Powers of the Six (39 page)

“Your freedom was short-lived, Cadogan,” Kael said. “It’s a shame you brought your friends into this. See the suffering you’ve caused.”

Emery's hands shook. “You’re the one in charge of these men. Not me. You’re just a puppet of the king.”

“Puppet, eh? Wait until you get back to Faylinn. We’ll see who’s the puppet.” Kael’s smirk flattened. “But of course, you already know what the king can do.”

Kael turned from Emery and froze, his emotions lightened with shock. “Who did this?”

Alec sat up, still bound, but completely healed. Megan was near him, her hands still tied, but her chin raised. Not that he wanted Alec to suffer, but Emery cringed.
Megan, what have you done?

“I didn’t order anyone to heal him.” Kael swept his eyes over the other prisoners, stopping as he locked on Megan. He grabbed her arm and yanked her to standing. “Free her.”

An Accuracy Rol’dan sliced the ropes at her wrists.

Kael’s eyes roamed her body. He picked up a lock of her mud-caked hair and rubbed it between his fingers. Emery’s blood surged.

She jerked her hair free.

“I remember you from Alton,” Kael said. “You helped free Cadogan.”

She glowered in silence, refusing to meet his eyes.

“And if I’m not mistaken, you healed your little friend over here as well.” He tore open the fabric of his breeches nearly to his hip to reveal an arrow wound on his upper thigh. “While you are at it, heal me as well.”

“Go get it elsewhere,” Megan said.

“You
will
heal me. Or else watch one of your friends die.”

That got her attention; she glared at him and reached for his face, flaring the light of her Shay. But before she touched him, he grabbed her wrist and shoved it through the tear in his breeches onto his bare thigh.

“Now heal me,” he said. “And perhaps I’ll let you touch me more.”

The circle of Rol’dan soldiers laughed.

Megan didn’t speak, but her jaw shook. She brought forth her Healing, and when the light faded from her eyes, she wrenched her hand away.

Kael laughed. But when her eyes darted to Maska, his smile vanished. “If you go anywhere near him, I’ll kill him.”

He motioned toward one of the soldiers. The man bound Megan again and pushed her to where the others sat on the ground.

“You’re a coward, Trividar,” Alec said.

A mask of curious indifference spread over Kael’s face, but his emotions seethed.

“It’s easy to act all brave and smug when your men surround you,” Alec said.

Kael pulled his sword and rested it on Alec’s throat. Alec didn’t flinch; he stared at Kael, challenging him.

Kael studied him before finally turning to one of his men. “Bring me his sword.”

“Sir?” the man said.

“His sword. Bring it to me.”

The soldier returned with Alec’s sheath. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, General, sir, but the king said—”

“Then don’t.”

“Don’t what, sir?”

“Don’t speak.”

The soldier said nothing else, his eyes downcast as he handed the weapon to Kael.

Kael slid Alec’s sword free, examined it, and plunged it into the ground next to the bound boy. It quivered back and forth before resting still. “Your father’s work has improved, if that’s possible. I will be keeping it once you’re dead.”

“You can take a closer look at it in your chest,” Alec replied.

Kael laughed. “I’ve defeated you before, boy. Only this time, no one will heal you.”

“And if I win?” Alec jumped over his bound hands and cut the ropes on his wrists with the impaled sword.

“Then you will impress the king. Which is rare.”

“If I win, you’ll free us.” Alec pulled the sword from the ground and sliced the ropes at his ankles.

“If you kill me—and, of course, all of my soldiers here—then you may certainly go free.”

“Alec, you don’t need to do this,” Hakan said.

“Of course he does,” Kael said as he shrugged off his cape. “It’s in his blood. He was bred to fight. It’s no wonder he wants to die in battle.” He bowed slightly. “And far be it from me to ignore his death calling.”

Both Alec and Kael’s eyes blazed golden-yellow. Alec threw the rope fragments aside. In what appeared to be the blink of an eye, the battle began in a flurry of ringing metal and a billowing cloud of dust.

