“I can’t! It’s not that simple—”
“You’ve been a slave for your entire life. If anything’s simple for you, it’s this.”
I take a breath, the weight of Uri’s crushing grip pressing on my chest. “If I swear to it, will you let him go?”
She considers this. “You have my word.”
I sigh. “Then until this quest is over, I swear I’ll do whatever you say without question.”
“Splendid.” She jerks her head to Uri, lowering her bow. “You’d better get out of here, Uriah, and fast, or I will kill you!”
Uri doesn’t dare test his luck. Tossing my knife to one side, he shoves me from the saddle. I fall to the dusty road, jarring my arm underneath me. Uri turns Majax and I scuttle clear of the hooves, rolling to the grass along the roadside. Kicking his heels into Majax’s sides, they bolt off down the road at a full gallop.
Bellator stares after him, her eyes narrowing. A smirk curls her upper lip, and I’m almost certain she’s going to whip out her bow and shoot him down as he flees. But she doesn’t. Instead, a wind I cannot feel gathers around her. The hair that has escaped from her braid goes from a flutter of movement to wildly flying about her head. Her cloak whips this way and that, and the hair on Nimro’s neck is caught up with it.
As I watch, the whites of Bellator’s eyes disintegrate into black holes, and the ocean blue rings of her pupils swirl white.
“Vanesco!” she cries, jerking her palm out toward his retreating form.
Uri vanishes from the saddle.
A cry of alarm fills my throat, and I struggle to my knees. Confused, a now riderless Majax slows to nibble on a bush. I turn to Bellator, only find the wind has vanished and her eyes returned to normal.
“What did you do?” I cry.
“Oh, don’t fret,” she says with a sly grin, dismounting from her horse. “He’s not dead. He’ll just wish he was when he awakens in a few minutes. I transported him back to his father’s ship, so he should be quite at home.”
“But doesn’t he hate his father?”
“Would you rather I’d killed him? I can bring him back, if you’d prefer...”
I shake my head, picking myself up off the ground. “You... you never mentioned you had magic.”
And honestly, it never occurred to me that she might possess the extraordinary gift as well. Now that I think about it, it makes perfect sense. No wonder she felt she could teach me how to control my magic. It is because she knows from the experience of controlling her own.
She shrugs. “I didn’t feel you needed to know before now.”
I look at Majax, then back to her. “You can teleport people. Why didn’t you use it to help us escape Gaiztoak?”
“If only it were that simple, half-wit,” she says. “There is a barrier of magic surrounding Gaiztoak that cannot be passed through using extraordinary means by anyone who doesn’t have his say so. It would’ve been futile trying. Besides that,” she adds, “I haven’t yet figured out how to teleport myself, so what good would it have done any of us? None of you would’ve made it without me to protect you, and you know it.”
“True,” I say with a slight smile. “So, was all of your magic learned, then?”
“What?”
“What I mean to say is, you’re not a half-race like me?”
She gives me a sharp look. “I never said that I wasn't.”
“You are, then?”
“I never said that either," she snaps. “Really, half-wit, learn to mind your own business.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just, you seem to know everything about me and my past. I don’t see why you won’t tell me this one thing about yours.”
“I do not know everything about you.”
“Really? You knew about Batuel being my ancestor. You knew my father abandoned me. How do I know you don’t know his identity too and just aren’t telling me because it doesn’t suit you at the moment?”
She throws up her hands. "I don’t know who your father is, and frankly, I really don’t care. The only things I know about you are what Zeldek told me. I’ve already shared everything relevant with you.”
“Relevant?” I echo. “Is there more you haven’t told me?”
She winds Nimro’s reins around her hand. “Really, we don’t have time for childish arguments. We have an artifact to locate before the day is out.”
I shove my hands into my pockets. “Do you know where it is?”
“Oh yes. That was the easy part.”
Reaching under her shoulder-guard, she pulls out a bloodstained parchment and opens it up. I recognize the drawing of the arrow on it.
“It says here, 'Deep in vaults of hidden gold, caverns steep and halls of old.' The castle of Arnon, Lady Batuel's home, was ruined by Zeldek in his pursuit of her weapon. It was said that she stored a great fortune in the hidden vaults beneath her castle. I would bet anything that's where the arrow is. The only difficulty is that no one has been able to locate the ruins in centuries. Which means—”
“That there’s some kind of protective spell over it,” I finish.
She grins. “Exactly. See this next part here: ‘Hidden from the fires and coal rests the arrow and my soul’. Zeldek's element, if you haven't already noticed, is fire. So that line practically means 'hidden where Zeldek can't get to it'. Now, where would you suppose someone whose element is fire wouldn't go?”
I think about it for a moment. “Near water,” I decide.
“You're catching on quickly, for once,” she jeers, but it isn't a cruel jeer this time. It's almost... playful? “Some legends say that the castle of Arnon was located by a great water source, and that the underground vaults were constantly flooded to keep him away.”
“And you think it's the Tireth River.” That much is obvious. “Why?”
