by R. J. Larson
“Therefore, your role is . . .” He sought the right word. Ela had to laugh.
The laugh hurt. She put her free hand to her throat. “You, of all people, should know the word. I’m an ambassador. His ambassador. I inform, negotiate, and hopefully win spiritual peace treaties. I speak for my Lord in foreign courts.”
The Tracelander’s gray eyes sparkled irresistibly. “I deserved that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Fair enough.” He frowned. “It’s rude of me to ask you questions when you’re so hoarse, so I’ll keep quiet today.”
“Can you?” Ela pretended disbelief, then smiled.
Kien’s attempt to look offended was bested by a grin. “Ha, ha.”
As the day progressed, the landscape changed, becoming more luxuriant. Ela couldn’t help but admire the beautiful, widening river valley. She’d never been there, but those colossal trees and magnificent cliffs in the distance were familiar. Her breath faltered. “We’re approaching Ytar.”
“You’re right.” Kien glanced around, his dark eyebrows lifted.
His profile, strong and cleanly cut despite his whiskers, was so appealing. . . .
Ela looked away, deliberately recalling her vision of Ytar.
Kien stared at Ytar’s charred ruins. At the broken, blackened stone and timber buildings. Worse, at the scattered fragments of bones. Tracelanders’ bones. The sight caught at Kien’s heart. His people had died here. This place should be sacred. Instead, celebratory shouts echoed off Ytar’s burnt walls.
Around him, Istgardian soldiers were laughing, jeering. A charioteer clattered past Kien on the weed-strewn main road and taunted, “More of the same to you, and all Tracelanders!”
“Enjoy yourself!” Ela hissed toward the charioteer’s back. “This is the last celebration you’ll have!”
Kien blinked, stunned by Ela’s ferocity. She met his look with such hurt and rage that anyone would have believed her a Tracelander. Swiping her tears, Ela said, “Just wait! Within a year, Ytar will be reborn.”
He wanted to kiss her. Really kiss her.
A rush of seriously inappropriate thoughts followed Kien’s impulse, and he averted his gaze. Clenching the straps of his backpack, Kien willed himself to think coldly. She attracted him because of proximity. He’d been near her and no other marriageable female for months. She was unsuitable. She was a Parnian. And truly not appropriate . . . or admirable . . . or lovely . . . or . . .
He berated himself. Liar!
“Here’s another rag,” Tzana chirped, offering Ela a thick, nubby square.
“Thank you.” Ela swiped the rough cloth over Pet’s shimmering sides and legs. She hoped she’d finished crying. But encamped as the Istgardians were in and around the devastated city, she was easily overwhelmed. Every angle of Ytar brought back her vision. Much better to concentrate on Pet’s gleaming darkness and nothing else.
Besides, Pet deserved pampering. Tomorrow morning he would face a true battle. “You be safe,” she scolded him tenderly, glad her voice was recovering. Perhaps the destroyer could hear her fondness. “I don’t see you fatally wounded, but—”
Tears stung the edges of her already raw eyes. She hugged the warhorse and dragged her ragged emotions together. A sharp whistle beckoned. Kien trudged toward her, his arms and back laden with firewood.
The soldiers had loaded him down as if he were a pack mule. This was her chance, Ela realized. She grabbed Pet’s muzzle between her hands and turned him to see Kien. Becoming fierce, she muttered, “Obey! Do you hear me? Pet and Scythe obey him!”
The destroyer groaned.
Tzana clambered to her feet, her brown eyes bugged with worry. “What’s wrong with Pet? That was a big grumble.”
“He thinks he has a stomachache,” Ela guessed. “But he’d best get over it soon.” It was, after all, the Infinite’s will.
Kien dropped some wood near Ela. Pet shut his eyes and groaned again. The Tracelander stepped away as if fearing the destroyer carried a contagious disease. “What’s his trouble?”
“You.” Ela smiled and resumed brushing. Until glimmers of light and shadow flicked through her thoughts. New images.
Aware of Kien’s approaching guard, she whispered, “Tomorrow morning, just before the battle, we’re going to escape.”
“What?” Kien seemed ready to dump the load of wood from his back and flee at once. “How?”