All stared in silence, following the blur of the fight. Emery flinched as a splatter of blood hit his face. They held their breaths, waiting. Would Alec win? The fight ended abruptly at the tip of Kael’s sword.

Kael yanked the blade free from Alec’s chest; Alec’s sword fell from his hand, and he slowly crumpled to the ground.

Megan screamed and lunged toward him. Two soldiers grabbed her arms, not letting her near.

By Brim. No … no …
NO
!
Numbness enveloped Emery. He scanned Alec with his Shay and drew in a sharp breath. Determination and courage—just like his mother. Alec’s emotions pulsed the same as his mother’s when she died. And he
would
die. Unless Alec could get healing, he didn’t stand a chance.

“You fight well, young Deverell,” Kael said softly, a strange mixture of pity and finality in his emotions. He knelt next to Alec.

Alec trembled. “Y … you are n … nothing.” He gritted his teeth. “Nolan is t … ten times the man you are.”

Kael studied him. “Yes. He is.” And then he rammed his sword into Alec’s chest once more.

Alec’s body tensed, and he collapsed limply, releasing a long, slow breath.

Megan’s sobs echoed through the silence. Emery scanned Alec but felt no fear. To his horror, he felt nothing at all.

Kael stared at Alec briefly, yanked his sword free, and tossed it off to the side in the gently waving grass. The birds chirped. The branches of the trees rustled. And no one spoke a word. With effort, Kael stood, picked up Alec’s sword, and shoved it into his own sheath.

An angry gash dripped blood from his thigh. He flicked his arm, splattering blood on the ground from another wound on his shoulder. An old Healer ran up to him, but Kael brushed him away and limped toward Emery.

“Where’s the stone, Cadogan?”

Emery’s mind reeled. “You killed him.”

“Of course I did,” Kael said. “I did him a favor.” He leaned in close. “He won’t have to suffer under the king like you will.”

“You can go to the Darkness,” Emery hissed.

Kael smiled, though his emotions were quite the opposite. “Don’t worry. I’ll get there eventually. But for now, you’ll tell me where that stone is, or I’ll choose another to join your young friend.”

“It’s not here,” Emery said.

“He’s lying, General,” The Healer said. “I can feel it. It’s close.”

Kael wheeled toward the man. “Well then, find it, Tiohan!”

The Healer, Tiohan, flinched and made a direct route to the edge of the clearing toward a group of bushes lined in a row, exactly where they’d stashed the stone.

At least Taryn is gone
. He hoped the girl had hidden far enough away.

Tiohan whooped in victory and emerged from the brush with the Stone of Healing in hand. As much as he hated to see them find it, he was almost relieved. They had no reason to follow Taryn.

“I have it, General.” Tiohan’s face twisted with glee.

“Give it to me,” Kael said.

“W-what?”

“You heard me, Captain. Give it to me.”

Tiohan trudged to him and reluctantly handed over the stone. Kael turned it in his palm and shoved it into a pouch at his waist. Tiohan continued to stare at the pouch like a starving man.

“Let’s get moving,” Kael said.

“But, General?”

“Heal me.” He glared at the old man, daring him to say another word.

Tiohan nodded, his old face frail. “Yes, my general.” Head lowered and shoulders slumped, he touched Kael’s arm and healed his wounds.

“What about the boy?” a soldier asked.

“Leave him.”

The soldiers yanked Emery past Alec’s body. Emery searched it with his Shay one last time and felt nothing. His eyes locked on Hakan; he could hear Alec’s heart if he were still alive. But Hakan’s sorrow-filled face confirmed his fears: Alec Deverell was dead.

Maska yelled as they dragged him across the ground, too injured to help them at all.

Taryn was safe, at least for now. But a young, pretty girl had little chance of traveling safely on her own. She was their last hope, the only person who could tell the others what had happened. And it would be weeks before she could get home.

There would be no help.

