Lehmor shook his head. “No time. They need me.” He wiped his hands on a piece of cloth smelling of alcohol and herbs.
“So do I. I must talk to you about what happens next.”
Lehmor studied his hands with dismay, then rubbed them harder, leaving small chunks of caked blood on the cloth. “Next?”
“Next. I need to take back the Capital. Only then can we bring peace to the planet.”
A deep frown creased Lehmor’s brow for a moment, as if he failed to understand the words, then he let out a bitter chuckle. “Another war? This one’s barely over.”
Cyrus paused, confused. “What do you mean? You are now the leader; the Old Woman has said so. Just give the order and the First will follow us to battle. Word is, the Capital is preparing for war with Anthea. Already, most of their forces are in Jonia. Once the troops leave, the Capital will be defenseless. Jonia may even join us—the revolt has left many an open wound. This is the time to strike, Lehmor. We may never get another chance like this.”
“Then what?” Lehmor snapped. “We helped you once. And for what? You sent us away, discarded us when you no longer needed us.”
Cyrus gawked at him. “That… that was different.”
Lehmor crossed his arms. “How?”
Heat rose to Cyrus’s head. “This time I know what went wrong. How to fix it. With your help and the Old Woman’s, I can set things right.”
Lehmor gave him a hard stare. “Sorry, Newcomer.”
The word stung Cyrus like a slap. He took an involuntary step back. “Newcomer?” he stammered. “After everything we’ve been through, I’m still just a Newcomer to you?”
“We’re done fighting for you.” Lehmor nodded to the village around them. “My place is now with my people.”
Your people? No, that’s not it. “Your daughter. You don’t want to leave her.” There was no hiding the bitterness in Cyrus’s voice.
“Her name is Azalia.”
Azalia! The memory of the ancient warrior who had beaten Pratin brought a half-smile to Cyrus’s lips, despite his rising anger. “She’d like that.” The smile evaporated. “But you’re a warrior. Your place is with a sword in your hands, fighting.”
“Not anymore.” Lehmor’s tone grew softer. “It’s a time to build, not fight.”
Blood rushed to Cyrus’s head again. Sure. And when Teo comes for you, he’ll tear it all down again. “What do you think will happen when Teo is done with the Democracies?”
“He’ll come for us.”
“Exactly.” He placed both hands on his waist, looking at Lehmor mockingly. “What will you do then?”
“We’ll fight.”
Cyrus threw his hands in the air. “And you’ll lose,” he shouted, stressing the last word. “Now is the time to fight, not when he’s got the whole planet behind him.”
Lehmor rubbed his eyes. “Altman has a great army, right?”
“So?” Cyrus said with a shrug. “We have the Sheim-h’thor.”
“A handful of suits against the Capital’s army.” Lehmor shook his head. “No.”
Why can’t he see? This is a war he’ll have to fight anyway. “It will only be harder in the future.”
“Will it? In the future, Altman’s army will be weak from the war.” He started back toward the tent with the wounded, as if to signify the conversation was over. “Perhaps we can strike when Altman’s away, fighting Anthea. Or when he’s fighting the rest of the Democracies. Maybe then we fight. But not now.”
“It has to be now,” Cyrus shouted. He grabbed Lehmor’s arm to stop him from walking away.
Lehmor stared at Cyrus’s hand until he dropped it. “Why?”
“Because…” Because now I feel invincible. The words trailed off. How could he explain what his heart knew?
A flash of sorrow crossed Lehmor’s face. He placed a hand on Cyrus’s shoulder. “You’re back to your old ways. impatient. Impulsive. Reckless. Following you will only lead us to ruin. And this time, the Whispers are not to blame. It’s your nature you must fight.”
Enraged, Cyrus shoved his hand away and spun around. “Then, I’ll do it all alone.”
“Then you’ll die,” Lehmor shouted back, sadness tingeing his voice.
