“I wonder, why would he kill so many just to raise them again?”
Ellonlef tapped her lips, thinking. “What he did ensured that the people of Krevar owed him their lives, and the lives of their friends and family. Before Varis came, if the people of Krevar had been asked, they would’ve considered Varis Kilvar exactly what he was: a middling prince with little chance of ever sitting the Ivory Throne. Now he is more than a man or a prince. He is the Life Giver, a being who deserves absolute fealty, even worship.”
“The boy I knew was an arrogant princeling,” Kian said, “but he was no master tactician. Do you really think he was shrewd enough to come up with such a scheme on his own?"
“Whatever else he is, Varis is a man of King Simiis’s court,” Ellonlef said. “Such scheming comes as natural to Aradaner highborn as breathing does to you or me. In but one night, he was able to raise an army that wanted nothing more than to do whatever he desired.”
“I’ve been wondering,” Kian said, changing course, “when did Varis come to Krevar?”
Ellonlef thought a moment. “It was the third night after the first earthquake broke the fortress’ walls.”
Kian’s mouth fell open. “There is no way a man on foot could have traveled so far so fast.”
“As I said, he is more than a man.”
“Then what is he?”
Ellonlef swallowed. “A god poured into the flesh of a man.”
Kian tossed his fig. Its sweetness had become bitter on his tongue. “Then we had better get to King Simiis before Varis does.”
“What if we don’t?”
“You asked me that before.”
“You never answered.”
Kian sighed. “And I still cannot.”
“You could still flee Aradan, as you first planned,” Ellonlef said.
“That path is gone, if it ever existed. As you said before, Varis will not rest after taking the Ivory Throne.” He abruptly stood. “I should get back to my watch. And you, Sister, should get back to your blankets. Thank you for the fruit.”
Before she could respond, he moved down the trail.
~ ~ ~
For a long time after Kian merged with the rest of the canyon’s shadows, Ellonlef stayed where she was. She had never met a man quite like him, and she found him oddly … exciting? Yes, that's the word, she thought with a nervous blush. There was a harsh aloofness to him, but she had come to realize that was a necessary quality for a leader of warriors, men who fought and bled at every turn. There was also a raw, unbreakable strength to him that she found very appealing.
Exciting and appealing? Well, why not? Her blush warmed considerably. She wished she had her journal. Writing things out had always helped focus her mind, especially when her thoughts were swirling. It’s not just your thoughts that are swirling.
Smiling to herself, Ellonlef bit into a fig. She winced when a bit of sand ground between her teeth. She spat it out and stood, searching for a last glimpse of Kian, but he was gone. She stepped in the direction he had gone, but she froze at the rattle of falling pebbles behind her.
She waited, breath caught in her chest. The way the world’s been shaking, a few loose stones are bound to fall. Belying her thought, a man shouted in the direction of the ruins. Another screamed.
Ellonlef bared her dagger, and the figs gathered in her robes thumped to the ground. A rustling sounded from the dry streambed, but she turned too late. A shape loomed out of the night.
A man in a white tabard halted before her, his eyes flashing dull silver. Fear closed her throat. This was no man. Azuri and Hazad had said the eyes of the Mahk’lar under the Black Keep had silver eyes. I face a demon clad in the skin of a man!
The creature lunged, a blur of motion against the black backdrop of night. Ellonlef slashed her dagger, giving it pause.
“The Life Giver wants you,” the demon croaked. Chuckling nastily, it drew a sword. “The Life Giver did not say if you should come to him in one piece.”
Ellonlef found her voice. “The Sisters of Najihar do not answer to the spawn of the Thousand Hells.”
Derisive laughter gurgled in the night. Faster than thought, the creature cut at her with a sidearm stroke, missing her legs by a hair’s breadth. Before the demon could strike again, she hacked wildly at its neck, and was stunned to see a bluish spark where steel met flesh.
The demon cried out as it fell to its knees, clutching at the wound. Ellonlef made another cut, and the creature loosed a withering howl and sprawled on the ground. A wispy black shape rose up from it and broke apart.
