That void . . . could it be a trinket? Amerdan could feel it pulsing, even at this distance from Xarlas. A bright burning so intense, he fancied he could feel it mirrored on his own chest.
A scuffle broke out between two vormag. Sorcerous sparks flew. The talon rose from her chair, tall and imperial, and swatted them both on the side of the head. The vormag subsided with sullen glances at each other.
Xarlas lifted a hand above her head. There was silence so deep, Amerdan could hear the flies buzzing.
Gamzegul stepped forward. “Talon Xarlas, I bring you one of the Old Ones. Returned to us—”
“Be quiet.”
Gamzegul swallowed, casting a look back at Amerdan. Muttering resumed from the vormag, and some of the jukari hooted and howled, sensing the tension.
Amerdan couldn’t take his mind off the pulsing heat the talon wore. It was a void, but also a livid scar. His chest hurt to be in such close proximity. He reached up to touch his own trinket through his shirt and jerked his hand back at the heat he felt. His trinket was burning, as if it had some sort of connection to the one Xarlas wore.
Amerdan hissed softly. He didn’t like surprises unless he could benefit from them. It was hard to discern how he could turn this to his advantage.
Xarlas was staring at him. She pulled a ragged cloth away from her neck. Reaching in one clawed finger, she hooked it around a black metal chain and drew out the object that was burning Amerdan. A hush descended.
A trinket in the shape of a ball. Xarlas let it drop. It fell, hit the talon’s chest, and rattled. Much like Amerdan’s would.
Amerdan’s chest hurt. It felt like he was clamped in a vise.
Impossible. But what was and wasn’t possible was not for him to decide.
It looked smaller than his, but was that just in relation to Xarlas’s greater mass? No, it was smaller. Whereas his was the size of a walnut, this one was only half as big.
Xarlas stepped toward him. “Gamzegul claims . . . you are . . . an Old One.” She tapped her trinket ball with her nail. “This is proof I have walked among them. Proof they trusted me. I am a placeholder. We wait for their return.”
Amerdan almost laughed. Her smaller trinket must be inferior to his. Why else the size difference? But the burning, the connection . . . it had to mean something. But what?
He stood slowly, brushing dust from his pants. Meeting the talon’s eyes, he mimicked her movements. With one finger, he drew out his own secret, his trinket, and let it fall against his chest.
Exclamations of surprise came from the vormag, while the jukari twitched and moaned among themselves, agitated at the vormag’s unease but clearly not knowing what was transpiring.
Less than animals, decided Amerdan. He could discount the jukari. The vormag and talon were a different matter. They were wary of him, and rightly so. But he could sense the desire in them. The longing for a return of the Old Ones.
For me to be what I claim.
Xarlas was hesitant, though. She ran her purple tongue over her lips. What else is she waiting for? She is uncertain. The Old Ones were sorcerers of great power. So . . .
A demonstration.
Amerdan opened his well and linked to the shield crafting he’d taken from Bells. Blackness surrounded him momentarily before turning transparent. He raised his arms in the air and turned a full circle. Jukari fell to their faces, prostrating themselves before him. Amerdan smiled at the feeling the sight gave him. He exulted.
Vormag bent their knees to him, lowering their heads until they stared at their own feet.
Only Xarlas remained standing. She stared at Amerdan for some time. He could almost hear her considering and discarding options. But eventually, even she bent to one knee. She bowed her head for a moment, placing a fist on the ground. Raising her head, she stood.
Her eyes were filled with hate.
Amerdan laughed. Xarlas’s little world was in tatters. The talon had lost control and didn’t like the feeling.
Too bad.
Xarlas tucked her trinket back under her rags. She came closer, and Amerdan could smell the stench of her. Stale sweat and mold. The mustiness of a long-closed room. She leaned in close.
“You are . . . false,” she whispered threateningly. “There are no . . . Old Ones left.” Then, though, louder: “An Old One . . . has returned! Let us . . . rejoice!”
Jukari howled and barked. Vormag pressed themselves even further into the dirt. Xarlas waited until the clamor subsided, then held a hand up for silence.
“But first . . . he must . . . be tested.”
