The Key of Amatahns

by Elisabeth Wheatley

  Chapter Thirteen

  Janir bolted upright just in time to see Lucan force his way through the low doorway of Zeerla’s house. Behind him followed his mortahns dragging Karile.

  “Janir! I was worried about you!” Karile cried.

  Lucan cast a poisonous glare in the enchanter’s direction. Her brother surveyed everything with a painfully familiar, quick, and decisive glance. Irritation was apparent when he spotted Janir standing between him and Zeerla and her daughter.

  “Rushing ahead of me, were you, sister?”

  “Please, Lucan,” Janir pleaded. “Don’t claim them.”

  At her supplication, Lucan’s eyebrows rose. “So they both have powers, do they? But only one is the seeress, so then the girl is what? An enchantress?”

  Her brother noticed Florete by the fireplace. His look when he caught sight of the girl made Janir’s gut clench.

  “What do you want with us, son of Drell?” Zeerla asked with the authority of a queen. She beckoned and Florete rushed to stand behind her mother. It was the only sign of unease the seeress showed.

  “I want to know the location of the Temple of Amatahns from you, but I may want something else from your young companion.” Lucan had not taken his eyes off Florete.

  The other Argetallams joined him in casting hungry stares toward the girl. Janir knew full well from stories what happened to enchanters or enchantresses who were claimed by Argetallams and she had no desire to see that happen to this child.

  Florete met their leers bravely, even though Janir herself was terrified. The girl’s courage was admirable and Janir wished that she could do more to protect them both.

  “That I cannot tell you.” There was a note of sadness in Zeerla’s voice, as if she knew that he would not be satisfied with that reply.

  “I think you can,” Lucan icily countered.

  “Do you know what will happen if you succeed and deliver the power of Amatahns to him?” Now Janir could see the seeress was afraid. The woman shifted to place herself more firmly between the Argetallams and her daughter, offering the only protection she could.

  “How is that relevant? Tell me where the temple is!”

  “I have seen him wreaking mayhem upon all the races…”

  “No one can control our race,” Lucan snapped. “As for the others, we could not care less.”

  “He will destroy the Argetallams!” Zeerla cried. “Even before the others are dealt with, his armies will march against you. Even the Children of the Karkaton cannot stand for long against such a force!”

  “I’ll leave that for the Lord Argetallam to decide,” Lucan retorted.

  “This world will become a wasteland and soon even his race will perish.”

  It was in vain that she beseeched Lucan. He was not one to be reasoned with. Letting off an irritated sound, he drew one of Janir’s karkaton from his belt, made a determined grimace as it stung him, and strode toward the seeress and her child. Janir tried to block her brother’s path, but he shoved her into a pile of rosemary next to the wall.

  Before Janir could clamber to her feet, an Argetallam warrior had seized Zeerla and Lucan dragged Florete from her mother. The small girl cried out in terror and Zeerla tried to keep hold of her, but it was useless.

  Janir rushed to intervene, but at a sharp command from her brother, Camak snatched her up and took her to stand beside Karile. The enchanter looked sadly at Janir and then pityingly at the young girl.

  Struggling, Florete reached for her knife. She yanked it free before Lucan saw and slashed him across the arm, just a scratch, but enough to draw blood. The Argetallam hissed in anger and wrested it out of her grip.

  “Little brachet,” Lucan snarled.

  Zeerla cried out in protest as his fist struck the child’s cheek. Whimpering, Florete clutched her face.

  “Is the child too much for you?” Camak sneered.

  Lucan glared at him. “My father will ask for an accounting when we return. If this does not change, I shall have to give an unfavorable report of you, mortahn.”

  Camak was unimpressed. “As will I of you, prince. In truth, my report is quite disappointing thus far.” He passed Janir to one of the other mortahns with as much care as if she were soiled laundry.

  Glowering, Lucan ignored the jab and dragged Florete to the middle of the room. He forced her to her knees, now in a more vicious mood than ever. “This girl is very dear to you, is she not?” Lucan snapped to Zeerla.

  The other Argetallams looked on silently for now. Janir had a feeling they would be doing something to assist had it been the Lord Argetallam holding Florete, but they didn’t seem to care for helping Lucan.

  “Please,” Zeerla whispered, showing the first hints of desperation. “She’s just a child, she has nothing to do with this.”

  “Perhaps not, but you do.” Lucan seized the girl’s hair, making her whimper in pain.

