As hands reached to pull clothes from flesh, the door swung wide. The pair turned, astonished by the figure who stared back at them. Themis pronounced sternly, “You were right.”
Behind him, someone approached. Varren stood as Regin appeared. Themis chastised the young king, “You should know by now that the sole ruler cannot run off alone. Guards will be present at all times.”
Regin stated coolly, “He never left our sight, as you can see. He never goes anywhere unseen.” Whether this statement was meant to placate the disgruntled councilman or to warn the king, Lluava could not tell. Regardless, her time with Varren alone had ended.
“I do not mind protective eyes following my movements,” declared Varren as he helped Lluava to her feet. “But that does not mean I do not deserve some privacy, especially while among close friends.”
Themis’s face was devoid of emotion, but Lluava felt he was seething with anger directed at her. The councilman said, “Privileges such as privacy are sacrificed when one becomes king.”
Regin intervened, breaking the mounting tension. “Your Majesty, we need you to come and approve some last-minute decisions before this evening.”
“Very well.” Varren could not hide the disappointment in his voice. Turning, he kissed Lluava’s hand, right in front of his godfather. The revulsion in Themis’s eyes was quickly buried beneath an impersonal demeanor.
“Varren,” Lluava whispered quickly. “There is a prisoner here, a nomad Outlander. He must come with us.”
There was no need for the young king to press for more details. His eyes showed that he trusted her, that he always had. Without another word, the three men strode away.
A short while later, when Odel arrived bearing Lluava’s breakfast, she wondered if she were becoming the most popular figure in Erebos.
“Kido allowed me to bring this to you…so I could say goodbye.”
“Come in,” she said, as Onyx flew past her to perch on Odel’s shoulder. The boy smiled wide as the raven crooned into his ear.
While Odel placed the tray of food on the table, Lluava asked, “How have you been?”
His clear blue eyes were tinged with sadness. “Truthfully,” Odel said as he pinched off a piece of toast for the bird, “a little bored. I clean, study, and sleep.”
“That’s not all bad,” noted Lluava, taking a seat on the mat.
“But not exciting.”
Lluava wondered if he had heard about the incident with the prisoner. She took a sip of lukewarm water. “Excitement is overrated.”
Onyx tugged at Odel’s dark, wavy hair. The boy didn’t seem to mind, so Lluava allowed the raven to persist.
“I wish I was older,” mused Odel. “Then I could go with you.”
His words caused Lluava to remember all those who had been killed during the war, including young children like him. She quickly countered, “No. You do not.” Realizing that she had sounded very harsh, she added, “Everyone has a purpose, Odel. This upcoming battle is not yours.”
“What am I meant to do, then?”
The earnestness of his question was jarring. “I don’t know. But you will find out when the time is right.”
Odel seemed to accept this with that odd understanding of one older than his years. “Will I see you again?”
Lluava found she had to be honest with the boy. “I don’t know. I hope so.”
Moving Onyx onto his perch, Odel bowed formally, “Farewell, Lluava of the Theriomorphs.”
“Goodbye, Odel of the Shadows.”
As the boy left, Lluava felt a tear roll down her cheek. She let it slip down until it fell on the stone floor. With no more time spared for tears, she spent the rest of the day mentally preparing herself for what would come next.
***
Jigo’s sharp knock alerted Lluava that the time to leave had arrived.
“Lluava Kargen, you are to follow me,” Jigo said in a most formal and commanding manner. There was no need for him to speak to those stationed outside her door; they already knew the orders.
Onyx remained on Lluava’s shoulder as she followed the Shadow toward the mound. Jigo didn’t seem to mind the addition of the feathered creature. In fact, he seemed lost in thought. Instead of heading into the mound, Jigo led her up several flights of winding stairs. Suddenly, Lluava recognized where they were headed.
“Are you taking me to see the prisoner?”