Angel
“Hold this.” Moirah took a steaming pot from the fire and passed it to Angel. “Careful.”
Angel took the handle in her hands. “Now what?”
“Now we wait.”
Azalia, Moirah’s baby daughter, crawled to the fire pit in the middle of the room. Its flames casted long shadows that danced on the hut’s sparse wooden walls. The toddler made her way almost all the way to her mother, then the swaying flames caught her eye. She raised one hand to touch the fire.
“Now,” Moirah said in a gentle voice and inched closer to her daughter.
Angel poured some hot water on the child’s reaching hand. The toddler squealed in surprise and pain.
Angel’s heart tightened in her chest. “Are you sure about this?”
“How else can she learn that fire is dangerous?” Moirah asked, taking her wailing daughter in her arms. “Don’t worry, the water is hot, but not that hot.”
“Still, it looks a bit cruel.”
“Life is dangerous. The sooner she learns that, the safer she’ll be.”
To Angel’s surprise, Azalia reached her hand to the fire from the safety of her mother’s arms. Moirah nodded at Angel.
Angel poured some more hot water on the raised fingers. Sorry! Again, Azalia screamed and buried her head in Moirah’s nape.
“Do we have to do that with ours, too?” Sam’s voice asked from behind them.
Angel’s breath caught.
Moirah shot her a surprised glance. “Are you…?”
Heat rose in Angel’s cheeks. She nodded, a timid smile on her lips.
Moirah shot up, holding Azalia in one arm, and wrapped Angel in a tight hug with the other, squealing in glee. “I’m so happy for you two.” Azalia blinked her big brown eyes in surprise, stopping her crying.
Angel laughed and wrapped her own arms around the mother and child.
“Can I join in?” Sam asked with a chuckle. He wrapped them all in a bear hug. Soon, all four of them were laughing.
Their mirth was interrupted by Cyrus bursting into the hut. “Moirah, you need to talk to Lehmor,” his angry voice said.
They all pulled away.
“Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “You have to make him see. We must attack the Capital. Now is the time to strike.”
Angel’s eyes widened. “Cyrus!” she cried out. “What are you talking about? We barely escaped with our lives last time.”
“And that’s why we have to go back now. We can never be safe with Altman at the throne.”
Angel cocked an eyebrow. “Throne?”
“Oh, come on,” Cyrus snapped at her. “That’s what it is. The Justices have been ruling like queens for centuries now. Wake up, will you? The only thing you can do with a rabid dog is put it down.”
“Were there rabbit-dogs on Earth?” Moirah whispered in Angel’s ear, two deep lines forming between her eyes.
“I’ll explain later,” Angel whispered.
“But your husband won’t fight,” Cyrus continued, his anger rising. “All of a sudden, he’s turned coward.”
Angel’s anxious gaze shot to her friend.
Moirah’s face turned beet red. Her eyes narrowed. “Coward?”
Cyrus let out a frustrated sigh and threw his arms open in surrender. “Fine. Not a coward. A family-man, then.”
Moirah glared at him, obviously unready to forgive him just yet. “He does have a family to think of. Haven’t we done enough fighting?”
Understanding dawned on Angel. Of course! He’s already lost so much, spent so much time away from them. She stepped between the two of them. “We all need a little peace for a change.”
Cyrus rolled his eyes in an exaggera
ted manner. “But if he gives up now, he’ll only be postponing a war. Teo won’t stop with Anthea. Once he rules the rest of Pearseus, do you really think he’ll leave the North alone?”
Angel ignored him. “Lehmor probably thought he’d lost them so many times.” When you slept with his wife, she wanted to say. When you left him for dead. When she nearly died in Malekshei. The bitter words failed to leave her mouth. “All the man wants is to raise his daughter in peace. Can’t you see that?” How can you ask for more? He’s already given more than his fair share.
“I don’t think he cares,” Sam snapped. “I think that all he’s interested in is another chance at his precious throne.”