Ah . . . clever.
But Amerdan wasn’t worried. And Gamzegul looked triumphant. The creature pointed a shaking hand at the bald vormag who’d challenged it earlier. “That one,” he screeched. “Take that one!”
Settling old scores, thought Amerdan. As always with these power struggles.
The other vormag descended on the bald runt. It kicked and screamed, struggling in vain against their clutching hands.
“No!” Xarlas rasped, and the commotion ceased. The talon pointed a clawed finger at Gamzegul. “This one will be offered.”
Gamzegul’s face paled, eyes widening. The vormag shook his head. “No! I brought the Old One to you!”
“Take him,” Xarlas said.
Feet scuffed across the dirt as the vormag came for Gamzegul. The creature resisted, futilely, as Amerdan watched.
They tore the vormag’s clothes off and took all his craftings. They dragged Gamzegul, naked, gray skin trembling, in front of Xarlas and Amerdan. The other creatures forced the quivering vormag to his knees, arms twisted painfully behind his back. He looked up at Amerdan, imploring.
“Please,” Gamzegul whimpered to Amerdan. “I found you.”
Xarlas smirked at Amerdan. “Show . . . us.”
Gamzegul was not worth taking. The vormag were made creatures. And imperfect, at best. Amerdan swallowed. He didn’t care about Gamzegul, but he was worried because he’d never absorbed a vessel like this before. What would it do to him? Would he sully himself? Would a small part of him become . . . infected?
Amerdan looked at the smirk on Xarlas’s lips. The talon wanted Amerdan dead. If he failed this test, she would try to kill him. With the sorcerous might of the vormag to back her up, she might even succeed. He didn’t know, and the not knowing made him more scared than he’d been in a long time. True, no one had bested him yet. But this situation was new.
It was also . . . delicious. Because, what if it worked? What would he be able to do, if he had such resources behind him? In him?
He looked down at Gamzegul. The vormag’s mottled skin was dripping with sweat.
He knew what he had to do. There was only one way to show them.
Amerdan drew his knife.
Gamzegul threw himself against those restraining him and wailed with despair.
CHAPTER 36
Caitlyn brought them outside the city and into the emperor’s army. It seemed her station afforded her the ability to requisition whatever she wanted from the Quivers, and she’d chosen a spot with a few vacant tents. Vasile gathered there had been quite a few Quivers killed now.
It was a smart move, actually. Vasile doubted he’d get far in the middle of the night before he was stopped by a sentry and questioned. He made a mental note: insane people were not necessarily stupid. Whatever happened from here on, whatever he decided to do, he’d better remember that.
Or he just might join Chalayan with the ancestors.
Around them were squads of Quivers settling in for the night. Most obtained their evening meal from the vast traveling kitchens that accompanied the army, though Vasile could smell roasted rabbit from somewhere close by. Quivers laughed at jokes, drank from flagons, polished weapons and armor, or collapsed exhausted into their bedrolls.
Vasile rubbed his arms, nerves on edge. I don’t belong here, he thought. Given to someone, traded like a cow. He felt he’d been treated like an old nag, set to one last task b
efore his usefulness was over—sure he was meant to die under Caitlyn’s command. If not soon, then eventually.
“What are you thinking about?” Caitlyn said abruptly. “Don’t be thinking you can get out of this. You’re one of us now. Cel Rau’s told me your secret, and you’re going to help a great deal with our fight.”
Vasile shook his head, then looked across the fire at her. Aidan sat on a stool, content to stare into the flames while contemplating his fate. Cel Rau kept himself busy around the camp: tightening tent ropes; removing leaves and twigs, which he threw onto the fire; casting a critical eye over his own and Caitlyn’s gear. Right now, he was repairing a tear in one of her shirts, his fingers nimble with needle and thread.
“I was thinking,” Vasile said, “that I could use a decent meal.”
“Stew is what you’ll get.” Caitlyn nodded at the pot half in the coals. Steam poured from around its cast-iron lid. “You’ll need to harden up, or you won’t last long where we’re going.”