“Regin said, if you can get the prisoner to come along on our journey, he can leave. But he is your responsibility. Which means you must be able to handle him.”
Varren had to have requested this for her. However, the tone of Jigo’s voice insinuated that no one believed she could convince the nomad to join his enemy on their venture. This way, Lluava realized that Regin would appear to obey the king’s wishes, all the while planning to keep the prisoner locked up in Erebos. That is, unless she proved them wrong.
Jigo unlatched the door and waved her into the cell. Fortunately, she had Issaura’s Claws on and was ready for the first sign of attack. The Shadow entered behind her to observe the encounter and be ready to intervene.
Scanning the chamber, Lluava knew something far worse had occurred than failure to persuade the nomad to leave. The cell was empty. The captive had been released once again.
Chapter 9
Grudging Agreements
Find him!” Jigo ordered the befuddled Guards standing by the door. His sai were in his hands before he even spoke.
“You’re going to kill him, aren’t you?” shouted Lluava before Jigo disappeared into the darkness.
“He has left us no choice!” flung back the Shadow. Then he was gone.
Lluava’s mind raced. What could she do? Her dream had held a message, one she believed. This prisoner would play an important role in the future. If the Obsidian Guard killed the nomad, what then? Did the outcome of the war hinge on one individual? That was ludicrous, right? Maybe. But she could not take the chance.
How could she find the captive before the Shadows did? This was the Guards’ home. They knew every tunnel and alcove, and they could see in the darkness. Lluava’s night vision was limited, and she could barely blunder around. Where would the prisoner have—?
The sound of minuscule stone fragments falling onto the lip of the ledge caught her attention. Lluava turned to the cliffside opening. Slowly inching toward the sheer drop, she peered into the chasm of the mound. A few flickering sconces caused dark forms to dance on the rock. The only other movement resulted from the Obsidian Guard traversing the ground below.
A few more fragments tumbled down onto Lluava’s platinum-blond hair. Onyx croaked in annoyance. She turned her gaze upward and caught sight of the nomad as he climbed the sheer rock face. He was heading toward a darkened opening high above him.
So he hadn’t been released—he was escaping! He was scaling the cliff, seeking a way out of the mound. Could she reach the man before the Shadows spotted him? Several throwing suns in his flesh would certainly cause him to lose his grip and plummet to his death.
Lluava ran into the corridor, where she paused for a moment to scan the gloom. She had to find the stairs. Retracing her steps, she quickly found the stairwell. Bounding up several steps at a time, Lluava guessed which level to try.
Please let me be right, she silently prayed to no particular deity.
Estimating where the opening might be, Lluava hurried to a closed cell. Yanking on the door, she found it locked. There was no time to hesitate. She slashed at the wood around the lock with Issaura’s Claws. The beams splintered, and she kicked the door in.
At the edge of the cell’s ledge, she scanned the cliff face below and saw the nomad only inches away. Not far below him, several Shadows were easily scaling the cliff in pursuit of the escapee. They were experienced rock climbers. More Shadows appeared at other openings, their weapons glinting in the torchlight.
Pulling off one of the Claws, Lluava reached down and shouted, “Take my hand! Hurry!”
; Onyx fluttered from her shoulder angrily and circled about inside the cell. The captive looked up and scowled. Lluava didn’t care. “Come on!”
The prisoner edged sideways, changing direction. Was he trying to find another way out?
Eyeing the glimmers of the throwing suns, Lluava demanded, “Take my hand, you fool! They are going to kill you!”
Whether it was the earnestness in her voice or his dire situation, the nomad hoisted himself up and grabbed Lluava’s forearm. She struggled to keep her feet braced against the rock floor lest she fall over the ledge. With one long heave, they both collapsed in the cell.
Before she had a chance to catch her breath, Lluava felt her throat constrict as the nomad’s arm wrapped around her neck, choking her. She tried to fight back, but to no avail.
Should she shift? If she did, would the goddess take over? Would Issaura kill him? Time was running out.