Then Ellonlef was running, joining her voice to the chorus of screams and shouts coming from camp. She had not gone far when she heard the sound of thudding feet coming up behind her. She spun into a crouch, preparing to disembowel her next enemy.
“Ellonlef!” Kian called.
“Here,” she answered, relief flooding her.
Kian grabbed her elbow and dragged her along until they came to a fallen building. He cast about, looking for a safer place, but there was none. He tucked her into its roofless interior, hiding her behind a wall. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Out of sight.”
“You need my sword.”
“You wield a dagger.”
“Then I will take up the blade of the demon I just killed,” she retorted, trying to get past him. He shoved her back hard enough that she fell on her backside. “You great—”
Kian’s hand clapping over her lips cut off the flow of curses before they began. He stared straight into her eyes. “What demon?” he demanded, carefully drawing back his hand.
“It was a man, but with the same glowing eyes Azuri and Hazad described at El’hadar.”
His stare glittered darkly. Closer now, men were shouting, and the sounds of clashing steel echoed off the narrow canyon walls.
Ellonlef tried to stand, but he pressed her down. “Stay out of sight. I cannot divide my attention between your safety and fighting.”
She forced herself to relax and nod, as if she intended to do as he said. He gazed at her suspiciously, then sprinted away.
Muttering under her breath, Ellonlef waited and listened, torn between obeying him and joining the fight. No matter what Kian said, she did not need looking after, but he did need an extra sword in this fight.
The Life Giver wants you, she heard the demon say in her mind, and that decided her.
She hastened back to the thing sprawled in the sand, now a boneless, discarded skin of a man, gone to some foul, thick liquid. Swimming in the gore she saw the glint of chainmail and pale patches of its tabard.
Swallowing back her gorge, she hunted until she found its sword. The hilt was cold and damp, and she almost tossed it away. Instead, she raced toward the battle. Yells and the clangor of steel smashing steel grew into a chaotic din. As she drew nearer, she sensed a presence rushing in from one side.
She twisted, bringing the sword to bear. The creature halted, silvery eyes glinting. Ellonlef advanced, dagger held low in one hand, the sword held high in the other. The humpbacked figure had no apparent weapon, save long clicking talons. This was no longer a man, but a thing of flesh twisted into the likeness of the Mahk’lar’s spirit.
Ellonlef lunged, burying her dagger into its bowels with a hissing blue spark. Her sword whirled overhead and fell, striking off the demon’s upraised hand in a burst of azure fire.
Before its flesh could melt and its spirit escape, the Mahk’lar caught her sword arm in its remaining hand. As Ellonlef struggled to push it away, the stench of corruption filled her nose. The demon swarmed over her, pushing her down. Cold blood splashed across her face, poured into her open mouth. The stump of the creature’s wrist slammed against the side of her head. The next blow sent a cascade of twinkling lights across her vision.
Ellonlef lashed out with her dagger, stabbing and stabbing. The demon broke off with a strangled hiss, backed away. Seeing her chance, she aimed her sword at the creature’s neck.
The blow never fell.
Something heavy slammed into her from behind, and she landed on her belly with a muffled grunt. Her dagger and sword spun out of her grasp. Chill, snaky fingers squeezed tight around her neck, making her eyes bulge.
As she wallowed under the demon’s weight, the world began to fade before her eyes. The demon wrenched her head back until her neck popped, then slammed her face into the sandy ground, once and again, and all went utterly black.
Chapter 20
Through a veil of cold fury, Kian saw the silvery eyes and knew them for the same that he had seen under the Black Keep. Mahk’lar. These eyes, however, were set in the face of a man.
He parried a thrust and lunged, slamming his blade through the demon’s skull, creating a wild flaring of blue fire. Shrieking, the Mahk’lar fell away. Puffs of inky vapor burst from its wounds, and the figure slowly collapsed in a shapeless puddle.
Spinning around in a tight, guarded circle, Kian sought more foes, but there were none to be had. As fast as it had begun, the battle was over. One moment the demons were fighting, the next they had vanished.
