At the mention of Kovo, Meilin perked up.
“History will have only one right side,” Gar finished. “You can join us, or you can die!” The Devourer raised his hand triumphantly, and the assembled Conquerors roared.
“Never!” Meilin screamed, tears of frustration and anger in her eyes. “The only fate for the man who killed my father will be death at my hand!”
Abeke held silent, wishing that Meilin could hold back her rage. They would never join the Conquerors, but it might be wise to play along, if it meant staying alive.
Gar chuckled grimly. “I might have expected as much. You probably think of this little show of yours as an act of courage. But I see only foolishness. The tides have turned, and yet you insist on swimming against them. You know what happens to people who swim against tides for too long, don’t you? They drown.”
He made a great show of laying his hand on the grip of his greatsword. “I will give you one day to change your mind. After that time —”
“I will do as I will,” Gerathon finished. She opened her wide jaws and extended her hollow fangs from the pink flesh of her mouth. A muscle in her throat flexed, and a drop of poison emerged from each, shining green-yellow in the sunlight.
At the sight of Gerathon’s fangs, Abeke experienced a fear stronger than any she’d felt before. It was fear without exit, fear without hope. A pall descended on the courtyard. Even in her panic, Abeke noted it to herself: The Conquerors are scared of Gerathon, too.
Slowly, Gerathon retracted her fangs and closed her mouth. A drop of venom was still hanging from her lower jaw; her long forked tongue emerged and flicked it away.
It landed right on Drina’s foot.
The girl shook her boot frantically, trying to get the noxious fluid off. Once she had, her lips curled back in disgust. “So foul,” she muttered.
At the sound of her words, the assembled Conquerors went silent. Drina seemed to realize her breach, and put a hand over her mouth.
“Drina,” Gar said, breaking the bleak spell holding the audience still. “Step forward.”
“What?” Drina said, her voice quavering. She shot a worried look to her brother. He clenched his jaw, eyes wide. He was powerless to help her.
“Step forward,” Gerathon hissed, circling her huge body around Drina’s ankles, the scales cutting her flesh as Drina struggled to keep her feet. “Do as your lord requests.”
Drina staggered toward Gar. The spider on her shoulder skittered around her neck to the other side and back again, agitated. “I’m sorry, General Gar, if I have offended —”
“Now,” he intoned. “Come to me.”
Abeke watched in dread and confusion as Drina, head hung low, stepped toward Gar. “Hold out your hand,” he ordered.
Drina did as she was told, palm up. Her fingers trembled.
“You were tasked with recovering the talismans the Greencloaks have accumulated in Greenhaven. You have failed.”
Drina stood motionless and wordless, terror on her face. “Uncle, please!” she cried out. “Their defenses were too strong.”
Gerathon’s eyes went yellow again, and the spider on Drina’s shoulder — her spirit animal — reared back, raising its front legs. Enthralled by the Great Beast, it rocked from side to side, as if it were in an invisible current. Then, it skittered down Drina’s body, walking out over her shaking, outstretched arm, until it was at the pale exposed wrist. It paused again, forelegs in the air. In striking position.
“There is only one punishment for failure, niece,” Gar said, his voice soft with resignation. “Even for you.”
The spider peered at Gerathon with its many eyes, rocking back and forth in its mind-controlled trance.
Almost imperceptibly, the grinning cobra nodded.
When the spider lifted its fangs, Drina’s eyes narrowed. Abeke could sense her trying to control her spirit animal.
But the giant arachnid was under Gerathon’s control now. Drina must have drunk the Bile, just like all the other Conquerors. Drina gave up on controlling the animal, and instead flailed her arm, trying to get the spider off. It clung on tight, all its legs circling her wrist.
With surprising speed, Yumaris stepped forward. She grabbed the girl’s hand and wrenched it cruelly, forcing the arm still. “Now!” Yumaris hissed. “Finish her now!”
“Please, Gerathon —” Shane began to say.
But his words were lost as, silently and cleanly, the spider sank its fangs into Drina’s wrist.