Lluava raked her Clawed hand across the back of her attacker. The nomad cried out and struggled to maintain his hold on her. Taking advantage of his weakened grip, she tore free.
Both jumped to their feet. Lluava could see the blind hatred emanating from his eyes. If he charged her, one or both of them could be propelled over the ledge. This man would throw his life away to kill her, a Theriomorph, his sworn enemy. He would not stop. She realized he would continue to attack her until one or both of them were dead.
At that moment, a trio of Shadows burst through the shattered door. The captive sprang at her discarded weapon. With a low growl, Lluava shifted. In mere seconds, she became a white tigress with gilded claws on one forepaw. She reached him just as he grabbed for the other Claw.
Lluava batted the man with her large paw. He slammed into a stone wall and collapsed. Then she leaped over his fallen body to protect him. With an enormous roar, Lluava warned off the Shadows.
“Nobody touches him. He is my ward,” she snarled.
One of the Shadows silently slipped away, while the other two stood watch over this peculiar and rather disagreeable scene until Regin arrived. He appeared unsurprised at the scene.
Lluava reminded the head Guard, “You promised that if I could persuade the prisoner to come, he would travel with us to Amargo. As you can see, he will not be arguing that point.”
They both knew this was not what Regin had meant. For now, the nomad would cause no more problems.
“Very well,” consented Regin grudgingly. “He can come, but you are responsible for him. If I see any sign that you are unable to control him, he will be executed immediately.”
“I have your word, then?” Lluava waited.
A long breath later, Regin said, “You have my word.”
***
Lluava was blindfolded, along with Byron, Thad, and Themis, as the rather large band of Obsidian Guard left Erebos. Later, she was helped onto a horse and instructed to keep the black cloth over her eyes until permitted otherwise. Onyx clutched her shoulder tightly and snapped at the Guard who tied the blindfold. Lluava couldn’t help but smile.
She had been forced to place her trust in Regin. Would he keep his word? He had promised the nomad would be released into her care once they were far enough away from Erebos that none would ever find the hidden lair again.
She hoped the captive was traveling with them, but her blindfold prevented her from verifying Regin’s honesty. They were warned to be quiet because night cats and other wild creatures were in the area. The day passed with only murmured whispers and low talk breaking the silence.
Next evening, Varren said, “You can take your blindfold off. It is time for us to make camp.”
The king had been by her side the entire time; despite her blindfold, they had talked incessantly, in hushed voices, about anything that came to mind.
Removing the cloth, she impatiently looked around. They were in a grove of scattered pines. Several Shadows had lit a cooking fire and were spitting the game they had caught that day. Scanning the area, Lluava breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the prisoner, bound and gagged, strapped and flung sideways over a horse like a sack of flour. Varren had told her he was there, but seeing the nomad with her own eyes eased her mind.
The captive’s blindfold had been removed, and the burning glare she received caused her to shake her head. If the nomad was going to be of any help, he must come to terms with working alongside a Theriomorph.
“He is going to be trouble,” Varren warned. “Is he so important that you are willing to take this risk?”
“I think so,” replied Lluava. She knew Varren did not fully understand her reasoning, so she added, “I have to do this.”
“I will support you,” the young king assured her, “unless he causes harm to anyone. That is where I draw the line.”
Lluava gripped the Claws tightly. “I won’t let him.”
Did the prisoner know who she was speaking with and what they were talking about? The hatred in his hazel eyes seemed to make them gleam more brightly. Lluava moved toward the cooking fire and left the captive on his horse.
Hopefully, he’ll calm down, she mused to herself; at the very least, restrain himself. She kept him in sight as the evening progressed until she felt sorry for the tired equine.
With Byron’s assistance, she carefully lowered the nomad onto the ground at the base of one of the many large pines that had grown in defiance of the inhospitable mountain climate.