“That is just a simple matter of knowing about Batuel in general,” she explains. “See, she and her four siblings, Zeldek included, were each given a country to be the guardian over and protect from all harm. Incidentally, Valamette was the country placed in Batuel’s care. And since the Tireth is the only large flowing source of water in Valamette—”
“You’re certain that it is the one,” I conclude.
“Exactly.” She pauses. “And that's where you come in. I understand you don’t know what you’re doing, but even so, I’m fairly certain that the descendant of Batuel would have an easier time uncovering the ruins than most. Don’t you think?”
I shrug. “I'll see what I can do.”
“You'd better!” Her smirk grows unpleasant again.
“What’s the thing it says about the stars?”
She glances down at the paper, rereading the line. “Three bright stars of purest form do await the coming storm.' I don't really think that we have to worry about that line at the moment. It seems to be referring to something that we will find guarding the arrow once we get inside.” She tucks the paper away again. “We should get off the road.”
She puts her fingers to her lips and whistles. Majax pricks up his ears, and bounds toward us. She grabs his bridle, and leads him over to me.
“Here,” she says, and I take the reins from her. “Follow me.”
I stroke Majax's mane, wrapping the leather straps around my hand a few times. Then I lead him after Bellator into the underbrush. We push through it until we are out of sight of the road. Bellator pauses, listening. There is a faint sound of running water nearby. We follow it until we come out into a small clearing with a brook running through a mossy patch of ground.
“We’ll leave the horses here,” she says, leading Nimro to the creek's side. “They’ll have everything they need here for at least a few days.”
She pulls off Nimro's bridle, and then follows suit with his saddle. I do the same with Majax and soon both sets are in a heap beneath the shade of a tree.
Bellator fishes through the saddlebags, producing the rest of the ale and remainder of the food. She splits it between us, and tells me to eat
up.
“Don't know when we’ll have our next meal,” she adds with her usual mysterious look.
After we have eaten, she uses magic to weave a large fence out of living tree branches and bushes around the horses to keep them from wandering off too far. The horses don't notice, instead busying themselves with nibbling at the moss near the water's edge.
“How are you doing that?” I ask, gaping in wonder.
She glances back with a bit of smile. “Spells,” she said. “Anyone can do them if they have the skill. But for now, it is best to keep using your magic just to sharpen your reflexes. The rest will come with time and practice.”
We start out soon afterward. As we make our way through the maze of trees, Bellator seems to grow more and more impatient. She’s getting close. I know she can feel it.
The sky darkens through the leafy rooftop that canopies us as the sun creeps toward the horizon. Crickets chirp, beginning their evening serenade. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the time to just listen to them. Not since I was five, when I was still young enough to have a small amount of free time at the end of each day. I would sit by myself on the rooftops and listen to the night sounds as I watched the stars come out.
Life was so much simpler then. I hope that once the arrow is found and I am truly free, it will be like that again.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“B ellator,” I call. Her pace is taxing, and I struggle to keep up.
She steps over a fallen tree, ducking under an overhead branch. “What is it?”
I take advantage of her slowing pace to catch up with her. "When I met you before in Sustinere, you were living on the streets. How did you end up in Gaiztoak with Zeldek? You mentioned you were captured...”
She casts a sharp glance over her shoulder. “I told you I didn’t want to talk about me,” she snaps.
“You said you didn’t want to talk about the source of your magic,” I point out.
The muscles in her jaw tense. “I'm a good fighter, half-wit. I’ve never met an opponent in hand-to-hand combat that I couldn’t beat. That thing that drives me... well, I’ve had it since I was a child. Zeldek found it useful. Unique. Not to mention his interest in my strong magical abilities. I led him to believe that he could control me.” She hesitates, her pace only quickening. “He marked me when I was only a baby. He thought I might be of use to him, but didn’t want the responsibility of raising me. I was thrown out on the streets until the time was right, and then I was taken to Gaiztoak.”
“One of his followers took you to him. You mentioned that before.”
There is a dreadful silence, and I feel a heavy tension growing around her.
When she finally brings herself to reply, her voice is riddled with bitterness. “I was betrayed by the only person I have ever considered a friend. That's all anyone need know.”
That explains why she has trust issues.
“I'm sorry,” I say.
The moment the words exit my mouth, she whirls on her heel, her face blazing with anger. “Why do have to be so nice all the time?” she demands. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”
I open my mouth to speak, but she isn’t finished yet.
“Get it through your thick skull! We’re not friends. I barely even tolerate you. I don’t want your sympathy, or your questions, or your kindness!”
“What do you want, then? For me to be silent and obey your every word?”
“What I want,” she says, giving me a shove, “is for you to hate me! After everything I’ve done, I know you hate me, deep down. Why do you hide it? Show me!”
She shoves me again, harder this time. “What are you waiting for? Hate me!”
I shake my head, stumbling back. “I don’t hate you, Bellator.”
“I know,” she spits. “You pity me. If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s pity! Hatred, mistrust, betrayal: I understand them! But useless, unconditional kindness? It’s brainless!”
“That doesn’t make sense! Most people want to be loved, not hated.”
She grabs my face with both hands, digging her fingernails into my temples, and bares her teeth. “Don’t get too close, half-wit,” she hisses.