Drina bled like she’d been stabbed; the spider’s fangs were that large. She gasped at the pain, and her knees buckled. Almost immediately, her eyes fluttered and rolled back. Then she collapsed, quivering, on the ground. Within seconds, she was still.
The assembled Conquerors were queasily silent for a moment.
Then Yumaris raised a cheer, her old voice quavering but loud. “All hail the Reptile King!”
The crowd yelled out, stomping their feet. “All hail the Reptile King!”
Abeke could see fear on many of the Conquerors’ faces. None of them wanted to be the next victim of Gerathon’s rage. It was then that she realized the truth: This awful display had been as much for the assembled troops as it had been for her and Meilin. Every one of the Conquerors, from their soldiers to their leaders, were prisoners in this war.
They were all Gerathon’s puppets.
The only one not joining in the cheering was Shane. He remained silent, his face slack. He took a step toward his sister’s slumped corpse, when Gerathon snapped her head toward him, hissing warningly.
“Do not make us suspect that brother is like sister, Shane,” she said, barely audible over the crowd’s roar. “This is the time for you to prove your loyalty.”
“Yes,” Shane said, so quietly Abeke could only barely hear him. “You are right.”
Shane’s head rose, and Abeke was shocked to see him look right past Gerathon — at her. Within the tumult of the cheering Conquerors, the creaks of their armor, and the clanging of their weapons, Abeke saw Shane’s lips move. It took her a moment to understand what he was saying.
“Six, five, four …” He was counting down!
Nothing got past wise old Yumaris, though. Her eyes widened when she saw Shane’s lips. “Beware!” she cried, shaking her gnarled staff at him.
The boy sprang into motion, lunging toward Gar. With surprising agility Yumaris stepped into his way, and the two tumbled, rolling into the Reptile King. Gar barely budged at the impact, but the elderly Conqueror didn’t get up. Shane was soon on his feet before a stunned Gar, unsheathing his saber and taking a fighting stance. Shane didn’t attack his uncle, though: Instead, he sprinted toward Abeke and Meilin.
Uraza darted in front, as if to fight him, but Abeke cried out for her to fall back. The leopard faltered, confused, frozen with one paw in the air, peering at Abeke with her violet eyes. Shane surged past her, tossing his saber to Meilin. She caught it handily.
“They killed my sister,” Shane said, his features contorted in rage. “They made her —”
“We saw!” Abeke cried as she crouched, fists out. There was no time to think. The Conquerors were recovering from their surprise and surging forward. If Abeke and Meilin had any hope of escape, they had to act now. “Where do we go?”
Shane pointed to one spot in the courtyard. It was swarming with Conquerors, but Abeke would have to trust his judgment that they could somehow escape that way. They dashed across the sandstone flagstones, Jhi taking up a defensive position on one side, Uraza on the other. Meilin whipped the saber through the air while she ran, testing its weight. She was preparing for battle.
Gerathon opened her mouth wide, fangs as long as lances. With muscular side-to-side motions, she arrowed across the courtyard to cut them off. The serpent was horrifyingly fast — she’d be on them in a moment. “Shane … !” Abeke warned.
“I know!” he barked.
As soon as they reached the Conquerors at the edge, Abeke realized why Shane had
chosen this spot. There were five enemies at one portal, but two lowered their weapons in confusion when they approached — they must have been Shane’s friends.
The other three were not.
They fell into defensive positions, crouched with swords raised.
Uraza was on them first. She’d built up a fierce sprint across the courtyard, and hit the nearest Conqueror like a spear, striking his chest and pinning him to the ground. Immediately, she wheeled to face the next. Meilin already had her, though, dropping to her hands for a kick to the Conqueror’s knee. She then grabbed the Conqueror’s own sword and came up sharp with the hilt, knocking the woman out cold. That left only one blocking their escape route. Again Abeke longed for her bow. But she didn’t have it. Without martial arts training like Meilin’s, she struggled to figure out how to best contribute to the fight. When the last Conqueror brought her sword blade slicing toward her, Abeke was rooted to the ground.
