The Other Lands (57 page)

“But you see, Prince of the Akarans, the People can’t gather an Acacian army by issuing a summons. The Auldek are not easily killed. You saw Devoth take that arrow through his heart. He pulled it out and chopped off the leagueman’s head. They could have shot him full of arrows. He would have risen again and again. You’ve never seen the Auldek fight.”

“I’ve seen Numrek.”

Skylene conceded that was something by cocking her head, then righting it. “The Numrek were always lesser fighters among the Auldek. Some say acknowledgment of that is what drove them to their crime in the first place.”

“But with the Lothan Aklun gone,” Dariel said, “the Auldek can’t steal more souls. They have only so many lives, right? So if they are attacked they’ll be weakened. They could be beaten eventually.”

“Those slaying those spirit souls would suffer. Would you volunteer to die so that the twentieth warrior behind you might finally slay the Auldek you died killing?” She let the question sit just long enough for Dariel to think he would have to answer it, and then she went on. “And even that is only assuming the soul catcher will not be used again. It’s out there you, know, still on Lithram Len.”

“You think it’s a thing? A thing to be used?”

“It is a tool of their sorcery. I do not say it would be easy for anyone to master it, but neither can I say it’s impossible.”

“Who would use it? Would the Auldek?”

“They know where it is. The Lothan Aklun made them travel to the island to get their souls. It’s a short trip, but it was punishment of sorts, since the Auldek hate to be at sea.”

“Just like the Numrek,” Dariel said. “Why is that? They are fearless about so many things. Why this terror of water?”

“Because,” a different voice said. They all started, surprised, as the wooden door swung open and Mór swept in, suddenly changing the atmosphere, crowding the room with her presence. “Because the Auldek, no matter how strong, cannot swim. They’ve tried, but the same density of muscle and bone that makes them warriors also makes them dead weight in the water. They sink.” She folded her arms and stood, defiant, as if expecting to be refuted.

Dariel was not about to. “Ah, all right—”

“That’s why they never voyage across the Gray Slopes themselves,” Skylene added. “And it’s why the Auldek were so shocked that the Numrek did. It could only mean they had something important to tell them.” The last words came out hesitantly, her eyes on Mór the entire time.

“You’ve said that before,” Dariel said. He let the statement hang, inflected at the end like a question, one obviously meant for Mór.

She did not answer it, but she did say, “Here is something we haven’t told you. It’s not just the Auldek who cannot bear young. The same is true of the People. We live and die, but we do not continue ourselves. That’s another curse you Akarans arranged for us.”

Mór’s eyes cut toward Skylene, but then snapped back. “You’ve learned enough for just now. I have a task for you. Accomplish it, and we will hold nothing back from you.”

Dariel was still facing the enormity of the revelation Mór had just made. It explained so much, and seemed awful in a way that he could not take in all at once. He wanted to. It felt important to do so, but Mór had asked him a question. She likely thought he was hesitating because he was considering the answer. In truth, he did not need to consider it at all. He had been waiting, listening, hiding long enough.

Dariel said, “Tell me.”

C
orinn had never run so fast in her life. She had never felt more frustrated and frantic, filled with an awful urgency that made her want to burst out of her skin and fly. She held the skirt of her gown in both hands, pulled high so that her legs were free to move. Marah crowded her on all sides. They would have preferred to have held still in a defensive circle around her, a human wall with halberds and swords jutting out like the spines of a porcupine. It took all the queen’s effort to keep them in motion. She propelled them against their will by shoving them forward and spewing curses and threats at them. Aaden was in danger. Aaden might be dead.

She had stepped out of the secret room into an office strewn with bodies, blood, and organs—both human and Numrek. Though Sire Dagon begged her not to go, she strode away. She had to find Aaden. Hopeful one second; near tears the next; boiling with white-hot anger just after, when interrupted by scenes of violence, people confused, stunned, getting in her way. She hated when they got in her way! Standing about stupid-faced, gaping. Nobles or peasants, old or young: it did not matter. They worked their jaws in meaningless chatter. She had never hated them more. Several times she roared at them, and each time they peeled away before her, like sheep before a wolf, terrified. If they prevented her from reaching Aaden in time, she would kill them.