  Zeerla wrenched against the Argetallam gripping her wrists, but it was no use. “Just let her go.” There was already a dead hopelessness to her as she morosely shook her head. “I’ll do whatever you want, just…please…”

  “So you can lie to me as soon as she’s run off? Not good enough.” Lucan drove one of the karkaton into the back of Florete’s neck, right at the base of her skull. She screamed and like a mocking refrain, the karkaton wailed with her, a droning shriek.

  Zeerla cried out and fought against the warrior restraining her, but to no avail. She was forced to watch as her child was tortured.

  Having made his point, Lucan released Florete from the karkaton’s touch. The girl gasped and coughed weakly. Where the karkaton had been, a blistering, black mark appeared.

  “Will you tell me now?” Lucan demanded, stiffly bracing himself against the burn the karkaton inflicted on him.

  “Just…let her go,” Zeerla repeated, less resolutely this time. “Please, please, just let her—”

  With a slight sigh and shake of his head, Lucan drove the karkaton into Florete’s back. Janir hated being so helpless, so powerless to stop him.

  “Tell me,” he snapped

  “Lucan, please—” Janir was cut off as a hard fist cuffed her in the back of the head.

  Already the light was gone from Florete and her mother faltered. “If I tell you, she is doomed.” There was a tremor in her voice, but not a shred of doubt. The seeress must have foreseen this moment or some version of it.

  Shaking, Florete lowered her head. Janir didn’t think she could have been so brave under the same circumstances. Again she opened her mouth to reason with her brother, but the Argetallam at her back caught the motion and again silenced her with his fist.

  “Well then, how about this—you have my word that if you tell me what I want to know, I will let her live. If not—” Lucan savagely ground the karkaton against Florete’s flesh. The small girl screamed helplessly and flailed ineffectively against her tormentor. “Tell me!”

  “No.” Zeerla had tears streaming down her face. Janir thought she heard something below the demands of Lucan and the screams of Florete, but she couldn’t be certain.

  Lucan pulled the karkaton from Florete’s skin, panting in frustration. Determination steeled his features and he clenched the rod tighter.

  A low, throaty laugh escaped Camak. The mortahn chuckled unabashedly, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest. He said nothing, but he didn’t have to.

  Nostrils flaring, Lucan shoved the karkaton back into his belt. He jerked Florete around to face him and caught her throat. “If she means so little to you, then I see no reason not to claim her as my own,” he jeered, turning to the whimpering Florete.

  “No! Please!” Zeerla wailed.

  Florete weakly tried to struggle with Janir’s brother. Her futile resistance only served to annoy him.

  “Then, and this is the last time I will offer you this chance, tell me!” Lucan shouted, clenching Florete’s throat harder.

  Zeerla hesitated for several seconds
before she gave in. Lucan seemed to know that she would and waited.

  “According to my visions, the Temple of Amatahns is on the tip of the Rivellis Peninsula. In the forest.”

  “Thank you.” Lucan said it in a way that seemed more of a mockery.

  “You said you would let her go.” Zeerla twisted against her captor, but he held her fast. “I’m begging you, please.”

  “No,” Lucan growled. “I said I would let her live.” Janir’s brother turned to Florete. It was difficult to explain, but it was as though Lucan was seeping into Florete’s mind through her eyes. Or perhaps drawing her out of hers. Vaguely, Zeerla screamed in the back ground.

  Janir felt a deafening silence, a noiseless void, pound over her ears in a single pulse of mute thunder. The seeress screamed again and Florete slumped limply to the ground.

  Zeerla fought against her Argetallam captor and this time she broke free. Rushing to the side of her daughter, the seeress sobbed openly.

  “This is my fault.” Karile was beginning to weep.

  Although she had just been blaming him for this in her mind, Janir touched his arm in a sympathy. Lucan straightened and focused on his hands with hard interest. He grimaced in concentration until orbs of flowing light appeared in his upraised palms. Florete gasped as her strength was taken.

  “It never ceases to amaze me,” Lucan mused, extinguishing the orbs.

  This time Janir was certain that she heard something—faint whooshing. Glancing to her right, there was nothing. Checking her left—with a start, Janir beheld the elf Malkalar, standing before the low doorway that led to the rest of the house.

  He seemed to have simply appeared, materialized out of thin air. His dual wield swords were drawn. Despite having proved he was an enchanter, he showed no fear toward the Argetallams.

  “Holy fewmets!” Karile gasped. Janir felt much the same way.

  Several Argetallams drew their karkaton, looking to Camak for direction. He motioned for them to stand down. “One of you go outside and make sure the elf is alone,” Camak ordered quietly. “Otherwise, I see no reason not to let the prince deal with this himself.”

  “No, no, no, no,” Zeerla moaned, cradling Florete and bowing over her as if she could protect her. “No, no, no, not this, please not this…” She pressed her face against the top of her daughter’s head and the child clung to her in terror.