Shane had it under control. Using his shoulder as a battering ram, he came in sideways, slamming the Conqueror in the gut and rolling to the ground with her. Within a moment the Conqueror was unconscious on the ground and Shane was back on his feet, motioning them forward.
Aware of Gerathon’s giant black shape bearing down, Abeke stuck close to Shane’s side. Meilin, though, had whirled to face the crowd descending on them, Shane’s saber brandished in one hand and the Conqueror’s sword in the other.
“Meilin, what are you doing?” Abeke cried. But then she saw where Meilin’s attention was focused: Gar. The general of the Conquerors, the man who had killed Meilin’s father, was marching toward them. Her face furious, Meilin crouched in a fighting stance, her blades held out parallel to the ground.
Jhi stood on her two feet between Meilin and Abeke, looking between the pair of them. Gerathon was nearly in striking distance, and the panda slowly turned to face her. It would be hopeless to try to fight the giant serpent and the Devourer — Meilin had to realize she was putting not only herself, but the rest of them in danger.
“Now isn’t the time!” Shane shouted. “If you want to escape, you have to come with me!”
“For Jhi’s sake, Meilin!” Abeke cried.
Meilin turned, saw Jhi right in Gerathon’s path, and lowered her weapons. Jhi joined her as she ran toward Abeke and Shane, bringing her blades up just in time to parry a Conqueror’s mace. She grunted under the impact and fell to the stone floor, then rolled and was back on her feet in an instant.
Shane led the charge through the archway. It gave out into a ditch skirting the exterior wall of the manor house. Uraza followed after, the others racing behind.
“The boat that took you from Okaihee,” Shane panted as they ran. “It’s my family’s ship. It’s moored in the harbor, on the far side of this town. If we’re the first to get there …”
“Got it,” Abeke said, breaking into a full sprint.
They passed along the manor’s wall, past what looked like the Conquerors’ armory, until a large Niloan port town came into view, an assortment of blocky baked-mud buildings leading down to docks. The Conquerors must have all been assembled at the manor courtyard, and they’d managed to break ahead of them — the way forward appeared to be free of enemies. Shane knew just the turns to take through the winding streets, and the tumult behind them began to sound farther and farther away. They raced past shuttered shops, empty dining tents, and unattended training rooms.
Abeke heard seagulls, and realized they must be nearing the dock. Shane began to slow, and led them through an unmarked door into a dank building. He shut the door behind him, then began sifting through stacks of damp, sea-rotted crates piled against a wall. “Before the Conquerors took over this town, this building used to be the customs house,” he explained. “I wasn’t expecting a voyage, so there won’t be any fresh food for our trip. But there’s enough to eat and drink in these old shipments, if you don’t mind hardtack and lots of fermented Niloan cherry. Grab a box, each of you, and we’ll head straight for the ship.”
While Uraza paced, Abeke took the largest crate she could handle. She followed Shane through the cavernous, musty hall, and only realized Meilin wasn’t with her when she reached the far door. She turned and saw Meilin with Jhi, sitting motionless by the crates, head bowed and hands clasped. “What is it?” Abeke said impatiently. “We have to leave now, Meilin.”
Meilin looked at her, tears in her eyes. “I’m not coming.”
“You have to be kidding me,” Shane said. “They’ll kill you for trying to escape, you know that, right?”
“Gerathon can use me any time she wants. She can make me kill myself, like she forced Drina’s spider to kill her. Or she could make me kill Abeke. I can’t come with you. It’s not safe.”
“I don’t care!” Abeke said. “I’m not leaving you.”
“Think reasonably,” Meilin said. “This is for the best. You have no chance if I’m with you. Gerathon will use me to find out where you are. Or worse. Admit it.”
Jhi took a step toward Abeke and Shane, looked forlornly at Meilin, then stepped forward again. It was clear she was torn on the matter.
“She has a point, Abeke,” Shane said quietly. “Meilin is compromised. You and I never drank the Bile. Our bonds came naturally.”
“Meilin, you want to stay here to get revenge on Gar!” Abeke said. “You admit that.”