Lluava was knotting the ends of the rope she had wrapped three times around both prisoner and trunk. “Almost done,” she said from behind the base of the tree. Her cold fingers fumbled with the bindings.
There was a crack, followed by a short string of curses. Leaping around the tree, she saw Byron holding his bleeding nose as the prisoner sat glaring, wrists and ankles still firmly tied together.
“He clouted me with his elbow,” Byron admitted reluctantly.
Behind him, Jigo called, “What’s going on over there?”
Lluava gave Byron a pleading look, and the young soldier replied, “Just a small accident on my part.”
Crisis averted, Lluava quietly said to her friend, “You sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah,” snorted Byron as he continued to pinch his nose. “I expect to break it at some point in my life, but not this way.”
“I don’t think its broken,” Lluava said as she examined him. “Come on, let’s get you some food.” She ushered Byron away from her ward. “It’ll make you feel better.”
Nodding, Byron asked, “What about him?”
“Let him miss a few meals and see how willing he is to attack those watching over him,” she said in a half snarl. Byron looked dubious as he led the way to the roasting arctic hare that crackled on the spit.
Over the following days, their journey was both cold and slow. The snow-laden ground was beginning to thaw, and it took much more effort for boots and hooves to slog through the slush. At some point, they re-entered Elysia, and their trek picked up speed.
Lluava waited a full three days before offering her ward any sustenance other than water. On her first attempt, he snapped at her fingers as soon as she removed the gag, and then began to yell. Hurriedly, Lluava shoved the grimy cloth back into his mouth and tightened the ends around his auburn hair. The next day, she tried again.
“If you keep quiet,” she offered, “I have a bowl of porridge for you to eat.” She removed the gag. “There are dangerous beasts about, and I will not allow you to summon them.”
This time, the prisoner seemed more compliant, whether due to hunger, weakness, or pain from the saddle sores on his torso. He was still forced to ride his mount strapped down sideways. With wrists bound before him, he carefully lifted the bowl to his lips and allowed the food to slide into his mouth.
“See how much better it is when you work with—” Lluava was not allowed to finish her statement, for the ceramic bowl was flung at her face and broke against her jaw.
“The seven hells!” she roared out before containing her hot fury. “I have a right min
d to knock you unconscious again,” she snarled, then took a final breath. “Luckily for you, I can be forgiving.”
Carefully bending down, Lluava collected the half-buried shards of the bowl from the snow. Tasting blood, she hurried away before she changed her mind and allowed her inner tigress to teach her ward a harder lesson.
“How are you and your prisoner faring?” Themis asked, feigning interest. Lluava knew he could clearly see the bruise flowering on the side of her face and the cut above her lip.
“As well as you expected, I’m sure.” Lluava forced a smile.
Varren must have overheard their exchange. “I cannot make you two like one another,” he inserted, “but I can command that you treat each other respectfully for the remainder of our journey.”
“As you wish,” was their mutual reply.
The following morning, with Byron at her side Lluava fed the prisoner some more gruel. This time, he ate without balking, although Byron kept his hand on the hilt of his sword the entire time.
“Much better,” remarked Lluava. “See how nice it is when we get along?”
For once, her ward did not scowl. Lluava said, “To show you how happy I am that we have a sort of understanding, I will allow you to ride upright today. I’m sure your saddle sores are far from comfortable.” She nodded at the red marks on his bare chest. Though wrapped in a thick blanket during the journey, the Obsidian Guard had refused to allow the prisoner any spare clothing.
Arms bound, the man was helped onto a mount. Lluava took his horse’s reins and led it behind her to make sure it maintained a steady pace. The horse was very docile and content to stay in step with hers. The morning progressed with little to note until her ward’s mount abruptly sprang away from the caravan.
Lluava looked around in shock. The nomad had shoved the halter over his mount’s head. No longer tethered to Lluava, he was kicking the horse’s flanks to drive the animal into a frantic gallop.
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