Quest for the Scorpion's Jewel

by Amy Green

  “What orders?”

  “Kill the Youth Guard members who came through my town,” the captain said bluntly. “And that is what will happen. Even if I had not been here, you would have been executed by the Sheik for your pathetic attempt at theft.”

  Jesse studied Captain Demetri’s Patrol uniform. It looked genuine, not like a homemade copy.

  “Where did you steal the Patrol uniform?” Jesse asked bitterly. “It’s an excellent disguise for a member of the Rebellion.”

  The captain laughed, a deep laugh that somehow seemed familiar. “Is that what you think?”

  Jesse blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden laughter. “I don’t understand….”

  “No, you don’t. Of course you don’t.” Captain Demetri said softly. He got a far-off look on his face. “They don’t want you to. Even I didn’t understand at first.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Captain Demetri smiled slightly, and Jesse got the feeling that he enjoyed tormenting him. “All I will say is this: I have learned that you must be careful who your friends are. They may well be your enemies.”

  There was silence for a moment as Jesse thought about what Captain Demetri had said. What does he mean? That the king is our enemy? “No,” Jesse said, with more conviction than he felt. “You’re lying. Silas said all those in the Rebellion lie.”

  “That may be,” Captain Demetri said with a shrug. “But if it is, it is because everyone lies. Do you hear me, boy? Everyone. Remember that.”

  “Why are you telling me all this?”

  A grim smile from the captain. “It is a good question. You will not live long enough to learn these lessons, true though they are. The Sheik has ordered that the three of you be given the death penalty for your crime.”

  Though the cell was still boiling hot, Jesse felt a chill go through him. Captain Demetri turned to go. “Wait,” Jesse said, deciding to take a guess at what Captain Demetri meant. “Why does the king want to kill us?”

  Captain Demetri answered his question with a question. “Why do you want to know?”

  Jesse shrugged, tried to act calm. “Curiosity.” When the captain still hesitated, he added, “You said yourself that there is no way for us to avoid our death in the morning. What harm could it do to explain to me why we are dying?”

  “True enough,” Captain Demetri acknowledged. “All right, boy, tell me this—who would the king consider most dangerous to his authority?”

  “The leaders of the Rebellion,” Jesse replied immediately, “or spies from other countries.”

  “Yes,” Captain Demetri agreed, “but those are easy enough to deal with. If the Patrol even suspects citizens of being Rebellion members, they can execute them without a trial. Any charge will do. The difficulty is preventing people from joining the Rebellion in the first place.”

  Jesse thought about that. It is true, I suppose. “But what does that have to do with us?”

  “What is the function of the Youth Guard?”

  Jesse repeated the answer he had heard since he was a young boy, “To accomplish great missions for the king.”

  “Then why aren’t they given enough information to succeed at these missions?” Captain Demetri asked, his voice emotionless. “Why do so few survive, out of the hundreds who have gone out?” They were good questions, ones that Jesse had often asked himself.

  “If King Selen had wanted an army,” the captain con-tinued, “those skilled in agility, strength, and battle tactics, he would have chosen his top Patrol members for these missions. But he wanted something more—the most intelligent, the most dedicated young people in the country. Why?”

  Captain Demetri answered his own question, “Because those are the ones who, if they decided to take action, would be the most powerful force against him. He is afraid of your friends and those like them.”

  The truth of it became clear to Jesse. All these years, he had thought the reason so few Youth Guard members ever returned was because of the danger of their missions. But now he knew: they did not return because the king did not want them to return.

  He had always known the king was a greedy, self-serving man, taking half of their crops and many of their young men and women to use as his slaves, feasting while his people starved. It was one thing to cheat a nation of faceless peasants out of their living. But it was quite another to deliberately kill innocent young people, just to eliminate a potential threat.

  “And so the king sends people like you to kill us,” Jesse summarized, disgust plain in his voice.

