He moved to voice as much to Tyla, but Allistar beat him to her side.
“Why don’t we find an inn first, then I can send a detail to the stable with the horses and another to get the supplies we need?”
She gave Allistar a grateful smile, causing Jarrett’s fingers to curl into fists around the reins. “That would be wonderful. I’d love a hot bath.”
Allistar returned the smile.
“I also want to send my grandfather and Kerrin a note.”
“If you write it, I’ll see it posted.”
“Thank you, Allistar,” she said.
They angled toward a large inn in the middle of the main street. Anatem had changed quite a bit since Jarrett remembered it. Pots of flowers lined the thoroughfare and the signs over the buildings were freshly painted. While the people still watched them with suspicion, they looked better dressed than before.
He searched for the stable where they’d inquired after Tyla during his last time in Anatem, but he wasn’t exactly sure where it had been. He’d been rather debilitated the last time he was here.
Stopping the horses before the inn, the Stravad party swung down. Allistar moved to Tyla’s side and helped her out of the saddle, then escorted her up the steps and to the door of the inn. Jarrett passed his reins to the waiting page and followed them, glaring at the Stravad’s back.
He paced the entry hall of the inn as Allistar and Tyla made arrangements for all of their men. When Allistar brought him his key, he curled his fist around it and refused to make eye contact with him. Shouldering his pack, he followed them up the stairs and down the hallway to the room numbered on his key.
His was the last room in the hall, the one farthest from Tyla. He watched down the hallway as she entered her room and shut the door, never once looking back, then he shoved his key in the lock and threw open his door.
The room was sparse, but clean, housing a bed, a dresser and a washbasin. He threw his pack on the bed and wandered to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out. His room looked out on an alley, choked with broken wagon parts and rotten leather tack. He let the curtain fall back over the window and sat down on the end of the bed.
It wasn’t that he expected things to be different between him and Tyla, he just never expected her to ignore him so pointedly. She made it clear she didn’t need him, didn’t want him. How was he supposed to reconcile himself to that? They were still married, still bound to one another through their son, and then there was the fact that he still loved her, would always love her.
He braced his head in his hands and closed his eyes. For a while he tried the Nazarien chants, designed to remove any troubling thoughts from a Nazarien mind, but he’d never been as good at it as the other Nazarien. He simply couldn’t turn off his brain that easily.
Pushing himself to his feet, he stripped out of his dusty travel garb and gave himself a cold sponge bath in the basin. Then he put on a new uniform and turned toward the door. Once in the hallway, he hesitated. He very much wanted to go to Tyla’s room and invite her to dinner, but he didn’t have the courage to be turned down by her. Not now.
Giving up the idea, he walked down the stairs and angled around the entrance hall to the dining room in the back of the building. He took a stool at the farthest end of the bar, where he could watch the door, and ordered a drink. The bartender brought it and gave him a curious look, but when Jarrett glared at him, he backed away.
For the next half hour, he drank and studied the other people in the dining room. A young couple occupied a table by the window and spent their meal in huddled conversation. An older man leaned against the fireplace, his glass pressed to his belly, not drinking. A couple of young men sat at the other end of the bar, laughing and trying to out drink each other. A few bored serving women went among them, replacing drinks or bringing out bowls of watery stew.
The bartender asked him if he wanted anything to eat, but looking at the stew, Jarrett wasn’t sure he could hold it down. He asked instead for a loaf of the dark, rye bread the women served with the stew.
While the bartender went after it, Allistar entered the room. He scanned it with his blue eyes, then spotted Jarrett and made his way over. Jarrett kicked out the stool next to him and Allistar took a seat.
“Eating alone?” asked the Stravad, then he eyed the drink in Jarrett’s hand. “Drinking alone, rather.”
Jarrett took a sip. “How’s Tyla?” he asked, deliberately ignoring Allistar’s question.
“Resting. I had dinner sent to her room.” He looked down the bar at the stew being served and grimaced. “Although I hope that isn’t what they sent.”
