Trail Of The Torean (Book 2) (11 page)

Garrick stared at his partner, using a trick Alistair had used on business partners with great success—say nothing, but focus all attention on the person you want to speak.

“My brother—Thale—died in the Rock Thorn Peaks,” Darien said.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No reason to be sorry. He died protecting people from Aarot-Meexor, the Rock Thorn king. He wanted to make a difference, and he did. Aarot-Meexor would have been a tyrant.”

“Your example proves my point.”

“How so?”

“Lord Ellesadil controls Dorfort. He spent your brother’s life in pursuit of his goals, yet the lord is still sitting quite comfortably behind the walls of his beloved government central.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Sadly, I am not.”

“Garrick, the problem with people like you is that you’re so certain you understand everything that you miss the whole picture. You take two or three pieces of information, ignore everything else, and then you knit those pieces into a story you think is the truth but is really just your opinion cloaked in a few slanted events. And, in this case, you’re so wrong that I would find it humorous if it weren’t for the fact that we are talking about my brother.”

“What do you mean?”

“Lord Ellesadil made the final decision for that war, certainly. But my father had Ellesadil’s ear, and my brother had my father’s ear.”

“And that’s important because?”

Darien wiped his brow and stared into the fire, obviously collecting his emotions.

“I was just a boy then,” he said, his voice distant. “But I remember them fighting. I had never seen my father’s position questioned before, and I had never seen Thale so passionate. He believed with all his heart that Dorfort was at risk as long as Aarot-Meexor lived. But my father is a cautious man, and he was missing information. He wanted to wait until he had all the facts, and he wouldn’t budge until he understood the issue. Ellesadil trusted my father’s opinion.”

“I don’t understand,” Garrick said. “The order came to fight, right? The war happened.”

“Of course it did. It happened because Thale argued his convictions. He made his opinion heard. In the end, my father gave in and Thale won the day.”

The fire crackled. The silence felt heavy.

“So, you argue Thale signed his own death warrant?”

Darien nodded, checking the rabbit and wiping his fingers on his pants. “Yes, Garrick, my brother did sign his own death warrant. And he was probably right to do so, too. Thale delivered the killing blow to Aarot-Meexor himself—and at the same time was killed by one of the king’s minions. He stopped a scourge that was surely coming.”

“I see.” Garrick nodded to himself. “But what does that have to do with you? Why are you here?” He stopped, and stared at Darien. “You’re running, aren’t you? Your father wants you in his guard, and you’re out here to find yourself, instead.”

Darien gave a caustic laugh.

“The day we learned of my brother’s death, my father withdrew to his chamber for a very long time, and when he returned he was changed.”

“He blames himself,” Garrick said.

“How would I know? He’s never spoken to me about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Garrick saw Darien’s dilemma. It was obvious his friend loved his father.

“So, you think I should align with the Freeborn, yet you ran from your father’s military because you wouldn’t follow in your brother’s footsteps?”

“You really must stop jumping to conclusions, Garrick. I didn’t run from the military. I tried to join the guard, but my father blocked me. He said I should keep my apprenticeship in the university.”

“I see,” Garrick said. “Your father was afraid to lose a second son.”

Darien nodded. “I left the university the night before I was to certify.”

Garrick shook his head.

“At the end, it’s all still the same. Those with power eventually lose themselves in it. Your father is no different.”

“Are you daft, Garrick?”

“Don’t you see it? Your brother is dead because Ellesadil sent him to war, and you are here because your father wouldn’t leave you to live life as you wanted.”

“My brother fought for his beliefs,” Darien said with a tone as strong as granite. “He commanded men, and those men loved him. He died doing what he thought was right, and he won. He saved lives. I will not accept that a man with power cannot change things for the better.”

“Yes, but Thale is still dead.”

Darien sat back, remaining still, appearing almost as if he was in a trance before speaking.

“I don’t pretend to understand this whole god-touched thing, Garrick,” he said. “And I have no idea if you should join the Freeborn or not. But I think you are important. For some reason. The world is bigger than you can imagine, and I think it has expectations of you. I think you need to find whatever it is you were meant to be, and then you need to be it. I think you need to do what you think is right, or in the end you will never be able to live with yourself.”

Then he cut into the rabbit with the tip of his knife. The aroma was overwhelming.

“I think it’s cooked,” Darien said.

They ate in silence.

The meat filled Garrick’s stomach, but did nothing for the hollowness he was trying to ignore. A flash of lightning colored the sky outside the cave. He breathed deeply, sensing Darien’s life force once again. And he heard the words he had been ignoring all day, heard them clearly and distinctly.

You have given,
Braxidane’s voice whispered.
Now you must take.

Garrick pushed the urge aside once again. It was weak now, too weak to fight him. But the hunger would grow. It was only a matter of time.

He stared out the cave into the dark night, tying to convincing himself it was only the rain that made him shiver.

Chapter 17

The pass was a tight slot cut in red sandstone.

The cliffs loomed overhead, with nothing to break the harsh, claustrophobic pressure of stone except for the few hardy vines and crawlers that clung to their cracks and fissures like rebellious squatters. The weeds made Garrick think of the Freeborn, and of the Torean house as a whole. That’s what Toreans were, really, they were vines and vagabond grasses growing in rocky ground that did not care for them, ground that would just as soon spit them out as give them nourishment.