“Light anything that will burn,” Kian shouted. He moved to the nearest banked cookfire and tossed a handful of tinder on the coals. A few puffs of breath set the dry wood and grass alight.
The Asra a’Shah began closing in, the whites of their eyes stark against their black skin.
“We need torches,” Ba’Sel said, fingering a deep slash to his cheek.
Azuri strode out of the dark spattered with gore, as if he had been dragged across the floor of a butcher’s shop. The blood, black and thick, was not his.
“I expect this will work well enough,” he said, tossing a shredded white tabard into the dust. Everyone could see the silver fist floating on a field of black. “Men of House Racote attacked us.”
“They were not men,” Hazad said.
“Mahk’lar,” Kian hissed.
Then he remembered Ellonlef.
He sprinted away, following the sandy path through the belly of the canyon. Someone shouted after him, but he ignored them.
When he got to the place where he had left her, he found only the empty building. He searched around, thinking she was probably balled up in a corner somewhere.
But that made no sense, not for a woman like her. And then he knew what she had done. He called her name, but the echoes of that cry were his only answer.
Hazad and Azuri trotted through the doorway, each bearing a hastily made torch.
Kian snatched Hazad’s away. “I’ll search to the north. You two head back toward the camp.”
“What are we looking for?” Hazad asked.
“Ellonlef,” Kian answered, even as he rushed down the trail.
He ran with the torch held high. He kept telling himself to slow down, get a better look at the ground, but he couldn’t help but push on at a sprint until the only tracks he saw were his.
More desperate than ever, he turned back, this time forcing himself to go slower. He halted when he reached the spot where she had killed the first demon. All that remained was a shirt of chainmail and a tabard floating in a pool of black ooze. There was no sword, and he knew Ellonlef had come back for it.
Where would she have gone from here?
He knew before the thought was complete.
When he returned to camp, he halted beside Azuri and Hazad, who were staring down at two objects on the ground. With torches held aloft, the flickering glow rippled along the edges of a sword and Ellonlef’s dagger. Black blood covered both. There was also another pile of clothing and armor soaking in a grisly stew. The ground was disturbed, with more splashes of black blood sprinkled everywhere. In one spot, the blood was bright red, fresh, surely Ellonlef’s.
“Spread out,” he ordered. “Search each side of the canyon. She may be wounded.”
For an hour or more, the company scoured every tumbledown hut, and delved into every split and hollow in the canyon walls. There was no sign of the Sister of Najihar.
When all had gathered again, each man bloodied and dusty, they gave their dismal reports.
“They must have taken her,” Kian said. He wrapped another swatch of cloth around the head of his torch. “Did anyone see tracks leading out of the valley?”
“They came from the east,” Ba’Sel said, trotting into the flickering torchlight. “They left the same way.”
“Are you sure? We cannot afford to waste a moment more following a cold trail.”
“Between the tracks we left when scouting the canyon earlier, and those made during the battle, it’s hard to say. But the tracks coming from the west are ours alone, where those in the east are from both parties. If she was taken, her captors escaped that way.”
“To horse!” Kian ordered.
Azuri and Hazad stirred, but the Asra a’Shah did not move an inch. Kian halted, searching their faces. The Geldainians looked back impassively.
“We do not blame you,” Ba’Sel said slowly, “but my brothers and I have paid too much blood for this quest. If Prince Varis were still under our watch, honor would obligate us to stay. As it is, when Varis tried to kill us in the Qaharadin Marshes, he destroyed any allegiance to him. Only out of respect for you have we continued as long as we have.” He bowed his head then, as if in shame, but his words were firm. “That respect remains, and should we find our way home, we will tell of your exploits and courage. The name of Kian Valara will be praised by our elders down through an age of men. But respect cannot compel us to continue this journey.”