Vasile squared his shoulders. “I’ve done my fair share of fighting against the jukari and vormag. Cel Rau will tell you.” But even to his own ears his words sounded weak. He’d been terrified. And Aidan and cel Rau would see through his bluster.
“‘Fair share’?” spat Caitlyn. “Evil doesn’t care about fair share. Would you put down your sword after killing one jukari?” She chuckled. “Or how about two? Or three? What’s your fair share?”
“Forget I spoke,” Vasile said. There was no reasoning with her.
“Aidan will be pleased you’re joining us,” Caitlyn said. “Our very own truth detector. We can cut to the heart of matters, root out evil, without spilling as much blood. He’s always been soft, but now we’ll be happy together. Won’t we, Aidan?” She coughed into her hand and continued hacking for a while before she could again speak. “I said, won’t we?”
“That’s right,” Aidan said, but he was lying. He met Vasile’s gaze. “One big, happy family.”
Cel Rau tied off a knot and bit through the thread with his front teeth. He slid the needle back into a small leather sewing kit. “Vasile was probably thinking about running. You’re good at that, aren’t you? Running away.”
“You know, Anshul,” Vasile said. “I often wanted you to speak more. But now, when you do, I wish you’d shut up.” As the words tumbled out, Vasile clenched his fists, preparing for any backlash. He’d spoken rashly, unnerved by what was happening. And he knew how ruthless cel Rau was . . .
A laugh escaped Aidan.
And to Vasile’s surprise, cel Rau began to chuckle. Caitlyn looked at them both with a tight smile on her face.
“I have my own truth-telling ability,” cel Rau said, standing.
And the next moment, Vasile felt cold steel against his throat. The swordsman’s blade had appeared as if from nowhere. He jerked back, but cel Rau gripped his hair with his other hand and held his head firm. Vasile felt a warm trickle run down his throat as his skin began to sting from the cut. He wanted to swallow, thought better of it.
“Sit down, Aidan,” Caitlyn said firmly.
There was no sound for a few moments, apart from Vasile’s own harsh breath. A creak of leather and wood indicated Aidan had sat back down. Vasile blinked sweat from his eyes.
“The magistrate will do what’s right,” cel Rau said. “Won’t you, Vasile? You’re too much of a coward to run. And now you have a chance to be part of something greater.”
Vasile hissed with pain as his hair twisted in the swordsman’s grip. “Yes,” he said, panting. “I’ll do what’s right.”
“You’ll do what we tell you,” Caitlyn said.
“I’ll do what you tell me,” Vasile repeated.
Cel Rau grunted. “Well, you haven’t pissed yourself, so maybe you’re telling the truth. But then, maybe my ability to discern isn’t as good as yours.”
Bastard.
“Stew’s done,” Caitlyn said brightly.
Vasile felt cel Rau release his grip, and the blade withdrew from his neck. The swordsman cleaned the edge on his pants and sheathed his steel. Vasile wiped blood from his neck.
“Dish up, would you, cel Rau? I’m not feeling my usual self. Haven’t for a while, actually. Not since Aidan tried to kill me.”
Cel Rau jumped to obey, like she’d issued a royal decree. He gathered four bowls and a wooden spoon, then dragged the pot off the coals with a stick.
“I think . . . none for me,” Caitlyn said. “I don’t feel well.” Beads of perspiration dotted her brow, and she wiped them on her sleeve. “Not well at all.”
“The emperor’s ‘reward,’ is it?” Aidan said.
Caitlyn rose to her feet, staggering slightly. Her hands clutched at her chest. “I had to drink it.”
“What was in the vial?” asked Vasile.
She looked at him, eyes wild. “I don’t know.”
“Neither do I,” Aidan said.
“I know,” said cel Rau quietly. “The emperor has a potion that only he knows the formula to. It is given to those who have earned a great reward. He has favored you, Caitlyn. You’re to be rekindled.”
Truth, realized Vasile.
Caitlyn stumbled over to cel Rau, grabbing his shirt and leaning her weight on him. “It burns!” she hissed. “I can feel my blood scalding through my body like acid. Cel Rau, what has he done to me?”
