“Well, I don’t hear you coming up with one,” Noah snapped.
“Listen to me,” Cowley said before Strout and Noah could get into it again. “We’re not doing anything right now. We’re going to wait.”
“They execute traitors,” Noah said, his face dark. “You know that, don’t you? I don’t care what you say. I’m not standing by and letting them execute Fen.”
“We’re not letting them execute him,” Cowley said. “I promise you that.” He was starting to get irritated. He wished Fen was here to take charge. He preferred to be the one disrupting the conversation, not the one keeping it on track.
After a few more questions, the squad scattered, with Noah still grumbling. Strout stayed back with Cowley until the others were out of earshot.
“Rescuing him is going to be a problem,” Strout said.
“No kidding,” Cowley replied sarcastically. “You don’t think the Fist will let him go if we ask nicely?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Fen’s stupid notions of honor. He won’t run, you know that. He’ll go on and on about the oath he took as a soldier, and how he’s willing to give his life for his king and his duty.”
Cowley sighed. “You’re right.”
“Hell yes, I’m right. If we want to save him, we’re going to have to knock him on the head first.”
Chapter Two
The morning passed. The soldiers who had gathered around had long since dispersed, leaving Fen alone with his ring of guards. Around midday, Corporal Ryen waved down a passing servant and asked him to fetch Fen some food. The boy came back a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of thin soup. Fen ate the soup hungrily but, as hot as it was, it didn’t warm him. Not that he’d expected it to. The chill he felt came from inside him. At least it had faded somewhat. At least he didn’t feel as dizzy, and the pain was mostly gone. If there’d been a war going on inside him earlier, it was over now. There was no question which side had won. Stone power was only a faint whisper in the distance.
From his spot on the side of the low hill, Fen had a good view of the city. He saw the first captives being herded out of the city by soldiers. No, he amended. Not captives. Slaves. The thought of it sickened him. Slavery had been outlawed in Samkara for a hundred years at least. None of the nations on the island allowed slavery. It was yet another depth to which his people had sunk, and it was all because of the Ankharan sorcerers.
What did the Ankharans want with so many slaves? he wondered. A moment later he realized what the Ankharans would probably use them for, and he grew cold inside.
Their lives would be drained from them, the same as when he’d found that pool of purple light underneath the old tower.
Was the pool still there? he wondered. Lowellin told Fen he’d set them back when he brought down the tower, which could mean he’d been able to destroy it.
What was the pool for? Was it some kind of opening into the Abyss? But then why would they need a key? Unless the two worked together somehow.
Fen ground his teeth in frustration. There was still so much that he didn’t know.
One thing he did know. If Lowellin and the sorcerers were going to be stopped, it was up to him to do so. But first he had to get his power back. Nothing else really mattered if he couldn’t do that.
He closed his eyes and stilled his thoughts, turning his attention inward. Stone power was a low, steady thudding in the distance. But between him and the Stone was chaos power. The image that came to his mind was a massive wall of ice, an impassable barrier between him and Stone power. He tried pushing against it, to see if it had a weakness, but when he did a sudden, sharp, freezing pain pulsed through him, and he jerked back, biting off a cry of pain.
His eyes flew open, and he stared down at his hands. Dozens of small blisters had formed on them, the skin on them white as if from frostbite. His hands were very stiff when he tried flexing them. It was obvious he was not going to break through that barrier without paying a price.
Once again the hopelessness of his situation washed over him. He couldn’t imagine how he was going to break through the barrier. And even if he did, even if he got his power back, it wouldn’t be enough. What chance would he ever have against Lowellin, an ancient creature who had been using Stone power for eons? Fen was like a small child next to him.
He’d made a terrible mistake. He should have killed the Ankharans when he had the chance. He should have brought the whole cavern down rather than give in and do Lowellin’s bidding. He hadn’t been able to because he didn’t want to hurt Ravin, but now he saw that she was going to be hurt anyway. Along with everyone else.
In his years of training to be a soldier, he’d accepted the very real possibility that he’d have to sacrifice himself for the good of his people. He’d not just accepted it, he’d embraced it. But he’d never dreamed that he might someday be forced to sacrifice someone else for the good of many, and that that someone else would be someone he loved. Thus, when it had happened, he’d been completely unprepared, and he’d made the wrong choice.
And the worst part of all? If he faced the exact same choice right now, knowing what he did, he still wasn’t sure that he could sacrifice Ravin.
Maybe Lowellin was right when he said that love made people weak.
Still tormented by these, and other thoughts, Fen fell asleep finally, as his body gave in to exhaustion.
╬ ╬ ╬
Fen awoke later with the realization that someone was coming. It was dark, and footsteps were approaching. He sat up. It seemed late. The camp was quiet, the fires burned down to embers.
A shape loomed out of the darkness. Fen blinked up at it. He knew a moment later who it was. “Fist,” he said, bowing his head.
The Fist stared down at him. His bald head gleamed slightly in the weak starlight. His face was lost in shadow. “Why?” he asked. “Why did you betray me? I gave you everything.” There was pain in his voice, and that pain gave Fen hope.
