During one of the Aughmerian’s tirades, Gerand whispered, “Last I remember the Pontiff trapped him near the dais on this side, though he could have moved anywhere by now. Put your hand on the wall and let’s follow it. We should find the entrance to one of the side chambers before too long.”

Their socks allowed for silent walking, though both men struggled to keep their scabbards from banging into the wall. The sound of footsteps nearing their position brought them both to a standstill.

“Where are you, Gen?” the soldier called, feigning concern. “I am here to help you!” He approached a spot just behind where Gerand and Volney stood frozen and afraid to breathe. “Those side chambers were around here somewhere,” the soldier mumbled to himself.

Silently, Gerand pulled Volney away from the wall and out toward the middle of the chamber. To their left, the soldier passed by, scraping his sword along the wall to guide himself. The rustling of curtains signaled his entry into the nearest chamber. Volney exhaled, wondering how long it had been since he last took breath.

A soft glow in front of his face startled him. A firefly. In the profound darkness, the weak light illuminated Gerand’s face briefly. Volney cursed their luck. When they wanted light, the insects wouldn’t come. Now that they needed darkness, they appeared. But as they stood stock still, the firefly moved away and hovered ten feet from them. Gerand followed. Foot by foot it flew ahead of them, leading them across the expanse of the Hall.

Glow. Darkness. Glow. They were near the thrones. Darkness. Volney kept his hand on Gerand’s shoulder as they inched forward. Glow. Darkness. Glow. A waxy, pale face, eyes open, stared unblinking toward the Hall’s entrance. Darkness.

“Is he dead?” Volney asked quietly.

Glow. The eyes slowly turned toward them. Darkness.

“Gen,” Gerand whispered. “It’s Gerand and Volney. Stay still. We’ll get you out of here.” Darkness.

“Where’s that firefly now?” Volney muttered.

“Hey!” someone shouted. Volney gulped air, and went for his sword. “I’m tired of hunting in the dark! I am here to help you! All I need is a word and I can find you!”

Volney relaxed the grip on his hilt, and he and Gerand waited and listened, crouching by Gen. Legs cramped as the Aughmerian wandered seemingly at random around the dark room. At length, the footsteps faded toward the side chambers on the opposite side of the Hall.

“Grab Gen’s feet!” Gerand ordered. “We go now or not at all.” Volney felt around, hand knocking against Gen’s boots and socks which lay discarded by his feet.
He’ll need those,
he thought. Gathering them, he placed them on Gen’s chest.

He leaned close. “Can you hold these?” There was no response.

“Try shoving them under his shirt,” Gerand suggested. “Hurry!” Volney worked quickly, but the awkward task proved difficult despite its apparent simplicity.

“What about his sword?”

“Forget it, Volney. We’ll find another.”

With effort, they hoisted Gen’s flaccid body and half carried, half dragged him toward the entrance.

“I tire of this!” the Aughmerian’s voice abruptly split the silence, sending Volney’s heart to pounding.
“
You must help me find you!” They stopped, but as they bent to lay Gen gently on the ground, their scabbards clacked against the stones. “There you are! I am coming!”

Gerand and Volney drew steel, the echo multiplying the sound.

“No, no! I am here to help!” the voice was nervous, and Gerand grinned—the Aughmerian had no stomach for facing Gen, however sick he may be. “I can’t see a thing. Let’s meet by the door.”

“Me first,” Gerand growled in his best Gen imitation.

“All right, I’ll walk over nice and slow. You go ahead of me.”

Replacing their swords in unison and hoisting Gen, they ambled as quickly as they could toward the entrance, but when they were ten feet from the opening, the gig was up.

“Mikkik’s Beard!” the soldier exclaimed.

Gerand carefully set Gen down and pulled his sword. “Drag him out, Volney!”