“Move, Tracelander!” The guard shoved Kien onward before Ela could speak.
Pet sniffed in unmistakable disdain.
19
Finished scouring the cooking utensils and packing her gear, Ela sat before the fire. She ought to curl up beside Tzana for some sleep. But the flames lulled her into a waking dream. A chunk of wood popped, sending sparks upward into the dark sky and dropping ashes to the makeshift hearth beneath.
Ashes from Ytar’s broken timbers.
Take up these ashes, the Infinite commanded. Let them be a sign. . . .
Reverently, Ela leaned forward and tugged a charred limb from the fire. When the wood was cool enough to handle, she crumbled its coal-dark edges between her fingers and sifted the ashes onto her hair. Ran them over her arms. Smudged them across her face and throat.
“What are you doing?” Tal demanded, staring across the fire as if Ela had gone insane.
“Mourning.” But tears must wait. Tonight, she had to be calm. “Tomorrow, you and your men will face battle.”
“Huh! You think so? I haven’t seen one Tracelander, ’cept Ambassador Lantec. Much less an army.”
“They see you, Tal. And they are prepared to avenge Ytar. I pray you survive them.” Tal had been courteous to her and kind to Tzana. She implored the Infinite to let him live.
Tal looked around, suspicious. “What do you mean—they see me?”
“They’re watching.” Ela rubbed ashes into her braid, unraveling it.
“Stop playing with those ashes! You’re making me nervous.”
“Good. Be nervous,” Ela told her guard. “Every man here ought to be nervous, but they haven’t listened. Souls will be lost in the morning, to eternal torment without the Infinite’s presence.” She scooped up more ashes and showered them over her tumbled hair, a dark, warm rain. “Tonight I mourn. And I pray these souls will listen.”
“You look like a madwoman!” Tal protested.
Ela retrieved the branch and stood, admiring the vinewood’s metallic gleam as it cast light into the darkness. “Grief causes madness. Warn your men, Tal, and yourself. Tomorrow you’ll face the fight for your lives and souls. Pray to the Infinite you survive.”
She kissed Tzana’s tenderly wrinkled cheek and left her sleeping beneath Pet’s watchful gaze.
Gritting his teeth, Kien broke a chunk off the disc of coarse bread that posed as his evening meal. If he hurled this disc whole at his guard, the man would die of the wound. Clearly the Istgardian army had hired the same baker who supplied the prison, only now the rolls were flattened to stack easily.
Kien doused the chunk of bread in his ration of water and waited. Then waited some more. Resigned to his fate, he finally shoved the mess into his mouth.
Eating this one meal would take him all night.
He worked the rough mouthful between his teeth and convinced himself to swallow just as an apparition appeared, outlined against the fire. A dark wraith wielding a beam of chilling blue-white light. Kien choked, blinked his watering eyes, and gasped.
A woman faced Kien and his captors. Her hair flowed black over her dark arms and robes, while her eyes—huge, beautiful, and dire—swept them all, including Kien. She seemed the personification of imminent death.
Low-voiced and surprisingly distressed, she said, “Tomorrow each of you will be cast into battle. The fight will not be to save merely your lives, but your souls. Pray to the Infinite, your Creator. Trust Him, please, and escape eternal agony.”
Ela. Kien exhaled. She’d genuinely shaken him. The staff in her hands exuded an eerie glow
, adding force to her warning.
She vanished before he could say a word—not that he’d had a word to say. He stared at his guards, who sat like carved figures of wood, incapable of speech. At last, their commander, a harsh-voiced thug, said, “Somebody oughta stop ’er.”
As one, the soldiers looked at Kien. He shook his head. Stop Ela from terrifying the Istgardians half to death? “No. Not for anything.”
The commander growled. “If ’e’s not gonna be useful, tie ’im down for the night.”
The two guards nearest Kien snared him with cords at his wrists and ankles.
At least he didn’t have to finish the bread.
When the guards left him in a knotted heap, Kien twisted around until he could stare up at the stars. Ela wasn’t bound each night, was she? Were the guards so frightened by the Parnian that they didn’t dare touch her? Unfair.