  The captain’s hand went up to his chest, and he clutched something underneath his uniform. Then he shrugged. “Oldrivar lakita ses omidreden. Your friends must be prepared to reap the whirlwind that they released. They knew what they were doing when they agreed to join the Youth Guard. And, besides, I had very little choice. Someone else’s life depends on my obedience.”

  “But that’s not right!”

  Captain Demetri stepped forward slightly, scowling at Jesse. “Life is not right sometimes, boy. I’ve had to learn that the hard way.” He began to march away, then turned. “And this time, life has decided that you will die.”

  Chapter 16

  Dawn always comes too soon, Jesse decided as the guard unlocked his chains from the wall of the dungeon. He wished for the days when he would wake at the inn in Mir, grumbling before going to do his chores. Now there was a much more serious reason for him to dread the dawn.

  The guard shoved him out of the cell, shouting at him in Da’armon. “Lead the way,” Jesse said, as cheerfully as he could, even though he knew the guard would not understand his words. “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

  The look on the guard’s face was reward enough for the attempt at a joke. Clearly, he was not used to such a compliant prisoner, much less one with light skin, the carved walking stick of a sorcerer, and strange markings on his forehead.

  Still, Jesse’s cheerfulness wasn’t entirely forced. Samar’s message gave him a little hope. Enough, at least, to allow him to hold his head up as the guard marched him through the dungeon.

  The guard yelled something in Da’armon and reached for Jesse’s walking stick, which he jerked back, giving the guard a cold glare. It was awkward, of course, to hold onto the walking stick while he was chained, but Jesse would not leave it in the Da’armon dungeon.

  His one comfort was being reunited with Rae and Silas. Both looked dirty and tired, although Rae was the most disheveled by far, with sweat creating smudges in the dye that covered her face.

  “Are you all right?” Jesse asked them.

  One of the guards shouted at him in Da’armon and gave him a sharp poke with his spear, to make sure Jesse understood. Jesse saw a small pool of blood form from the pierced skin. I guess that means no more talking.

  He remained silent. The only sound came from the clinking of the chains around their ankles as they were marched through the prison gates and out into the streets of Da’ra. Then the silence stopped.

  A human whirlwind—that’s what the throngs of people outside the gates reminded Jesse of, all moving, convulsing, swirling around him and never stopping—like the sand that had buried them in the desert. The people thronged toward them, held back only by threats from the guards. After that they seemed content to jeer at a distance, calling out insults Jesse was glad he couldn’t understand. It seems like we can’t go anywhere in this country without being surrounded by a noisy crowd.

  Although Jesse searched the crowd as well as he could with the guards prodding him to go faster, he did not see Samar’s face. He must be here. He must.

  Soon, the execution site came into view.

  Jesse knew it was the execution site—it could be nothing else. Three pyres of wood were stacked on a platform made of clay bricks. The platform was built against the palace wall, and the Sheik sat on his throne nearby, with Benotan be
side him.

  Although the Sheik looked half-asleep, his turban jammed down on his face to cover his ears from the noise of the crowd, it seemed to Jesse that Benotan was drilling him with a haughty stare that said, “We defeated you, Sorcerer.” Jesse nodded politely at him and smiled to himself when Benotan’s confident expression faltered. Not yet.

  Beside him, Rae gasped and stepped backward, nearly falling into him. Jesse peered over her shoulder trying to see….

  He blinked, making sure his eyes had not deceived him. The wall of the palace was moving! A second glance told Jesse why. Clinging to the wall, were hundreds—perhaps thousands—of kaltharas. The bricks quivered with them, and the air hummed with their high-pitched scream, an undercurrent beneath the cries of the people.

  Fear not the vultures. Samar’s message began to make sense. The kaltharas also knew the platform was an execution site. They were waiting for the Youth Guard members. Waiting for them to die.

  Suddenly, Jesse was not quite so confident. Looking at the scavengers who would fight over his dead body, escape seemed impossible. The guards never looked away from them, and they were tightly chained. As if that weren’t enough, hundreds of Da’armons had come to watch the execution. Even if Samar is here, what could he possibly do?