The bartender returned with the bread and slapped it down in front of Jarrett, then he glared at the Stravad. “What do you want?”
“Same thing he’s having,” he answered, then shifted, blocking him out.
Jarrett broke off a piece of the bread and shoved it in his mouth. “Tell me about this Jax Paden again.”
“Tyla would be a better source. All of the information I have is second hand.”
“Tyla isn’t exactly welcoming me back into the fold right now, in case you haven’t noticed.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. He felt the weight of Allistar’s eyes on him. “She’s more inclined to rely on you.”
The bartender returned with a drink and a plate of bread for the Stravad. Allistar began buttering the bread with that typical unconcerned manner of all Temerian Stravad. It drove Jarrett nuts.
“What do you want to know about Jax?”
Jarrett shifted in his seat, resting his back against the wall. “He was Temerian Stravad?”
“Yes.”
“But he went to Kazden?”
“To see the ocean and learn to sail.”
“Which everyone believes he did?”
“Apparently. He told the healers he did. They had no reason to question him.”
“And during one of these sailing ventures, he found the island…”
Allistar lifted his drink and sipped, replacing it on the bar. “Here’s where I get muddy on the whole thing. Most people believe he was shown the island.”
“By who?”
“The same man who taught him to sail.”
“And that’s the man we’re going to try to find?”
Allistar nodded. He swallowed the bread and took another sip of his drink. “Exactly.”
“What if he doesn’t want to be found?”
Allistar shrugged. “He’ll be found. He’s not Nazarien, Jarrett.”
“What if he’s dead?”
Allistar met his gaze. Jarrett knew the Stravad feared the same thing. “He’s not dead.”
“Jax Paden’s dead. He had contact with this Brodie fellow. He might be dead.”
The Stravad commander’s jaw firmed. He looked away and his fingers curled around his glass. “Then we’ll find someone else who knows this island.”
“And magically, they’ll have a cure for this plague.” Jarrett leaned closer to Allistar. “And then I’ll sprout wings and fly us all back to Temeron.”
Allistar swung around on him, rising to his feet. “Are you spoiling for a fight?”
Jarrett eyed the Stravad. “Maybe. Maybe I’m sick of being the third wheel. I’ve been asked to give up my life in Chernow and come out here, just to be treated as if I’m part of the infantry. Maybe I deserve a bit more respect, especially from you.”
“What exactly does that mean? How am I not respecting you?”
“You seem awfully familiar with my wife, Allistar.”
The Stravad’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? Your wife is my superior. I take direct orders from her. What are you suggesting?”
Jarrett clenched his jaw to keep from saying exactly what he was suggesting. He realized he was breathing hard. He drew on his Nazarien training and forced his shoulders to lower. “I hate being kept out of the decision making.”
“What decision? We all agreed to stop in Anatem and reprovision. What o
ther decisions were made?”
Jarrett opened his mouth to tell him, then stopped. Thinking the words through in his own mind made them seem ridiculous. He was angry because Allistar and Tyla had picked the inn without consulting him. Even he knew that was an asinine complaint.
The bartender sidled over. “Look, we don’t want no trouble. You two need to take this out of here.”
They both glared at him and he retreated, dropping his gaze. Allistar shifted back to Jarrett. “What the hell is this about?”
Jarrett exhaled, releasing his tension. He didn’t think he could put into words what he was feeling, not with Allistar and not now. “I don’t know.”
Allistar sank into the seat again and reached for his drink. “You said we asked you to give up your life in Chernow. Was there really that much life back there for you to give up?”
Jarrett’s gaze whipped to the Stravad’s face. Allistar’s blue eyes were penetrating, seeing more than Jarrett wanted to reveal. Once their friendship had been so easy, so natural, but now, nothing was, and he realized Allistar was right. There wasn’t anything in Chernow for him to give up.