Kian’s anger was drowned under a wave of regret. He needed these men if he was to find Ellonlef. “If it’s gold you seek—”
Ba’Sel shook his head. “Gold will not breathe life back into our brothers. Even if it could, we would turn away. If what has happened in Aradan has happened in our homelands, the few of us left will need to help our people. Our numbers will not be enough, but we few are better than none at all.”
Desperation overcame Kian’s pride. “Please help us find the trail, I beg you.”
Ba’Sel thought a moment before nodding. “That and no more.”
“Then let us begin.”
Chapter 21
Three times since Ellonlef had been taken, night had given way to a cold day. Tied into the saddle of a galloping horse, she swayed and bounced. Her face hurt from being slammed against the ground, and her throat was raw from being throttled, and from too little water. Neither those who had captured her, nor their mounts, seemed to need rest, food, or water.
League after league, they surged eastward across a high, scrubby desert. All visible brush off either side of the road was gray and brittle, a sight just odd enough to gain her notice. Despite the heavy smoke, she caught glimpses of a jagged line of mountains rising in the distance. That stunned her. When riding across the Kaliayth, only the Ulkion Mountains lay in the east. It should have taken much longer to travel so far.
Looking through bleary eyes at her captors, it was hard to accept them as demons when she knew them by name. Captain Huruga, and Sergeants Caulir and Naa’il. To the last, she had helped them or their families during her time in Krevar.
But those men were dead now. Their bodies survived, given abominable life by the demonic spirits within them, but the men they had been were gone.
As her mount crested a wide plateau, a sight came to her that exceeded her worst fears. Her gaze crawled over the motionless host before her. Thousands, she thought, sick inside. Only a very few of the army were mounted. How could they have run so far so fast?
With a sinking feeling, she understood that Varis’s powers were greater than she had dared imagine. As her captors swerved around Varis’s army, the full, terrible scope of his power came into view.
Most of those she rode past were lowborn men, women, and children. Thick layers of dust covered their faces, and their glazed eyes were fixed on some point in the distance. Leagues of hard running had disintegrated their shoes and boots and sandals, but their feet showed no sign of injury.
Ello
nlef’s horse slowed, and Naa’il led her toward a gathering of men some distance away. As they came closer, she noted Magus Uzzret’s skinny frame and blue robes, but he ceased to exist in her mind when she caught sight of the pallid, white-eyed man sitting astride a dark horse. He looked different, what with his full mane of pale hair pulled into a top-lock, but she recognized him all the same. Prince Varis Kilvar, the Life Giver.
Her heart began thudding. His pale eyes seemed to glow when he faced her. More astonishing, a sphere of flame flickered and danced over his palm. He paid it no more mind than he would have an apple, and showed no sign that the flames harmed him.
Sergeants Naa’il and Caulir reined in and dismounted. They were none too gentle about unlashing Ellonlef and dragging her to Varis, where they threw her into the dirt. With her hands bound before her, it was clumsy work pushing herself into a kneeling position.
The prince gazed at the ball of fire in his palm, then it abruptly winked out. “If you please, Magus Uzzret,” Varis said, “make sure our guest does not flee. I don’t wish to waste any more time and energy chasing her across the desert.”
“She’s not going anywhere, Master.”
“Very good,” Varis piped, leaping from the saddle. He gestured, and the soldiers followed him a few paces away.
Magus Uzzret watched them go, then turned a baleful eye on Ellonlef. “You shouldn’t have betrayed the Life Giver! You will suffer for your crimes!” With a snarl, he backhanded her.
Cheek flaming, she tasted blood on her tongue. The magus was not done. He kicked her in the belly. When she doubled over, he beat her shoulders with his wooden staff. A ringing blow cracked against the side of her head. Before the staff could fall again, her bound hands flashed out, catching the wood against her palms with a stinging smack. Magus Uzzret tugged hard, his leathery features twisted in outrage. Ellonlef wrenched the staff free of his grasp and hurled it aside.
“Filthy whore!”
Ellonlef answered with a bitter laugh. “I’ve always pitied you, Uzzret, but never so much as now.”
The God King (Book 1) (Heirs of the Fallen) Page 14