The Children of Anthi: Anthi - Book One

by Deborah Chester

  “Quickly!” he said, shoving Giaa ahead of him. “Run for the rocks.”

  She started to obey without question, only to stop with a gasp. Blaise stumbled into her. A column of blue light flashed ahead of them, stampeding the chaka herd into bawling panic. Shouts rang out as warriors erupted from the tents.

  “Merdarai!” swore Blaise in a fury, and seized Giaa’s arm. “Circle it!” He started to run, dragging Giaa with him, but the light spread, crossing their path a second time, making them plain targets for the Bban’n. He skidded to a halt and threw himself down in a crouch behind the inadequate cover of a thornbush.

  “What is it?” Giaa gasped for breath, her free hand clamped upon the hilt of her jen-knife. “Merciful Anthi, what is it?”

  “We’ve got to find a way out.” Blaise sprang up again, intending to head for the better cover of a group of boulders to his right. But the blue light narrowed into a column, and a figure began to shimmer into existence in its center. Blaise glanced over his shoulder. The Bban’n had stopped and were staring, the light glinting off their weapons, throwing needle-thin shadows across the ground.

  When he looked back, he felt a stab of anger mingled with fear. Aural stood before them, robed in white luminous cloth, without cloak or mask, her burnished hair tumbling down about her like a garment.

  “I come,” she said in a voice that rang like a bugle. “I am Aural. I seek the Leiil Asan.”

  Giaa drew in her breath audibly and shrank closer to Blaise. He put an arm around her in reassurance, but inside he was suddenly hollow and cold.

  “You see?” shouted Tuult over the hush. “I have not betrayed the tribes as is claimed. It is the leiil you have brought into your midst. He is the betrayer of the tribes.”

  “Give unto me Asan,” said Aural, lifting her hand, which glowed with blue phosphorus. “And you shall no longer be troubled by Tlar.”

  “Dung!” shouted someone in shrill defiance, and a javelin was hurtled at her, only to shatter on the shimmering blue force field surrounding her.

  “Fools!” She flung out her hand, and a bolt of energy struck down two Bban’n. They fell, screaming, and the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

  “N’a en wulrad,” said Tuult in awe, stepping forward to kneel before her. “We are thine, Dame Aural—”

  “Ny!” snapped Blaise, too furious to permit this to continue. He ran forward out of the shadows, warding off Giaa’s snatch at his arm, and kicked Tuult sprawling. “Worship her not! She—”

  “It is a trick!” shouted someone from the crowd. “A Tlar trick! He came here to betray us. Chi’zan ahl! Choi’hana!”

  His rings warned Blaise. He whirled, his heart pounding, and raised his hand. Deflected at the last moment, the javelin splintered against the force he flung at it and fell short at his feet.

  “He is Tlar! He has heard our strategies. Death to the slayer!”

  They surged forward with howls. Ignoring his instinct to flee, Blaise held his ground, lifting a shimmer of blue force field.

  “We must talk, Asan,” said Aural. “Come, let us be gone from these heathens.”

  “I have nothing to say to you. If Hihuan’s army alarms you and Noble Picyt—”

  “And is it your thought that the Bban tribes are safe?” she retorted with a hint of desperation. “When your hand destroyed Anthi—”

  “Go!” he shouted, unwilling to listen further. He glared at the warriors circling him with drawn swords. “I won’t put myself back into Picyt’s hands.”

  “Do I ask that?” Her eyes flashed. “We must talk, you and I. Now. Before I am missed.”

  He gritted his teeth. “Then talk.”

  “Fool! This is not for Bban ears.”

  Bban musk, hot and nauseating, tainted the night air.

  “Asan!” shouted Giaa in warning.

  Blaise spun, ignoring the sword that slashed vainly at his force field, and flung out a hand even as a javelin hurtled death at her. His rings snapped between her and the weapon barely in time, and she stared, dumbfounded, at the broken javelin lying at her feet before catching her breath with a sob.

  “Oh, my Leiil,” she cried, falling to her knees. “Is there nothing beyond thy powers?”