  Playing games with death. If, as Parvel had said, this was a game, it was being watched by an eager crowd of spectators—some jeering angrily, but most looking excited, as if it were a festival of some sort.

  So this is it. He and Rae and Silas were going to die. Jesse could do nothing to save himself. Why is Parvel always right? he thought bitterly.

  The guards shoved them in front of the platform with the pyres. Jesse nearly tripped over his chains and fell into Silas. Behind him, the hum of the kaltharas seemed to mock him and his hopes.

  God, if you’re there at all, and if you’re listening, rescue us! It was the only prayer Jesse could think of. He was sure the village priest would not approve.

  A Da’armon official stepped in front of them, reading from a parchment of some sort. Animal skin, Jesse thought, because wood is rare here. He thought about that, almost in a detached way, as if he wasn’t about to die. Then why choose burning for an execution? He decided they must be very important prisoners, a fact that did little to cheer him.

  While the official babbled on, Jesse scanned the crowd again, looking for a familiar face.

  There! Relief flooded Jesse like a bucket of cool water poured over his head. Off to the side, standing against the palace wall, was Samar. He glanced at Jesse briefly, nodded, and pulled a hood over his face.

  He glanced at Silas and Rae to see if they had seen him too. Rae, at least, had, because her eyes were fixed on that part of the wall. “Be ready,” he whispered to them, hoping the guards would not overhear and poke him again. Silas and Rae nodded slightly.

  I could probably deliver a dramatic speech and no one would hear over the voices of the crowd, Jesse realized. They only occasionally quieted down to hear the man with the parchment speak. No doubt they had heard the same words before, and wanted to get on with the execution.

  The drone of the kaltharas could be heard in the rare quiet moments. Jesse saw Rae’s head jerk toward the wall every now and then. Each time, she would shiver and shrink just a little closer toward Silas and Jesse.

  “It will be all right,” Silas said. Although his words were confident, his face was not.

  Jesse was only slightly more hopeful. If Samar is going to do something at all, he decided, it would have to be when they take off our chains to tie us to the pyres. After all, they could not climb up onto the platform with their ankles bound.

  He glanced toward Samar again. He took off his hood, as if to say, “Get ready.”

  Jesse looked around. Four guards surrounded them, and two more stood beside the king. All of them were large, strong men with spears at the ready. Their chances were not good, he knew.

  But I’d rather die trying to escape, Jesse decided. A quick glance at the other two told him that they felt the same. Silas stood straight and tall, his steely gray eyes betraying no emotion at all. Rae defied the crowd with her haughty stare, refusing to let their taunts shame her.

  They are braver than I am. Jesse’s legs felt weak underneath him, and he began to feel dizzy. Focus, he commanded himself. You have to be ready.

  On some signal from the official, three of the guards began to unlock their chains, first from around their wrists, then their ankles. While the guards stooped to the ground, Jesse kept his eyes fixed on Samar, watching, waiting.

  The chains had barely fallen to the ground when someone in the crowd screamed. Jesse jerked his eyes toward the sound and saw the Sheik’s throne licked with flames. A flaming arrow, a second one, whistled through the air and hit the platform behind him. Then three more at once, all from different directions, hit the pyres of wood, and they burst into flames.

  The guards around the Sheik were frantically trying to put out the fire. One threw the Sheik to the ground, trying to douse the flames that had caught onto his robes. The guards around Jesse didn’t seem to know what to do.

  In that instant, Jesse looked over at Samar. He nodded. Run to me when the time is right.

  Jesse turned to shout a signal to Rae and Silas, but, for a moment, no words would come.

  For, in that moment, figures appeared from the top of the palace wall and emptied huge cauldrons of water downward.

  And the wall of kaltharas exploded.

  Everyone in the crowd seemed frozen. “Run!” Jesse shouted, and that one word seemed to turn the streets into a stampede as the dark cloud of insects swooped toward them.