“Of course that’s part of it,” Meilin said. Tears fell from her eyes as she stared down at the saber in her hands. “But mainly I don’t want to hurt you again. Help me stop myself from hurting you. Please.”
Abeke’s jaw trembled, and she had to clench her muscles to keep the shaking from passing to her whole body. In her heart, Abeke knew Meilin was right. In the Conqueror base, Gerathon had no use for Meilin as a spy or a murderer. The moment Meilin escaped, though, Gerathon would possess her. Abeke reluctantly nodded. “We’ll come back for you,” she said. “I promise.”
Meilin walked over and hugged Abeke. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “For everything. You were a better friend than I deserved.”
Abeke’s eyes stung. She closed them tight, and clasped Meilin to her.
“I’m sorry too, Meilin,” Shane said from behind them. Abeke turned, taking the boy in. He rubbed his shoulders. There was a new softness to him that was surprising in someone so tall and strong. “If I’d only seen my uncle for what he was earlier … maybe your father, or Drina …” His voice broke. Shane sighed, shaking his head. “Thank you for this sacrifice. I’ll do my best to live up to it. I’ll protect Abeke, and we will find a way to stop my uncle.”
Meilin watched him silently for a moment, measuring him. Then she gave a single affirming nod, apparently satisfied with what she saw.
Shane worriedly scanned the dockside quays. “I hear footsteps approaching. We need to get going.”
“Enough talk, then,” Meilin said, wiping her eyes. Beside her, Jhi leaned her head against Meilin’s hip. “Get going!”
Shane creaked open the dockside door. At the other side was the town’s small port — it was almost vacant, filled with the noise of creaking boats and flooded by morning light. Abeke hefted a crate and followed Shane out onto the docks. Uraza paced beside her, body slung low, ears flat and violet eyes alert.
“If we somehow make it to Greenhaven, will the Greencloaks kill me the moment I appear?” Shane asked.
“You saved my life,” Abeke said. “I’ll make sure they don’t hurt you.”
“Thank you,” Shane said, relief in his voice.
As they hurried along the harbor, Abeke’s thoughts were not on Shane, but on Meilin. How long would it be before they saw each other again? Could they find a way to cure Meilin of her Bile poisoning?
Meilin must be feeling so lonely and wretched, so scared at the prospect of surviving alone amid the Conquerors. Abeke wished she could hug her friend one more time. As she tossed her crate to the deck of Shane’s boat and prepared to leap aboard herself, Abeke glanced back at the customs
house.
Meilin was almost out of view. It was only because of Abeke’s link with Uraza that her senses were keen enough to spy her. Meilin was slumped inside the customs house, half-hidden in a dark corner. She leaned forward and waved, the glint of her eyes only just visible in the dimness. Abeke could barely make out Jhi’s black paw beside her.
Abeke waved back, then jumped to the deck of the ship, Uraza leaping after her and landing softly on the sun-warmed wood. Abeke found she was short of breath, but not from the run. A terrible certainty gripped at her chest, choking out the crisp ocean air.
She was never going to see her friend again.
CONOR STARED FROM HIS HIDING PLACE IN THE SAW grass as the Conquerors tried to force their way through the ostrich canyon. Irtike had buried her head in the thick yellow blades, unwilling to watch the bloodbath. But Conor, Rollan, Tarik — and Lumeo and Snake Eyes — were watching closely.
The raiders they’d seen before must have been a less organized advance force. This army was marching in unison, cavalry trotting in front and infantry nested behind, followed closely by archers. In the rear were camels lugging supplies, tended by captured Niloans, their heads bowed in misery. The Conquerors’ dark leathers squeaked and creaked as they approached the pass. The ostriches had bravely lined up at the southern end, just like before, but their force looked pathetic compared to the hundreds of Conquerors surging along.
“Zerif,” Tarik said, pointing at the tall Conqueror heading up the infantry. Conor squinted and saw that, indeed, it was the handsome man with the close-cropped beard, the one who had stolen Meilin and Abeke away. “They’re sending one of their most important leaders,” Tarik said. “Clearly the Golden Lion is crucial to their plans.”
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