  He deepened his concentration to maintain the effort of protecting both himself and her, and his reply was lost as more Bban’n attacked. His rings shivered; he braced his feet and lifted one hand unconsciously to his temple as the strain increased.

  “Henan-dung!” They swarmed toward her, barking savagely like a horde of wild animals.

  Desperately Blaise dissolved his own protection to cast the full strength of his rings around her. But even as he did so, Aural’s rings sliced across his, jolting him to his knees. A stone struck him in the shoulder, then another, then a wall of blue energy formed around him. Aural’s energy. He lifted his head, panting and furious, then sprang to his feet as he saw a howling warrior lift Giaa’s unconscious body. Her golden hair spilled over the warrior’s arm, and blood dripped through the shining strands.

  “No!” cried Blaise, pounding at the force field with all the strength of his mind.

  But Aural held him a moment longer. “Are you Tlar or beast?” she asked with contempt. “On my vow of your life, I swear this is no attempt to bring you into Picyt’s presence.” She swept out her hand as he reluctantly turned to her. “You see what the Bban’n think of you. Come. Let us talk. Let us parley, you and I, apart from all other Tlar…or Bban.”

  Was Giaa dead? His mind reached out, only to be blocked by the chaos of the Bban’n rings overlapping uncontrollably. A youth, clad in mail tabard and mask, ran past him with a shrill yell and severed Tuult’s head just as the pon gathered himself to run toward the rocks. The head rolled like a gruesome ball, its mask falling away with a clatter upon the stony ground.

  “Thus we deal with Tlar and Tlar-lovers!” he shouted, dancing defiance at Blaise as he swung his bloodied sword through the air.

  A terrible fury burst within Blaise. He wanted to destroy them all. The dancing, taunting warrior wavered in his sight as blue fire consumed him. He drew his sword and gripped it with both hands.

  “Release me, Aural,” he grated, conscious of nothing save the fire in his blood. “Release me!”

  “Fool—” she began furiously, her rings wavering about him as he gathered himself to crush her from his way.

  “Chi’ka!” shouted a sudden, stern voice.

  Turning with a glare, Blaise saw the elder Ggil flanked by two other aged Bban’n coming forward. Silence fell over the battleground.

  Ggil gestured, coming to a halt some distance from Blaise and Aural. “Take Giaa to my tent,” he said, his voice gruff with anger. His glowing silver eyes bored into Blaise, who lifted his sword.

  “I shall revenge the spreading of her blood upon the sand,” he said, his voice tight with grief.

  Ggil lifted his head. “Revenge is not thy right, Tlar leiil. Go from us and say this unto the jen of Hihuan: We spit upon them. Our coming is soon.”

  “I’m not your messenger boy,” snapped Blaise. “And I shall take revenge how I please.” He spoke directly to Aural. “Release me. We shall meet on the wastes.”

  She obeyed without a word, dropping the force field that held him.

  Gathering his rings tightly about himself, Blaise looked once more upon the elder. “I shall not return in friendship, Bban.”

  “We do not seek it, Tlar,” retorted the old man. “Begone from us, you and your female. We swear on the blood that no Bban shall rest until all Tlar are cleared from our land.”

  “So vow the Tlar!” said Aural proudly.

  “Damn you both.” Desperately Blaise threw himself into seizert before he could give way to his sorrow and rage and become as brutal a savage as they all were. Oh, Giaa, he thought, his heart tearing as he swept through the cold void of nonexistence. Giaa!

  Chapter 14

  In the barren expanse of the desert, the night sky loomed overhead, sta
rs sprinkled sparingly over the blackness. Blaise stood alone upon the crest of a dune, his booted feet planted wide apart in the loose, shifting sand. Before him the wind swept out in cold loneliness, tumbling a tall dune down on a smaller one before eddying in a circle and whipping away. Nor was the desert empty. Beneath the sigh of the wind and the faint rustling of the sand he could hear the smaller sounds of creatures prowling and slithering among the stones on the ridges.