Wrapping his arms around Caitlyn, cel Rau lifted her off her feet and cradled her close to his chest. “You were broken. I asked the emperor to heal you. And in his wisdom, he granted my wish. With your wounds, you were unfit to lead again. It was either this, or you’d be discarded. I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve been a shining light in the battle against evil.”
A long speech for the swordsman, and a perplexing one. Had the emperor owed cel Rau a favor? For what? What was the connection between the two of them?
“Urgh,” muttered Caitlyn. Her head lolled to the side. “Water. I need water.”
Cel Rau stared at Vasile.
“All right,” Vasile said. He grabbed a waterskin from their provisions and trickled some into Caitlyn’s mouth. She gulped at it greedily, and it splashed from her mouth and down onto her shirt.
“Give it to me,” cel Rau said.
Vasile looped its strap over the swordsman’s head.
“If you run,” cel Rau continued, “the Quivers will catch you. Then we’ll have you executed.” He didn’t wait for a response, just strode off with Caitlyn to the tent she had designated as hers and disappeared inside.
Not long after, the screams began.
Soon after that, irate Quivers stormed into their camp demanding an explanation and some peace and quiet. Cel Rau marched out of the tent, and with stern looks from the swordsman, promises of violence, and displays of Caitlyn’s writ, the Quivers retreated, grumbling under their breaths.
Caitlyn’s screams continued, lasting well into the night.
VASILE STAGGERED OUT of his tent in the morning, bleary eyed from lack of sleep. To the east, the sky was beginning to lighten. He yawned. Around him, the Quivers’ army began to stir. Smoke rose from cook fires, men and women coughed and spat, kettles boiled.
Cel Rau squatted by their fire, stirring the pot, which now contained bubbling porridge. He filled two bowls by the fire, then took the remainder with him into Caitlyn’s tent.
It seemed cel Rau had stayed with Caitlyn the entire night. Maybe they were lovers. Or maybe he wanted only to ease her pain.
“There had to be enough left for ten men,” Vasile muttered.
“What was that?” said Aidan as he emerged from his tent.
He looked better, to Vasile’s eye. Less haggard and drawn. And he’d washed his face and hair. Vasile glanced down at his own dirty hands and felt ashamed. He hadn’t thought to clean himself up. What would be the point?
He felt Aidan’s strong hand lift his chin up. “Hold on to yourself,” Aidan said. “It’s all you have. All we have.”
“All right,” Vasile foun
d himself saying. “All right.”
“There’s water and some rags in my tent. Clean up, then eat something.”
A short while later, Vasile emerged feeling somewhat better. Aidan was right. As long as they were alive, there was hope. If he let himself slip into despair, then all was lost.
He moved to the fire and picked up both bowls, handing one to Aidan, who was again sitting on the camp stool and staring into the coals.
Aidan looked at the bowl in his hands with distaste. “Porridge,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll ever eat it again.” He scraped his portion into the fire and looked around. “Maybe someone else would be willing to share their breakfast.”
“Maybe,” Vasile said, spooning in a mouthful of porridge. It was better than anything they’d had in the previous few days, including the stew from last night. “What do we do now?”
“We wait,” Aidan said, shrugging. “We’re at Caitlyn’s mercy, for the moment. All we can do is handle what she throws at us, while keeping our eye out for . . . something. Some way to get out of this mess.”
“We should talk to Gazija. He’s on our side, and he might be able to help.”
Aidan pursed his lips. “I think the only side he’s on is his own. But you’re right: he might be our only hope.”
Vasile was about to ask how they could contact Gazija when cel Rau emerged from Caitlyn’s tent. The magistrate ate more porridge instead.
“She’s asleep now, after eating,” cel Rau said. “She suffered terribly last night, and she needs to gather her strength.”
Both Vasile and Aidan remained quiet.
“The emperor has given her a great gift,” cel Rau said. “One many are not so fortunate to receive. She has been favored and can now continue to fight in the emperor’s name.”
Whatever the swordsman was talking about, he believed it was true.
“What has happened to her?” Aidan said.
Cel Rau’s mouth curled into the ghost of a smile. “She has been healed. The emperor has healed her. May he live forever.”
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