“I would never betray you…Barik.” Fen knew he was taking a risk, using Barik’s name instead of calling him Fist, but he had to take risks if he was to have any hope of getting through to him. “You know that. You know I’ve always been loyal.”
“I thought so, but I’m not sure what I know anymore. I don’t know who to trust.”
“You can’t trust the Ankharans. They’re lying to you,” Fen said. “They’re using you. They’re using all of us.”
Barik stood there motionless. “Maphothet said you would say that. He said you would try to convince me that they are not true allies.”
“They aren’t.”
“And yet here I stand, Samkara’s oldest enemy at my feet, my army intact. They did this. The ones you say are only using us.”
Fen tried another tack. “Have you asked yourself why? Why are they doing this? Why are they helping us?”
“Because they need our help, and we could not help them so long as Marad remained a threat.”
That surprised Fen. He hadn’t expected that. “They want our help? With what?”
“An enemy threatens them. The Ankharans are powerful, but their numbers are few. Now that we have defeated Marad, we can cross the sea and help them. Together we will crush this enemy.”
Across the sea. So he was right. Lowellin did need the army to get hold of the next key fragment, and this threat to the Ankharans was the excuse he’d come up with to feed the Fist. “Cross the sea? How?”
“In ships like the one they arrived in. They are being built as we speak.”
“That’s not really why they helped us,” Fen said. “They did it because they’re trying to get hold of the key.”
“The key?” The Fist sounded skeptical. “The key to what?”
“The key to the Abyss. So they can let the Devourers in.”
“Abyss? Devourers? It sounds like you’re making things up.”
“I’m not.
I wish I was, but I’m not. That’s why they helped us conquer Marad, because there was a piece of the key hidden underneath it. There must be another one hidden in this city they want your help conquering.”
“They warned me you would say things to confuse me.”
“I’m not trying to confuse you. I’m trying to help you see the truth.”
“You’re lying.” But Fen heard doubt in the Fist’s voice. There was still a chance.
“Why would I lie?”
“For power.”
“You know that’s not how I am. You told me yourself that you valued my thoughts because you could trust that I do not seek advantage for myself. Remember?”
“I…I do remember. It is part of what sets you apart. That…and your loyalty.”
Fen went to his knees and bowed his head. “That has never changed. I swear on my life.”
“Have I been wr—”
A voice out of the darkness cut him off suddenly. “Don’t listen to him.” It was Maphothet. Fen would recognize that hissing voice anywhere. “He’s trying to trick you. He knows that you care about him, and he is using that against you.”
The Fist turned toward the dark shape of the sorcerer. “Fen has always been loyal.”
“Has he?” Maphothet asked, moving up close to the Fist and putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. Fen saw a brief glow as his hand made contact with the Fist, a glow that was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Or has he been lying to you all along, plotting against you, waiting for his chance, so he could usurp your throne and rule Samkara himself?”
The Fist turned back to Fen. When he spoke, the uncertainty was gone, and his tone was harsh. “How do you answer these charges, Fen?”
Fen stood up. “They are lies, Barik. I swear to you that—”
“I am your Fist, soldier, and you will address me as such,” the Fist barked.
“Yes, Fist,” Fen said.
“You cannot trust anything he says,” Maphothet said smoothly. “Let him answer before the court for his crimes. Until then it is best that you stay away from him, so he doesn’t have the chance to poison you with his lies.”
The Fist stepped up close to Fen. “I gave you everything,” the Fist spat, his voice barely containing his rage. Fen could feel the violence coiled within the man and how close it was to erupting. “And you repay me with betrayal. It is fortunate for you that Maphothet stays my hand, or you would not live through this night.” He was breathing hard.
Fen knew better than to press further. The Fist might snap and kill him on the spot. Besides that, he wasn’t going to get anywhere with Maphothet here. He would have to wait until he could talk to him alone again.
“You should rest, Fist,” Maphothet said. “Tomorrow there is much to be done.”
“Yes,” the Fist agreed. “Much to be done.” He whirled and strode off into the darkness.
When he was gone, Maphothet came close and whispered to Fen. “It won’t work. He belongs to us now. You’ll never get him back.”
It was all Fen could do to keep from attacking him.
╬ ╬ ╬
The next morning Ravin showed up shortly after sunrise. She was carrying a basket with a cloth laid over it. Behind her was another servant, a middle-aged woman, carrying a bowl of water with steam rising from it. Ryen, who had only recently taken over for the guard who’d been in charge during the night shift, held up a hand to stop her.
“He has to eat,” Ravin told him. “I’m sure the Fist doesn’t mean for him to starve.”
“You’re going to get me into trouble, you know that?” Ryen said, clearly pained. He had a blonde beard that was so pale in color it was almost invisible, and he got spots of color in his cheeks whenever he was uncomfortable, like he was now. Fen guessed the beard was meant to hide that, but it wasn’t succeeding very well.
“No, I’m not,” Ravin said. “I’ve spoken to the Fist, and he assigned me to take care of Fen.”
“Really?” Ryen asked, doubt and hope mingling in his words.
“You can ask Captain Rouk if you don’t believe me,” she said.
Ryen shook his head. “I’d rather not talk to the captain if I can help it. Go ahead.”