The stone here was blunt and dull, colored such that the morning light cast a bloody tinge over everything inside the gorge. Its nearness made him anxious. The closed space made the voices in his head seem to echo. It was a dry and lifeless place. Even the air here felt dead.

Darien felt it, too. Garrick could tell because his traveling partner had barely spoken since entering the pass.

The horses’ gaits echoed against the stone.

“I’ll be glad when we’re out of this place,” Darien said.

“Agreed,” Garrick replied.

Kalomar nickered, and his shoulder twitched.

“It’s all right, boy,” Garrick cooed and ran his hand over the animal’s muscled shoulder.

Garrick had not been sleeping well. His mind wandered. Darien’s insinuation that he had some larger role to play in the fates of the plane was more than a little unsettling. He felt trapped. All he wanted was to live in a place where no one would bother him.

Kalomar’s ears twitched again, and the horse came to a sudden stop.

Creatures as tall as the horses stepped from the bare stone walls. Mottled black fur covered their backs and arms, and yellowed teeth jutted from their underslung jaws. A rotting smell rolled off them. They yowled, fistfuls of wickedly curved talons clacking with dull retort.

Emptiness twisted in Garrick’s stomach, and Braxidane’s magic whined in complaint. These creatures had no life force. No energy within. They were guardians—wards similar to those Alistair had set on the occasions he had visitors he did not trust.

“Be careful, Darien!” he called as he drew his sword and prepared his gates. “These things are pure magic!”

Darien spurred his horse and swung his sword at the creature before him. It screamed in pain as the blade bit into its shoulder, but it was still able to sweep dirty talons past Darien’s head.

He brought his weapon round again to catch the thing in the rib cage, and the beast fell to one knee.

Kalomar pinned his ears back, but remained steady. The horse had some training, Garrick realized. This was not its first battle.

Garrick slashed at the second beast’s forearm, but the creature raked his thigh. He managed to hold on despite the pain, as Kalomar lashed out a sharp hoof that struck the beast’s forehead.

Its eyes glazed, but it didn’t fall. Instead, it clawed at Garrick with a wild rush of haymakers.

Garrick heard Darien’s voice but couldn’t understand anything he said. The echo of galloping hooves rang in the passage. Garrick tried to skewer the creature, but Kalomar turned him the wrong way and strands of his own hair flew into his face.

Darien came from behind, driving his gore-covered sword before him like a lance. He scored the creature’s chest, and it fell to its knees, coughing up a thick, green ooze before falling headfirst into the dust.

With his blood up, now, Garrick felt Darien’s life force hanging before him, full-bodied, and ripe for the picking. He felt the heavy rise and fall of Darien’s chest, fueled by battle lust.

“Are you all right?” Darien asked.

Garrick managed to raise a hand as he gasped for breath and tried to keep Braxidane’s magic from running free.

“Stay away!” he called.

It’s all right, he thought. Just breathe. Just breathe.

His hunger receded.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

Darien’s grin widened to a full smile. “Perhaps there’s hope for you, yet, Garrick.”

He shrugged.

“What were they?” Darien asked, indicating the beasts that now lay in puddles of viscous green blood.

“Golems, guardians, things of pure magic,” Garrick replied.

He looked at Darien, and grinned.

“Given Takril’s reputation, I would say it’s best to assume he is now aware of our presence.”

Chapter 18

The desert sun was intense. The air burned lungs and made vision waver.

Garrick and Darien both fashioned shirts into kerchiefs, their tails flowing down their backs to shade their necks. They cut the heat, but didn’t stop a grimy film of sweat from forming over every part of their bodies.

Garrick thought about Takril as they traveled.

Was the mage as insane as the stories told?

Was he as powerful as rumored?

And, of course, would he, perhaps, be willing or even able to help Garrick remove Braxidane’s curse?

The only thing certain was that Garrick’s life force was fading away as time passed, and that his ability to control it was fading just as quickly. He had to do something soon or he would lose himself once again. The answer came to him earlier. Once they had the viceroy’s pet, he was going to leave Darien behind. It was the only thing that made sense. He would protect Darien by taking the pet back to Caledena alone. The idea gave him a sense of confidence, but now he felt his hunger growing, and all he could do was hope it all happened soon enough.

“How much farther to Arderveer?” Garrick said, squinting into the sun.

“Soon, if the viceroy’s map is to be trusted,” Darien replied. “We should give the animals a break.”

They slipped off their horses and made their way on foot.

Sand was everywhere. It shifted below Garrick’s boots. It clotted around his eyes and scrubbed at the folds of his skin. It made the air salty, and even more dry. It smelled of fire and, oddly, of judgment.
Why are you here?
the sand whispered.
Why are you here?

“This is where Starshower came,” Darien said. “They say this whole place was forest back then, and that Kaarat’eon was just a jaunt to the south. The entire desert was left in its place.”

“If you believe those tales, anyway,” Garrick replied.

“Yes, if you believe.”

“Wasn’t Kaarat’eon of such ill repute that the gods were said to have rejoiced in burning it down?”

Darien’s smile grew. “We’ll make a historian of you yet, Garrick.”