***
“This is not good,” Karile surmised. It had taken him an hour to regain his senses after Lucan’s beating. “Not good, not good. Not good. So very not good.”
Janir agreed, but she was getting tired of hearing him say it.
“If you don’t stop talking, I will cut your tongue out myself,” Lucan threatened, glowering from a log beside the fire.
Lucan was a little apart from the others by the flames, eating something that had once been a deer while watching the prisoners bicker. The crescent moon hung high above them, a solemn face among the twinkling stars so bright that they silhouetted the towering mountains against their sparkling display.
Karile glanced at Lucan, wondering whether or not he would make good on the threat. After staring for a spell, the enchanter must have decided that it was wise not to upset him.
With a deep sigh, Janir leaned against the sapling at her back. Lucan was holding the silver egg, tilting it this way and that to reflect the firelight, examining the intricately carved runes with curiosity. He sat just a few paces away, taunting them.
The Argetallams had brought their horses to the campsite and, with dismay, Janir saw that they had Kalbo as well. He was tethered with the other steeds and treated the same as one of them. Janir wasn’t surprised—he was a well bred animal. He had a great deal of value, but money couldn’t buy what he meant to her. She would have to find a way to take him with her when she escaped—and she was determined that she would.
In the distance a cougar roared after its prey. The distressed bleating from a mountain goat followed the triumphant snarl. The fire crackled contentedly, feasting on deadwood. An owl hooted from somewhere nearby.
“Beautiful. Isn’t it, Janir?” Lucan murmured, not even glancing in her direction.
She wasn’t certain if he was referring to the animals or the egg, so she said nothing.
“All but unlimited power,” Lucan absently mused. He held up the Key. “Imagine what it would be like if we could use this?”
Janir was very grateful that they couldn’t.
The other Argetallams kept mostly to themselves, which seemed a bit odd. They did a fair amount of whispering and chattering when Lucan wasn’t looking in their direction. She noticed that they usually glanced to their young leader as they gossiped. Janir wasn’t sure what to make of that.
Lucan took to examining her karkaton. He didn’t touch them, just let Janir wonder what he was doing as he studied them cryptically.
Janir found that she itched to have them back. They were Argetallam, yes, made by the Lord Argetallam, but Armandius had put them in her saddlebags for a reason. He must have known what they were for and that they could help her—more importantly, he meant for her to use them.
Janir wondered if he had known all these years what was in the mahogany box. Had he assumed she did, too?
Lucan said in a quieter tone, “As your brother, they resent me, but I can still use them if I am willing to endure the pain.”
He held up the silver chain dangling the crest of Caersynn—he’d taken it off her when he’d tied her to the sapling. Janir wasn’t sure he recognized it or if he was flaunting that he was now in possession of everything that had been theirs, but he examined it carefully just as he had the Key and her karkaton.
After a few moments, he tucked the medallion away, stashing it in an inside pocket of his jerkin. “Sleep well you two,” he said, almost scornfully. “We have a long trek tomorrow.”
The Key of Amatahns Page 21