  It should not have taken Aural this long to sense his location. Increasingly suspicious, he was on the point of leaving when his skin prickled in warning. Blue fire flashed through the night, dazzling his eyes. Then Aural stood before him, a scant ten feet distant. She now wore a cloak of shimmering blue and silver and a thin gold circlet upon her brow. She was alone.

  He stared at her in silence, in control of himself once again. But it was a tenuous, brittle grip. He had sealed his heart in ice that might shatter if his resentment against her grew much stronger.

  She held out her hand, cupping the palm, and after a moment a tiny flame of cold blue light flared there, shining between her fingers. She tossed it down onto the black sand between them, and the flame curled and glowed more brightly, illuminating her face and, he supposed, his.

  He kept his fingers curled tightly about the hilt of his sword. “We are here,” he said coldly. “Speak.”

  She inclined her head, possibly as a sign of obedience, but the movement also prevented him from reading her expression. “Your attitude makes it difficult.”

  He snorted. “And your treachery compounds itself.”

  “No!” She raised her head at that and started to extend a hand in appeal, only to drop it once again to her side. “Why must you be so blind?” She bit her lip, glancing away. “How am I to explain?”

  He said nothing.

  “Please.” She stepped forward, but stopped as he half drew his sword. Something of her usual scorn flickered in her face. “Bban weapons between us, Asan? Do you not now hate the Bban’n for what they have done? Forswear their cause—”

  “I am not Tlar,” he snapped, no longer bothering to curb his impatience. “And what I swore against the tribes is my personal battle. Now tell me why you wish to speak with me! If it is to persuade me to rejoin Picyt’s forces, you may save your breath. I am not his tool. There is nothing you can say now that will convince me to trust him, especially after his attempt to addict me to yde.” He sneered, hating her. “Was that your idea? I wonder.”

  Her face tightened. “Your accusations are true,” she whispered. “I am here at Picyt’s bidding. But, oh, Asan, wait!” she cried, throwing up her hands as Blaise drew his sword with an oath. “Please, please hear me! I had to; you know how he commands me with this torment in my veins.”

  Reluctantly Blaise lowered the sword and glared at her. “I know. And what would you do now, Aural, persuade me to ally myself with you against him?” He laughed with a scorn that darkened her cheeks.

  “Can no appeal pierce this harshness?” Her breathing was ragged. “Lea’dl, are you all Asan, or does Blaise Omari still exist somewhere within you?”

  He frowned. “Why?”

  “Because…” She pressed her hand to her trembling lips and shut her eyes for a moment. “Because I am Saunders.”

  For an instant it was as though reality had been suspended. He stood there staring at her while the wind whipped between them in a sudden gust. Then he strode to her, still gripping his sword, and seized her arm with his left hand.

  “What lie is this?” he demanded with a snarl.

  “N-no lie!” She gasped, trying to wrench free without success. “You are crushing my arm.”

  “I care not.” He stared with fury into that proud, flawless face. “You are not Saunders! I am not such a fool as to believe that.”

  “But I tell the truth!” Tears sprang to her eyes as his fingers gripped harder. “I—”

  “Saunders could not have acted the part,” he broke in, tired of her lies, tired of everything. “If you wanted me to believe this, Aural, you should have appeared a little more stupid and a great deal less mocking.”

  “But Picyt has told me what to say and how to act. He commands my powers.” Again she tried to twist free. “Please, you must believe me. There has been no chance for escape. Please—”

  “Merdarai,” he said in disgust and pushed her away. Her tale had the ring of truth, but he refused to consider it.

  She stumbled, falling to her knees in the sand and cutting herself as it ripped through cloth and flesh. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked up at him imploringly. “Why will you not believe me?” she asked, her voice breaking. Unsteadily she got to her feet, trying to shake the vicious sand from her clothes without touching it. “Look upon me with truth, if you must.”

  Suspicion stabbed through him as he stepped back to sheath the sword with a vicious snick. “Oh, yes, how very clever,” he said, mocking her. “What better way to entrap me than to have me enter your mind. You think like a snake, my dear.”