The women brought the things over to Fen. The servant accompanying Ravin set the bowl of water down, produced a cloth and a small bar of soap from her apron, then hurried away.
“Did the Fist really assign you to do this?” Fen asked in a low voice.
“Not really,” Ravin said, taking the cloth off the basket. Inside was a small loaf of bread, a wedge of cheese and a sausage. “But I’m sure he would if I asked him. There’s no point in bothering him though.”
“I don’t want you getting into trouble over me,” Fen said, picking up the cheese and taking a bite. “This is good cheese.”
“It ought to be. It came from the Fist’s private stock. And don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”
“He came to see me last night.”
“Who? The Fist?” Ravin turned a surprised look on him. “What did he say? Did you get anywhere with him?”
“He wanted to know why.”
“Why what?”
“Why I betrayed him. I tried to tell him what the Ankharans are up to.”
“Did he hear you?”
“He started to, but then Maphothet showed up.”
“That sounds like good news, that he heard you a little. It is good news, isn’t it?”
“I guess so. I feel like I could get through to him, if I had more time, and that sorcerer wasn’t around.”
“There will come a chance,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I know there will. He’s going to come see you again.”
“I hope so.”
“I know so. He loves you like a son, Fen. Whatever those sorcerers have done to him, they can’t have destroyed that. I won’t believe it.”
She dipped the rag into the water and reached for Fen’s face. He pulled back, but she made a sound like a woman does with a child that is being uncooperative and took his chin firmly in one hand. “It won’t hurt. Trust me.”
He submitted, holding still while she bathed his face, wiping away the grime and the blood. When she was done, she cleaned his neck. It felt good, but also uncomfortably arousing, and Fen was suddenly aware of his guards staring intently at the two of them. He took hold of her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“I think that’s good. If you leave the bowl here, I’ll clean up as much else as I can.”
“What? Oh, yes,” she said. She glanced around, saw the guards watching, and spots of color rose in her cheeks. She put her hand to her mouth and lowered her eyes.
“It’s wonderful to see you,” Fen said. “Knowing you’re here, and that you’re okay, makes it all bearable.”
“It’s agony for me,” she said in a choked voice, a tear appearing in the corner of her eye. “I feel so helpless…” She broke off and brushed at her eyes. “I’m sorry. I know I’m supposed to be strong for you.”
“No one can be strong all the time,” he said, touching her cheek. That caused new tears to start.
“Oh, Fen,” she said miserably.
Fen took another bite of the cheese, wishing he could find something to say to change the subject. Then something occurred to him.
“The prisoners that the Ankharans drained in order to attack the Maradi soldiers, among them was a young couple with a baby.” Fen had gotten lashes for refusing to allow Captain Rouk to leave the baby behind in the empty village. “But when they were led out with the rest, they didn’t have the baby with them. What happened to the child?”
Ravin was nodding before he finished. In a low voice she said, “I took the baby. I had a terrible feeling something bad was coming, and I couldn’t bear to let it happen to the child. I asked the mother if I could hold him, in case…”
“Where is the baby now?”
“One of the other servants lost her baby recently. The child was sickly and died shortly b
efore we left Samkara. I took the baby to her.” Ravin swallowed hard. The tears on her face this time were tears of joy. “She cried and cried. I don’t think she’s set the baby down a single time since then.”
When she said that, the day got a little brighter for Fen. “That’s good to hear. It’s amazing, really.” And it was good. Maybe it was only one small life, only one against the thousands who had died here recently, but it was something. It meant darkness didn’t always win. He needed things like that to hold onto.
Chapter Three
Another day passed, and on the third day after the fall of Marad, Rouk came walking up to Fen, the blacksmith following in his wake. Without a word, the blacksmith went to work releasing the chain from around the tree. Rouk crossed his arms and looked down at Fen.
“Time to go back to Samkara, where you’ll finally face the justice you deserve.”
“You know, if you weren’t such an ass all the time, maybe everyone wouldn’t hate you,” Fen replied. The words surprised him. Either being chained to this tree was getting to him, or this was Cowley’s influence finally rubbing off on him. The words certainly sounded like something Cowley would say.
Rouk turned red. The blacksmith grinned, and then hid his grin by turning his face down. “What did you say, soldier?”
“Sorry,” Fen said. “I meant to say, if you weren’t such an ass all the time, maybe everyone wouldn’t hate you, sir.” The words felt surprisingly good. He really loathed this man.
Rouk bent over him. “I’m going to enjoy watching you die,” he hissed.
“At least then I won’t have to listen to you anymore,” Fen said. Why was he egging Rouk on? he wondered. It could only make things worse.
On the other hand, he was chained up and probably headed for his own execution.
How much worse could things really get?
A flush was rising in Rouk’s cheeks. “You just got your rations cut in half. How do you like that?”
“Really? You’ve eaten the food they serve us, right? How can getting less be a bad thing?” Fen replied, still wondering at himself. This really wasn’t like him at all. But it felt surprisingly good. He’d had to swallow his tongue plenty of times around this little tyrant. It was nice to be able to speak freely.
Chaos Trapped Page 4