Coming off a ramp and up a short flight of steps, she trod on the hem of her gown and fell against the men in front of her. Arms pulled her back up. Hands touched her with an intimacy that would have doomed the owner of them an hour ago. One guard whispered respectfully that perhaps they should turn back, get her to safety in the upper palace. His voice trembled and she recognized him as one of her Marah, alive after the battle with her Numrek guards in her offices. “We’ll keep you safe there, Your Majesty, until—”

In answer she reached for his waist and pulled free the slim dagger sheathed there. “Are you a coward?” she asked. Judging by the way the man’s face froze, he must have thought she was about to slit his throat. She let him think so for a second, and then sawed at the skirts of her gown. The razor-sharp blade ribboned the light layers of fabric. She tore it all free by the fistful. She moved so viciously that she cut the flesh of her thigh. She did not notice until a few seconds afterward, when the warmth of her blood filled the gash and overflowed.

By the time she reached the tunnel that led into the Carmelia, dashed through it, and came out in the open air midway up the stadium’s ranks, she was as sweaty, bloodstained, and panting as if she had been at the butchery of battle herself. She froze as the view rose up before her, her eyes searching for her son even as she saw Mena and Melio and clusters of Marah soldiers, all fighting a few Numrek. There were many dead Marah already, and three of the Numrek lay as broken corpses on the field. The remaining three were bellowing whirlwinds. Their curved swords scorched the air around them, long hair flying as they wrenched their heads around from one foe to another.

Where was Aaden? She didn’t see Aaden. He had to be here. He had to be—and then she spotted a child’s small form lying facedown on the grass. Her breath left her in one long
ahhh
. He was so tiny. Like a doll.

Oh, Aaden.

As she said his name in her head she knew it was not right. The name did not fit the body. It was not Aaden. The figure was a little longer of limb than Aaden. Dark haired while Aaden was fair. It was
Devlyn
.

She shouted, “Find the prince! Find him, now!” The command came from something tapped into the urgency of life, something far greater than she.

As the guards dashed down the stairs and ran to either side, calling for the prince, searching for him among the rows of seats, Corinn turned her gaze to the ongoing battle. Her sister was there, tiny beside the Numrek she faced—Greduc, who had so often walked behind her. Greduc, who had once held his arm out, Aaden dangling from it, standing as tall and still as a tree, grinning as the boy’s legs kicked in the air. Corinn pressed her palm to her chest, realizing she was frightened now from all the moments Greduc had had her and Aaden in his power. At any time he could have killed them both.

I am a fool! she thought.

Two Marah worked with Mena, making a triangle around Greduc, but he always turned to keep the princess before him. Mena held a curved Numrek sword in a two-handed grip. Mena never knew her limits, Corinn thought, and then was appalled. What a vile thought, tainted as it was by an adolescent desire to see her sister punished for the arrogance. She had to get control of her thoughts. Defeat him, Mena. Kill him, my sister! Make him die and die and die!

Mena yelled something at Greduc that Corinn could not hear. The Numrek responded, and whatever he said caused Mena to hesitate. Her sword drooped slightly. One of her hands rose, sketching her confusion with a motion of her upturned palm. The Numrek jerked his chin upward and spat. That ended the intermission.

The attackers drew closer to the Numrek, who roared into motion, battling the Marah but always driving toward Mena. She somehow managed to parry, duck, slip to the side. She stumbled then righted herself and swung the heavy blade around, nearly taking off Greduc’s head—except that he managed to block and, stepping back, twirled into a surprise attack that caught the Marah behind him and took his arm off at the shoulder.

Corinn pitched forward and vomited. Strong hands grasped her, steadying her. What was wrong with her? Her mind was so scattered, cluttered, random. Aaden! Where was Aaden? She scanned the bleachers. Her guards were racing through them, bending to check under seats, dashing along other rows. They were looking, but she knew that if he was in the stadium she would feel him. Perhaps Mena had hidden him. Yes, that was it. Hidden him someplace safe. Corinn stepped forward, thinking she would descend toward the chaos and—

“No, Your Majesty,” a voice behind her said.

Delivegu strode the last few steps to reach her, behind him several more Marah, all of whom rushed past her to join the fight. Rhrenna followed them as well, carrying her dagger. “You shouldn’t even be this close,” Delivegu said. “If one of them sees you, he may charge. Come. Draw back with me so that you can’t be seen.”

“I cannot find Aaden,” Corinn said. “He was here.”

Delivegu set his hand on her shoulder and scanned the stadium, his face grave. He looked at Corinn, took her other shoulder in hand. “We’ll find him. He’s not here.”