  “Who are you?” Lucan demanded. If he was surprised or unsettled by the elf’s soundless and unseen arrival, he gave no sign.

  “I will be taking the seeress with me,” Malkalar said, sounding remarkably casual for the circumstances.

  Zeerla did not turn away from her daughter. She did not act as if she had heard at all.

  “Who are you?” Lucan repeated in a deliberate tone, separating each word clearly to express that he was by no means impressed.

  “Someone who demands your compliance, mortal.” The elf spat out the name of the race as if it were poison. At a command from Malkalar’s lips, a loose piece of clay in the wall sprang up and darted for Lucan.

  Raising his hand, Lucan stopped the potentially deadly missile midair. It hovered for a moment, and retraced its course back toward the enchanter.

  Malkalar ducked to one side and uttered something that sounded like: “Damn Argetallams.”

  “An enchanter, are you?” Lucan asked, despite the obvious answer.

  “An Argetallam, are you?” Malkalar clipped sarcastically.

  Out of the corner of Janir’s vision, the scout returned and whispered in Camak’s ear. He nodded and once again waved for the other Argetallams to stand down. Somewhere beneath her terror and anguish over Florete, she wondered if Camak wanted her brother dead—he seemed to act like it.

  Malkalar caught the brief exchange between the men and his head cocked to one side slightly as he contemplated the chain of command. Methodically, he surveyed everyone in that room. Janir shuddered as his gaze raked over her.

  In that moment, Lucan and Malkalar seemed so alike. Both were so cold, so calculative. They might have been two versions of the same man. Wearied with the conversation, Lucan bent his fingers in a practiced pose and a tongue of flame appeared on his fingertips, grew stronger, then roared toward Malkalar.

  The Argetallams were remarkably calm given the circumstances. It was like they were watching a show, not a confrontation. But they had no reason to fear enchanters, they could deflect spells like gnats.

  In a motion almost too quick to be seen, Malkalar held his swords out before him and traced the top of an invisible shield.

  As the fire collided with it, the outline shimmered in a luminescent curtain. The flames died as if they had struck water, having no effect on the elven enchanter.

  Florete moaned weakly as Lucan used so much of her power at once. When Zeerla cried out in anguish, Janir knew her brother had killed the girl.

  A grimace creased Lucan’s mouth as he glanced furtively at the girl’s lifeless form before turning again to the enchanter.

  Realizing that the victor could not be decided by magic, the elf and Argetallam prince were both still unwilling to fight the other. Lucan must have noticed the assured and confident air about Malkalar that spoke of lifetimes’ in training and experience. As for the elf, he was doubtless uneager to risk his powers, which appeared to be substantial, in a tussle with this sturdy Argetallam youth and his mortahns.

  “Where is the Key of Amatahns?” Malkalar spoke with the air of one who is accustomed to swift and truthful replies.

  “Go to hell!” Lucan snarled.

  Janir didn’t pay attention to the rest of what Lucan and the elf said, though it was certainly a string of inquiries and insults flying both directions. She stared at Zeerla and Florete, wishing she could have done something to change what happened, wracking her brain for what she could have done differently.

  Leaping sideways, the elf sheathed his swords, snatched Zeerla’s arm, and in less than the time it took for a heart to be beat, dragged her from the body of her child. With a few hasty words from Malkalar, Zeerla’s glowing golden orb flew up from the table and rested in his other hand.

  Lucan clenched Janir’s karkaton and made to advance, but he already had what he wanted from Zeerla. He didn’t order the elf to return her.

  Janir couldn’t help see Zeerla’s devastation as she watched the body of Florete—the seeress’ raw sorrow would doubtless be imprinted on her memory for a lifetime. The girl lay motionless—a perfect, empty, hollowed shell. Not a mark on her and yet so far beyond saving. When Janir glanced up again, the elf and seeress were gone.

  Lucan shrugged. “We got what we wanted anyway. He can have the seeress for all I care.” He crammed the karkaton back into his belt. “Come along, we have a temple to find.” He refused to look anywhere near the body of the child he had killed and couldn’t leave that hut fast enough. He marched out the door and disappeared.

  Janir didn’t know what she would do, but pulling against one of the Argetallams, she reached for Florete.

  The girl lay there, just a husk of the very alive child that had been breathing moments before. Florete’s death to left such a heavy and painful weight in Janir’s chest it was hard to breathe.

  The Argetallams grappled with Janir for several seconds and then dragged her after Lucan, away from the lifeless girl and the seeress’ cottage.