* * *
The moon was full, casting enough light for Kalas and his entourage to make their way across the desert in the dead of night. Even though they’d made good time and the travel had been relatively easy, Kalas felt anxious.
It had been more than a day since the last attack. Ellette told him they would keep trying to drive him back to Sarkisian, until he reached Kazden. They were two days out of Kazden now. He was just as determined to keep going as he’d been when they started, but he kept expecting something to happen.
Ellette still rode in the wagon, chained to the seat. She kept insisting he release her so she could protect him. He didn’t doubt her ability, he just didn’t trust her. She might not have pulled a weapon on him when she attacked him, but she was still Nazarien, trained by the very people who were intent on hurting his sister.
Thoughts of Tyla distracted him. Why hadn’t she sent him word about the plague? It wasn’t like her to leave him out of the loop. Since she took over as Leader of Temeron, they had worked together frequently, intent on keeping peace throughout both regions.
She would understand he needed to know about something so serious. She would want to keep him informed that there was a danger to his people. And yet she hadn’t contacted him. He’d had to learn of the plague through the Cult. What if it had spread in the time that Attis had been gone? What if half of Kazden had it? There was no telling how many people Jax Paden might have come in contact with. All of the Cult members who escorted Jax to Temeron were dead. How many others were as well?
His thoughts were fragmented by a cry of alarm. He glanced forward and saw the supply wagon was pulling to a halt. Soldiers were dropping out of the saddle and racing toward it. He frowned and drew back on the reins, halting his own horse. He couldn’t see what was happening beyond the other riders. He looked around for Dolan, immediately aware that this might be the attack he’d been expecting.
Lowering his hand to the hilt of his sword, he rose in the stirrups and looked over the heads of the other mounted soldiers. More were dismounting, clearing his line of sight. An explosion shook the ground beneath his horse’s hooves and fire shot up from the roof of the supply wagon.
The horse shied and he had to grab the saddle horn to keep from being pitched off its back. He calmed the horse and dropped to the ground, striding through the press of soldiers until he was close enough to see the supply wagon clearly.
Men ran back and forth, trying to put out the fire. There wasn’t enough water to spare, so they used bits of blankets or odd pieces of clothing. Another group was trying to unhitch the horses. Kalas glanced around and found Ellette standing in the bed of the wagon. She was watching the fire, but she felt his gaze. For a brief moment, they simply stared at each other.
He looked away, turning back to the blaze, and found Dolan and Attis both directing the men in their efforts. He started forward to help them, but an arm closed around his throat, hauling him back against an unyielding form. He could feel the cold touch of metal against his chin.
“Don’t move, Your Majesty. I wouldn’t want to slip and cut your throat.”
Kalas went still.
At that moment, Dolan turned and caught sight of him. He and a handful of soldiers started forward, but they stumbled to a halt as the assailant pressed the tip of the knife into Kalas’ flesh.
Kalas held up a hand, indicating his men should stop their advance. Behind them, flames shot into the air, black smoke curling into the night sky.
“What do you want?” he said to his assailant.
“To warn you. Do not continue on to Kazden. Turn around and go back.”
“You’ve set fire to our supplies. How are we supposed to make it back to Sarkisian?”
The arm about his chest tightened, but the knife never wavered. “You’re clever. You’ll figure it out. Go back to Sarkisian and do not interfere in Nazarien justice.”
“You’re plotting against my sister. If she’s harmed, I will destroy the Nazarien.”
The man’s breath was warm in Kalas’ ear. “Perhaps you aren’t so clever, Your Majesty. When a man is holding a knife to your throat, it isn’t a good idea to tell him how you intend to destroy him.”
Kalas swallowed, but he didn’t answer. He could see the anxiety on Dolan’s face and knew his second wasn’t going to wait much longer.
Thankfully, the assailant loosened his grip, easing the knife away from Kalas’ throat, but he still held him fast with his other arm. “Heed my warning, Eladrasen. Leave Nazarien justice to the Nazarien.”