Actually, considering the way she’d startled him, Kien understood their fear. As he remembered Ela’s words, realization crystallized. Ela had included him in her warning. Why? Kien frowned. Wasn’t he supposed to escape with her tomorrow morning? Did his escape now depend upon his submission to Parne’s Infinite?
Kien stared up into the nighttime sky—a dark, gem-scattered cloak worthy of a king. Or a Creator. Really? His mouth forming words that allowed almost no sound past his lips, Kien whispered, “If You exist, show me!”
His heartbeat quickened, becoming so violent that he coughed in an attempt to slow its pace. A Tracelander calling to the Creator. Unimaginable. And yet, he’d watched Ela’s every move and judged her words with more than a little doubt. Even condescension. Now his verdict settled within his thoughts, guaranteed to steal his sleep: Ela was probably right.
“Don’t lie,” he warned himself beneath his breath. Probably? No. She was right. Each of her earlier predictions had either been fulfilled or appeared near fulfillment.
Now, he—an arrogant Tracelander—was questioning the Infinite. And the prospect was more frightening than Ela’s darkness this evening. He was wholly unworthy of the Infinite’s regard. He was—confess it!—a reprobate. Humbled, he tried again.
“Infinite? Are You there?”
Approaching the fire before the green royal pavilion, Ela studied the king’s face. Surrounded by his counselors, Tek An jumped in his seat, gasped, then glared up at her. He had become an old man. A hateful old man. Lips parting, nostrils flaring, he snarled, “You, the cause of all our troubles, dare to show yourself here! Do you believe you can frighten us?”
Obviously she’d frightened him and his counselors—they were all slack-jawed. Ela said, “The battle is tomorrow morning. Tonight is your last in this life, and the beginning of your separation from all peace. Unless you call to the Infinite.”
Tek An bounded to his feet. “The battle begins when we decree it shall begin! Our scouts have seen no Tracelanders, and you lie only to coerce our obedience to your Infinite!”
“The Infinite warns you, but He will not coerce you or anyone to accept Him.”
“Get out of our sight! Our sleep is destroyed by your curses. Our subjects hate you and your Infinite—we long for you to die!—leave us!”
Aching at his words, Ela sent up a plea. Infinite . . .
Why do you plead for him? He refuses to hear. Look at his counselors. They are unwilling to hear My warnings, therefore I have given their power to others and will turn them to dust.
Ela bowed her head. Finished listening, she gave Tek An a last look. Then a final reminder. “As the Infinite warned, you will see your son just before the battle. At least reconcile with him before your death.” She turned, gazing at the counselors and courtiers. “Each of you, pray to the Infinite for your souls. The battle is at hand.”
She heard their laughter as she walked away.
Kien turned, uneasiness drawing him from sleep. His eyelids twitched, and he rubbed them. With his hands. Wide awake, he stared into the clouded predawn sky and sat up. His hands and ankles had been released. Where were the ropes? Ela stood beside him, her face illuminated by light from the branch. She raised a finger to her lips, then motioned him to stand.
Kien nodded. Escape! Hardly daring to breathe, he stood and straightened his cloak. Ela pointed to the snoring commander nearby. Specifically at the sword resting in its scabbard at the man’s side, partially hidden by his cloak. Was Kien supposed to take the sword? Gladly. He slipped the weapon and its belt away from the commander and grinned. At last, a sword. If only he could find his gear and escape with that as well. At least he had his life. And the hope of recovering some of his confiscated belongings after the battle.
He crept silently over the trampled grass, following Ela toward her waiting destroyer and a tiny limp bundle on the ground. Tzana, sound asleep, Kien realized. Ela knelt, gently scooped up her sleeping sister, nuzzled her, then stood. She glanced around and nodded Kien toward the black outlines of the forest edging eastern Ytar.
The group hurried past numerous soldiers’ encampments scattered through Ytar’s burned-out foundations. As they crossed the eastern fields, Kien held the sword half drawn from the scabbard, readied against any pursuers. Strange . . . the sword’s grip felt familiar.
Kien looked over his shoulder just as they entered the forest’s darkness. No one followed. Satisfied, he lifted the sword and inspected the hilt in the predawn gloom. Beside him, Ela adjusted Tzana on her hip, then used the branch to illuminate the weapon in Kien’s hands. Plain soldier’s scabbard, but beneath its wrappings a gold-threaded grip and the pommel incised with a tower.