  Genuine anger flared in her eyes. “And at what time has the strength and power of Aural ever surpassed that of Asan? Have you become such a coward then, to fear the truth?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Very well. Permit my sight. But I warn you of this.” He clasped the sword hilt once more. “This can kill just as well as the fire of Anthi.”

  She compressed her lips. “I am aware of that.”

  Cautiously he extended his senses over her, even more wary and distrustful than he had admitted. But on the surface of her mind lay all the confusion and anger and dislike of him he had known in Saunders. He recognized the mental pattern of Saunders, blurred now by tendrils of yde. Jolted unpleasantly by the cold contact with her, he withdrew, not choosing to go deeper.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He gestured, dropping his hand away from the hilt. “You look better than you used to.”

  She frowned, then sighed with relief. “So—”

  “I may believe you, but I don’t trust you any more than before,” he said curtly. “Less, in fact.”

  “But why close yourself to me?” she asked, sweeping out her hands in exasperation. “I understand now what Picyt is. He forced me to take Aural’s form. And now he wants me to bring you back to him so that he can take your powers for his own.”

  A chill coursed through Blaise. “How? No, never mind,” he added quickly, preferring not to know the grisly details.

  “He has not much time,” she said. “Hihuan toys with him in this waiting game. But by now his spies have surely learned that the Bban’jen have left Picyt’s side. Hihuan will attack soon, and Picyt is mad with fear. He needs you to restore Anthi’s power, and he means to have you.”

  Blaise spoke sharply. “Yes, and for someone claiming to be good old Saunders now willing to take up my side, you needn’t have betrayed me to the Bban’n.”

  She gestured scornfully. “What else could I do? I have told you, I am under Picyt’s will. It is my life if I do not bring you back.”

  Something of his suspicions returned. “Can he reach you even out here?”

  “No,” she said, pulling back the strand of hair the wind had blown into her face. “But how long can one survive in the wastes?”

  He sighed, nodding with comprehension, and walked several feet away to stand frowning out across the barren dunes. She made no attempt to speak or approach him, and perhaps it was that which made him brush aside his doubts and turn back to her.

  “Well, Saunders,” he said grimly. “I suppose he must be stopped before he tries something more insidious.” He met her strained, serious eyes, and when she did not answer, continued: “What chance have we of Hihuan’s assistance?”

  She shivered and ran her hands briskly up and down her arms beneath her cloak. “Little. Remember that he does not choose to relinquish his position as Tlar leiil to you.”

  “Demos, what does it matter!” exclaimed Blaise impatiently.

  “It matters to
him. He has force-marched an army here to preserve what he has. He will not trust you.”

  “But is Picyt not more his enemy?” insisted Blaise, unable to understand why they should not at least try to form an alliance.

  She eyed him steadily. “You would have to fight him first, to the death, to gain his jen for your own. It is the way of the Tlar, whether we understand it or not.”

  And he knew in his heart that she was right. He sighed, uneasy and restless. “What, then, do you suggest?”

  She gestured, looking as reluctant as he. “I think you know the only thing that can be done.”

  “We must go into Picyt’s lair,” Blaise responded.

  She turned up her palm. “Together. To betray him this last, final time.” Her eyes sought his. “Will you go, Blaise Omari?”

  “Yes,” he said after a long pause, while she grew tense beside him. “There is nothing else I can do if he is to be stopped.”

  She smiled in relief. “Then let us go quickly and finish it.”

  The dank, cold interior of the caverns of M’thra made him shiver with a coldness that cut to the soul. He glanced swiftly up and down the narrow stone corridor, catching his balance after the brief vertigo of seizert, and took two strides forward only to stop and press himself against the jagged stone wall as he heard footsteps. But it was only Aural who approached him.

  “Merdarai,” he breathed, releasing his sword hilt.

  “Come,” she whispered nervously. “We are not far from his private quarters.”

  He smiled grimly and gestured to indicate that she go first. “After you, Saunders.”

  “Very well.” Sneering, she swept her blue and silver cloak tightly about herself and moved down the passageway at a rapid pace.