Exactly, she thought. He’s not here! Now that seemed a good thing. Aaden was somewhere else, which had to be better than being here.

“He’s probably safe.”

Exactly, Corinn echoed. He’s probably safe.

Rhrenna stood beside her now. “The palace is secure,” she said. “Balneaves Sharratt is checking the records to determine how many Numrek were on the island. There’s fighting still in the lower town, as some of them were trying to flee the island. They won’t get off. And General Andeson is already committed to sail for the Teh Coast, to blockade the—”

“Good,” Delivegu said. “Good!” He was not responding to Rhrenna.

Corinn followed his eyes back to the field. One of the Numrek had fallen. The Marah who had killed him worried his back with jab after jab of their swords, and then ran to aid the others. Corinn remained aware that one of Delivegu’s hands still rested on her shoulder. She reached out and found Rhrenna’s hand and clasped it. Together they watched the tide of the fighting turn.

The next to die got caught dealing with too many foes. Melio hacked him in the side with a two-handed diagonal swing. His blade bit into the Numrek’s side, cut him to the spine, and then stuck fast like an ax driven too deep into a tree trunk. The Numrek fell onto his knees, yanking the sword from Melio’s grip. Two Marah swept in, the first with a downward strike that sliced off a portion of the Numrek’s face. The second leaped into a twirling attack that first cut through the arm the Numrek raised to block it and then sliced halfway through the side of his skull.

Now only one remained. As the rest of the Marah circled him, their weapons before them, he seemed to come to terms with the situation. He let his sword droop a moment, turning slowly to take them all in. It looked like he might be surrendering, but then he roared and ran toward Mena, his sword raised high in a two-handed grip. He looked undefeatable, unstoppable. The Marah closed on him with their own furious intent, slicing and stabbing, then making sure the fallen Numrek would not rise again. Corinn lost sight of Mena, and did not spot her again until the soldiers began to stumble away from the body. Some fell to their knees. A few sprawled on the grass. Still others dropped their swords and moved among the injured, aiding them. It was over.

Corinn saw Mena standing a surprising distance away, panting, her arms limp at her sides and her body curved with fatigue. She had dropped the Numrek sword and stooped before it, as if unsure of what it was. She looked like she might fall to her knees at any moment. Instead, she glanced up and met Corinn’s eyes. She stepped forward, unsteadily. She stumbled from the field and mounted the steps toward Corinn. She seemed to regain some of her abnormal stamina as she climbed. Corinn shouted her question. “Where is Aaden?”

When Mena reached Corinn she grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into motion. “Come,” she said. “Elya has him.”

Elya has him! Of all the things she feared or hoped to hear this caught her completely off guard. The lizard has him?

“You look a mess, sister,” Mena added. “Rhrenna, tell me what has happened.”

The Meinish woman began recounting the details she had begun to give Corinn a few minutes earlier. Mena peppered her with questions. She answered. Delivegu and several Marah followed as well, silent for the time being. Listening to the two women talk helped Corinn through the moments of waiting, as they retraced their path back to the palace. She tried to concentrate on their voices that talked through the crisis like veterans of such things. Corinn knew she should join them, but she couldn’t. Not until she knew.

They found Elya and Aaden in the central gardens of the queen’s palace. Arriving, they had to push through the throng of nervous servants. In the center, within the open area of benches and chairs, in the middle of the mosaic of the Akaran family symbol, lay Aaden. He was on his side, one leg crossed over the other, his arm cradling his belly. Asleep. Or dead? Corinn could not tell. The lizard stood off a few paces. It stood propped on its hind legs, its forearms held together and its slim paws pressed one against the other.

Corinn moved forward, somehow more patient now that she actually saw her son. The emotion that had driven her to the Carmelia had drained out of her. She just wanted to know. That was all. She just had to know. And so she walked calmly across the tiles, the hushed crowd watching her. Reaching her son, she knelt and whispered his name. She sat down and slid her hands under his head and shoulders and drew him onto her lap. There was a strange, tangy citrus scent on him that was pleasant to inhale. But there was also blood on him, yes, soaking his clothes all around his mid-section. “Oh, Aaden,” she said, drawing him still closer. So much blood. He was warm. Limp as he was, she knew that he was yet alive. Leaning over him, she felt breath pass through his lips, faint, oh, but there. He breathed, but it was fading.