“My own sword!” His fighting sword. Kien grinned.
“Yes,” Ela whispered. “The Infinite says we must hurry. The Istgardians are waking.”
They moved on among the dark trees. Seeming eager to rush them along, Pet breathed down their necks. Kien wanted to swat the beast, but feared losing his hand. “Couldn’t we ride? Your Pet could carry all three of us.”
“We don’t want to ride.”
“And why not?”
“Because.”
“Because . . . ?” Kien drew out the question and waited for Ela to respond. She didn’t. Fine. She was suddenly as cryptic as the Infinite.
The branch glimmered as they wove between the big trees, rustling through ferns, avoiding mossy fallen snags. They entered a leaf-carpeted clearing, which was large enough to allow the murky predawn light to reach the forest floor. Kien tried again. “Where are we going?”
Ela stopped and tapped her branch against the ground. “Here.”
“Why here?”
“Because.”
“Ela . . .”
An archer stepped from behind one of the trees, the outlines of his bow and arrow aiming for Kien. “Put down your sword.”
Keeping his movements slow, Kien crouched, gently placed his sword on the carpet of leaves, then stood, hands raised. “Don’t kill me. I’m a Tracelander.”
“So you say.” The archer whistled a birdcall. Two more archers appeared, outlined in the shadows. His voice emboldened by his comrades’ support, the first archer asked, “Who are you, sweethearts, and where are you going?”
“I’m Kien Lantec. I intend to fight for the Tracelands, then return to my family.”
“And I am Ela Roeh of Parne. Your countrymen are planning to attack the Istgardians this morning, but they need to advance their plans. I must speak with your commanders.”
“Why? You a spy? And what’s that light you’re holding?”
“No, I’m not a spy. I’m the Infinite’s prophet, and this ‘light’ is my insignia. Listen, please! Tell your commanders that they have less time than they believe. They must attack now, not later this morning. As we speak, King Tek An is waking from a nightmare.”
“You, a Parnian girl, expect me to snag my commanders from their meeting with your wild ideas? Not likely.”
“If the thought makes you nervous, then snag only one! Fetch . . .” Ela paused, as if listening, then said, “Jon Thel.”
> Jon! Kien gawked at Ela. How could she know his best friend’s name? He was sure he’d never mentioned Jon to Ela. “Jon’s here?”
“Yes.” Ela patted Tzana, who was beginning to stir. “The Infinite told me. Jon Thel is commanding his own troop.”
Jon? Already commanding a troop?
“Fetch?” The archer looked as incredulous as Kien felt. “I’m no puppy. And Commander Thel is no one’s footboy!”
Losing his patience, Kien snarled, “Can’t you see we’ve got a destroyer breathing down our necks, you dog? Do you want him to stomp you to a pulp because you’re arguing? I’m telling you this is important! Fetch Jon Thel and any other commanders you can muster!”
To Kien’s amazement, the destroyer pressed forward, flattening his ears and snorting at the archer in a credible show of support. Kien almost believed the monster was siding with him.
The archer retreated several steps and spoke to his companions. “Watch these tricksters while I call for Commander Thel.” He turned and ran off through the trees.
Tzana squirmed in Ela’s arms, yawned, then smiled. “Pet! Where are we?”
Ela set the little girl on her feet. “We’re with the Tracelanders now. You slept through our escape.”
“Aw! Why didn’t you wake me?” Tzana pouted.
“Because you’re quieter when you’re asleep,” Kien teased. Tzana widened her eyes at him, indignant. Resembling Ela in a bad mood. He sighed. Best to say nothing more. He concentrated on fastening his sword belt in the light of the branch.
As Kien expected, Jon wasted little time. Following the archer’s lead, he stalked into the small clearing so swiftly that his black cloak flared. He stepped into the branch’s glow, garbed in a tunic, leggings, and boots all as black as his hair. In this severe attire, Jon Thel looked older than twenty-three years. And coldly suspicious of Ela and the branch. But the instant he saw Kien, he laughed. “It’s really you!”