Terrified, I try to pull away, but her grip only tightens. “Wh-what’s that supposed to mean?” I breathe.
“It means that—”
She falls silent mid-sentence, and straightens up, listening. There is a long pause, and then she releases me with a shove. I stumble back, grabbing onto a branch to stop my fall. By the time I’ve regained my balance, she is creeping away.
What is it now?
I start after her, my steps soft on the grassy forest floor. I feel like a predator as I walk through the tall, slender, yellow grass. I listen, but cannot hear what has made Bellator prowl; I can only hear the breeze as it whispers through the leaves on the trees. She’s like a fox, darting from cover to cover, not once hesitating. Her footsteps are silent and swift, and she holds her bow notched in her hands as she pursues her invisible prey.
At last, she stops and flattens against the trunk of a large tree, motioning for me to do the same.
“What is it?” I pant as I reach the tree.
She puts a finger to her lips. I muffle my breathing in my sleeve and listen. That’s when I hear it. Soft voices, coupled with the snapping of twigs and the quiet rustle of fabric.
Bellator peers out from behind the tree. I crouch down behind a bush next to it, peeking through the gaps between the leaves.
Two figures stroll into sight, engaged in what seems to be a cool, reserved conversation. It is a boy and a girl in their mid-teens, yet with the stiff, graceful bearings of someone twice their age. In the dimming light, it’s hard to make out much of their features, but I know at once that they more than common peasants. Their attire is much too rich for that.
As they draw closer, I can make out the words of their conversation.
“—if you knew my father, you’d understand,” the girl is saying, twisting a lock of blonde hair between her fingers. “He’s too set in his ways, if you ask me. He thinks that putting on a good face is more important than actually living.”
The boy holds a leaf up toward the sky, examining it intently. “That sounds dull.” His voice has the rough touch of manhood to it, and he speaks with a naturally rigid accent that strikes me as familiar. “For myself, it is hardly possible to put on a good face.” He chuckles. “Besides that, I was raised away from the bustle of city life, in a strictly sheltered environment. I suppose I have always just lived.”
“You did, of course, have a circle of playmates?”
“I suppose for a time, some of the lords sent their sons to take lessons alongside me,” he says blandly, and I realize his accent is so familiar because it has the stiff inflection that characterizes the Lavyllian tongue. “But we were never close. In fact, I found it hard to get along with them at all, mainly because of their overly competitive and sometimes downright hostile attitudes toward me.”
The girl looks down at her gloved hands. “I’m sorry.”
They are very near to our hiding place now; so near that the girl’s skirt brushes against the bush I hide behind.
“Do not be,” the boy responds. “I assure you, it is not a loss on my account. They were all the arrogant sort. Besides, I had Jambeau. You have met him, correct? He has been a good friend to me since he was station here. Before I went to study in Lavylli, that is.”
Bellator starts from beside me, flattening back against the tree. She takes a deep, silent breath, a bitter scowl curling her lips.
I fall back behind the tree as well. “What are you planning to do?” I whisper.
She sets her jaw. “What’s necessary.”
Drawing back the string of her bow, she prepares to step around the tree.
I put out a hand to stop her, but halt myself from touching her arm. “Bellator, don’t.”
A light flares behind her eyes. “Did you just give me an order, half-wit?”
/>
I alter my voice to something more supplicating. “Please, let them be.”
“You swore to obey me,” she warns. “Don’t allow your fickle compassion to get in the way of that, or you’ll regret it. Now, follow my lead.”
Pushing off from the tree, she leaps up the trunk and summersaults out in front of them. Amid the cries of surprise, I hang back, drawing out my sword. It feels heavy in my hand.
Yet I sense that it will be the nobles, not myself, who will suffer if I dare to disobey. With a reluctant sigh, I step around the bush, coming out at the other side, blocking their escape.
“Hands where I can see them!” Bellator is saying.
“Hamish!” the girl cries, grabbing hold of the boy’s arm.
The boy, Hamish, draws his sword, stepping between us and the girl. “Get back!” he orders. “We do not want any trouble.”
“Put the weapon down, boy,” Bellator scoffs. “Before you hurt yourself.”
Hamish raises his sword in a simple act of rebellion. “Believe me, I won’t be the one getting hurt.”
Bellator snorts with laughter. “Your courage is commendable, yet lacks intelligence. Don’t you know who I am?”
He raises his chin. “I don’t need to know. I’m not afraid of you!”
“A brilliant façade, your highness. As the crowned prince of this country, you really should’ve been smarter than to wander so far from home. And with your betrothed, no less.”
Fear enters the prince’s eyes, and he withdraws a step.
“Oh yes,” she says, covering the distance he retreated. “I know who you are, half-breed.”
“What?” I ask, not quite sure how the conversation had changed to me.
Bellator rolls her eyes. “Not you, idiot!”
And that's when I see it.
The prince. He has the pallid skin, his eyes are a pale lilac, and his hair, although slicked beneath the circlet on his head, is distinctly ebony.
The prince of Valamette is a half-breed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“H
ow is that possible?”
Broken Arrow (Darkened Destiny Saga Book 1) Page 19