  Vaguely he saw Rae and Silas on either side of him. Rae was holding Silas’ hand, her eyes squeezed shut, sobbing and batting the kaltharas away as best she could.

  Then Samar’s face, framed by the gray hood, appeared in front of them. “Follow me!” he called.

  Jesse could do nothing else. Without someone to follow, somewhere to go, he would have been like anyone else in the crowd: panicked and disoriented. People ran and fell and shouted around him, not appearing to notice the escaping prisoners.

  Above it all was the high-pitched wail of the kaltharas, so loud that Jesse felt his eardrums would burst. It was all he could do to keep from dropping to the ground and covering his head with his hands. Anything, anything to block out the noise.

  Instead, he shoved people aside with his walking stick, trying to keep pace with Samar. At any second, he expected to feel a spear in his back. But the spear never came.

  The smoke cleared after they had run a few streets, and the kaltharas were fewer. Jesse flicked a kalthara off of his shoulder. They were falling now, their agonized panic lessening as the effects of the water wore off. Our cover will soon be gone, Jesse thought. He glanced down at his ridiculous costume. And I, at least, cannot hide.

  As if hearing his thoughts, a voice from behind him shouted, “After them! Don’t let the prisoners escape!”

  Jesse didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The man had spoken in Amarian. Captain Demetri.

  “Do not stop!” Samar yelled, as if they might have considered it. He began darting through alleys now, avoiding gutters and ducking under lines of laundry strung out to dry.

  Jesse was falling behind. His left leg began to ache dully, and his breathing was heavier. Samar ducked down passages so quickly that Jesse could hardly see where he had gone. “Come on, Jesse!” Rae called, glancing back at him.

  The others slowed down, waiting for him to catch up. Behind them, Captain Demetri’s voice was louder, still trying to rally someone to his aid. As far as Jesse could tell, he was their only pursuer. They could not lose him; he was too fast.

  If I stay with them, they’ll all be caught, Jesse realized. I’m slowing them down.

  Jesse made his decision. Even though it went agai
nst everything his panicked mind was screaming at him, he stopped and turned around, slowly and deliberately. The others kept running. With any luck, they’ll already be away before they realize I’m gone.

  Jesse didn’t move as Captain Demetri ran down the alley toward him. He paused a few steps before reaching Jesse, clearly expecting a trap. “Where did they go?” he demanded. “Tell me, and I will spare your life.”

  Jesse didn’t answer.

  “They will be caught, no matter what you do,” Captain Demetri said, taking a step closer, his sword raised. “The Da’armons have already closed every gate of the city. Ten guards are stationed at each, searching everyone who leaves. The other guards will search door to door, every house and attic and cellar. They will find your friends, and they will kill them.”

  Jesse never backed down. “Then they’ll have to do it on their own. I will not betray the members of my squad.”

  For some reason, that made Captain Demetri angry. Jesse could see the rage boiling behind his green eyes. “Then you will die alone!”

  Jesse ducked as Captain Demetri thrust his sword forward, scrambling back on the dusty street. He won’t miss again, he thought desperately.

  Then, movement to his left. The sound of metal against metal.

  Jesse looked up. It was Silas, a short broadsword locked with Captain Demetri’s. “You!” Captain Demetri exclaimed. He recovered quickly, his darting eyes making sure Silas was alone. “So you hope to best a Patrol captain at swordplay, young Guard member?”

  “No,” Silas said, calmly meeting his gaze. He simply stepped aside.

  With a blood-chilling cry, Rae jumped from the roof of the building. She grabbed onto a clothesline and launched herself, feet first, at Captain Demetri’s chest.

  He collapsed, his head hitting a stone doorstep with a sickening thud. Blood oozed from his temple and soaked into the dust. He did not move.

  Silas raised his sword to stab the fallen captain. “Don’t!” Jesse blurted, without realizing why. “He can’t even fight back.”