They would have to live—or, more likely, die—on their own.

Chapter Thirty-Two

THE THRONE ROOM hadn’t changed. It held little décor; Alcandor didn’t care for that sort of thing. A large, oak throne sat at the head of the hall, and a plethora of old, oversized weapons hung on the wall behind it.

Emery looked up as they pushed him inside. The web-like beams hovered above him, like the temple at the ruins. Except here, no sunlight streamed through, no birds built their nests, and no Stones of Brim radiated light onto the floor. The ceiling had been sealed with stone long ago. The only light came from a few scattered torches on the walls.

Emery turned, trying to see the others, but the door slammed shut, blocking his view. And worst of all, a familiar presence hovered, smothering him like a thick, wool cloak. He trembled as the memories surged over him. Every seduction. Every murder. Every birth of a Dor’Jan. Truth spiked in his thoughts, buried behind the overwhelming fear. He shook his head. The emotions weren’t his. The fear wasn’t his. They always came from elsewhere. Emery’s blood ran cold.

“Impressive, Emery.”

King Alcandor stepped from behind a pillar; the purple light in his eyes faded to frosty blue. Dressed in a black doublet and floor-length purple cape, Alcandor pushed the cape off one shoulder as he stepped toward Emery.

“You have blocked me. You’ve improved your skills, yet again,” Alcandor said. “I’m not surprised you’re behind the reappearance of the stones. You always were … resourceful. However, I am curious how you discovered their true purpose.”

The doors opened, and Kael appeared, followed by two soldiers dragging Maska into the room. Maska’s head drooped, and his black hair clung to his face. They threw him to the ground—harder than necessary—turned, and left, one knocking into Maska’s leg on the way out, causing him to writhe on the floor.

“The Talasian we told you about,” Kael said.

“Bring me the ‘light’ shackles,” Alcandor said.

Kael disappeared and returned with thick, silver shackles in hand. Alcandor took them and circled Maska in slow, even steps. He knelt and fastened the shackles to Maska’s wrists.

“I didn’t realize the gift reached your land.” The king placed his hand under Maska’s chin and pulled his face up. “What is your name, Talasian?”

Maska glared in reply.

The king’s eyes glowed with the light of Healing. Maska threw his head back, clenched his teeth, and growled as bones cracked and bent limbs straightened. Alcandor maintained his contact, not flinching or showing any sign of absorbing Maska’s injuries. When he finished, Alcandor released his hold and studied Maska with amused interest. The king was more powerful than Emery remembered.

Maska shook his head, disoriented. When his eyes fell on the king, he jumped to his hands and knees like a wild cat, the chains clanging against the stone floor.

“Ah!” the king said. “That is more like a Talasian.” Alcandor grabbed Maska by the throat, pulled him to standing, and pushed Maska across the throne room until he slammed against the wall. Alcandor reached for a collar attached to the wall and locked it across Maska’s neck. Maska’s Strength flared, but his efforts were pointless against the king.

“Just so you know, you won’t break these bonds. They are made with a special metal unlike any you’ve ever known.” Alcandor touched Maska’s cheek, and his struggles abruptly stopped. A vacant expression fell over Maska’s face.

“The interesting thing about Talasians,” Alcandor said, “is they pretend to have no emotions, but they hide intense passion.” He turned a side-glance toward Emery. “But you already know this, don’t you, Emery?”

Alcandor turned to Maska again. “What is your name, my warrior?”

“Maska.”

“Maska?” Alcandor smiled. “I have heard of you. However, they told me Maska died. But now you stand before me, blazing with the Shay of Strength. How extraordinary. I can see how your sweet princess would risk everything for you … her inheritance … her life.”

Maska’s eyes jerked toward Alcandor; the control of the king no longer overpowered him. He glared with a smoldering anger Emery had never seen from him before.

“Oh, don’t worry; she is alive and well. Her father brought her to me. A peace offering, he called it. However, I sensed he wanted to rid himself of her, once and for all.”