From the corner of his eye, Kalas saw something come hurtling out of the dark. It struck the Nazarien in the side of the head above his ear and made him stumble away from Kalas. Kalas whipped around, grabbing the man’s knife arm and wrenching it behind his back. The knife fell at his feet.
Then Dolan and the soldiers were there. Dolan grabbed Kalas, blocking him with his body, while the soldiers reached for the Nazarien. Kalas shoved Dolan to the side. “Don’t kill him!” he shouted, but already the Nazarien slumped at the soldiers’ feet.
They stared at Kalas in bewilderment.
Dolan moved around Kalas and knelt, feeling for a pulse. He looked up. “Dead.”
“How?”
Dolan shrugged. “They must take the poison just before they attack, knowing they have only a few minutes before it begins to work.”
“Why? Why kill themselves?”
Dolan rose. “What would you do with them if they remained alive? They know Nevaisser law. Attacks against a liege lord are punishable by death. This way they take that right out of your hands. They stay in control.”
Kalas’ gaze shifted back to the supply wagon. The fire was reduced to a few hot spots, but he could see from where he stood that it was a total loss. Attis strode to his side, glancing with disinterest on the body of the dead Nazarien.
“A distraction?” he said, pointing over his shoulder at the fire.
“Apparently,” answered Kalas. “Did we lose everything?”
“Pretty much. There might be a bit to be salvaged at the bottom, but even the wagon is beyond repair. We did get the horses unhitched, though.”
Kalas nodded, clenching his hands to still their trembling. If these attacks didn’t stop, he was going to be a nervous wreck. “We’re two days out of Kazden. The men are going to be awfully hungry by the time we reach it.”
“I can take a few on a hunting expedition, but I’m not sure we should reduce the number of soldiers guarding you.” He nudged the dead Nazarien with his boot toe. “Although, we don’t seem able to keep them away from you.”
Kalas looked down as well. “It wouldn’t matter anyway. There’s very little game to be found on the desert.” Something caught his eye and he bent, lifting a jagged rock in his hand. He turned and looked over his shoulder at the wagon which held Ellette. She was standing
against the edge, watching him with worried blue eyes.
He tossed the rock in his hand and started moving toward her. “Dolan, come with me,” he said.
Dolan motioned a number of soldiers to fall in behind him and they made their way to the wagon where Ellette was chained. Kalas held the rock out to her. “Do you recognize this?” he asked.
Her blue eyes shifted from the rock and fixed on his face. “You Humans call it a rock.”
He fought a smile and leaned on the wagon. “Thank you. You may have saved my life.”
She shrugged, her chains rattling. “He would not have killed you. Not yet, but every day we draw closer to Kazden.” She gave the soldiers and Dolan a disgusted look. “You are not very well protected, Your Majesty. The Nazarien are not being challenged.”
Kalas did smile. “And you think you can do a better job?”
She grabbed the side of the wagon and pulled herself closer to him. “I know I can. Give me the chance to prove it.”
Kalas balanced the rock on the wagon’s edge. “I don’t need you to protect me, but loyalty and service does earn rewards. Please unlock her chains, Dolan,” he said.
His second hesitated. “Your Majesty?”
“Please,” he repeated.
Dolan would never question him twice. He moved to do as Kalas asked, unlocking the shackles that bound her to the wagon’s seat. She immediately began rubbing the circulation into her wrist and Kalas felt guilty seeing the red welts the shackles had raised.
“I’m sorry for that,” he said, nodding at her wrists.
“I have been told it is common when you are chained. Now, can I have a sword please?”
Kalas found her disarming. She said the oddest things and said them with grave seriousness, but he sensed something more. He wished she still irritated him, but he was finding himself intrigued by her, liking the way her hair covered one eye and the way her intense blue gaze followed him.
“No, you cannot have a sword. I’ve seen what you can do with a rock.”
She curled her fingers around the rock and shoved it in the pocket of her trousers. “It is better than no rock,” she said.
The World of Samar Box Set 3 Page 63