“Sam!” Angel tugged his arm.
Sam jerked his arm free. “I’m sorry, but your brother needs to hear this.” He waved a finger at Cyrus, whose upper lip twitched in a sneer that resembled an angry dog, like he would bite the offending digit off. “Angel needs you. Especially now.” Angel shot him a warning glance and he paused for a moment. “The twins need you. But all you can think of is yourself. It’s like you don’t care if you get yourself killed. Well, I’ve got news for you: your family does. And I love them all too much to say nothing.”
“I…” Cyrus stared at his sister’s eyes and his voice trailed off. “Don’t you get it? You are the reason why I have to go. To keep you safe.” His face hung with a sudden look of exhaustion. “The twins need me? They hardly know me. I was taken away when they were just babies. Never got to watch them grow up. Never got be a brother to them. What do I have to offer them now?” He ran his fingers through his hair, a pained look on his face. “I’ve let you all down so many times already. How can I do nothing now, with Altman still after us?” He faced Moirah again. “That’s why you’ve got to help me.”
Moirah shook her head and slowly let Azalia down. “I’m sorry.” The toddler wrapped her chubby arms around her leg, as if to comfort her.
Cyrus stayed silent for a long moment, his head hanging. “In that case, thank you all for everything you’ve done,” he said in a low voice. “I won’t trouble you anymore.” He eyed Moira and, for a moment, warmth flashed in his eyes. “At least, I hope you’ll take care of them until I return.”
“Cyrus, you and your family are always welcome here,” Moirah said in a quiet voice.
“Wait, you’re still leaving?” Angel asked.
“What choice do I have?” Cyrus rubbed his eyes. “Apparently, it’s my only chance at my throne.”
Sam rolled his eyes in exasperation, refusing to take the bait. “You can’t return to the Capital. It’s suicide.”
Cyrus shook his head. “I’ve been rudderless for too long, going wherever fate’s currents threw me,” he said softly. “I need to reclaim my life, make my own choices.”
“And of all the choices you have, you pick the Capital?” Sam’s voice sounded incredulous.
Angel placed her hand on her brother’s arm. “You speak of fate, but she hasn’t cared much for our plans so far.” Her voice sounded bitter to her ears. “At least you’ll be safe here.”
Cyrus shot her an angry glare. “Until Altman comes. Why can’t you all see that?”
“Cyrus, she’s right,” Sam said. “You can’t return there.”
“No, I can’t. Not alone. But I’m the only one who can stop Altman and the coming war. I have to go, but I need allies. So, I’ll go to Anthea instead.”
“It’s madness,” Sam muttered, his voice heavy with resignation.
“Well, what choice do I have?” Cyrus blurted out. “I can’t wait here for Teo to attack. I can’t return to the Capital. So, I’ll go fight him wherever I can.” He ran his hands through his hair again. “He’s headed to Anthea. I still have my Sheim-h’thor. So does David. Together, we can make a difference.”
“David?” Moira’s brow furrowed. “David’s already left.”
“I know which road he took,” Cyrus said with confidence. “It’s a shortcut through the mountains. If I hurry, I can catch up with him.”
Angel studied his handsome face. There was so much of their father there that her eyes welled up. She knew her brother. Once he’d made up his mind about something, there was no turning back.
Sam gave her a questioning look. Should we tell him? he seemed to ask.
She shook her head. Letting Cyrus know he was going to be an uncle would only add to his worry and he needed a clear head to fight his war. She drew him closer and fell into his arms. “I wish you’d stay. Sam’s right. We need you here. All of us.”
After a long moment, she felt his hands clasp behind her back. “I can’t just sit around doing nothing, sis. I’m sorry.”
She snuggled against his nape. “I know.”
“Look after the twins for me, will you?”
“I will. And you look after yourself.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he said confidently. “Worry about Altman.”
February 36, Caria
Gella
Much to Gella’s relief, the weather had been unseasonably calm and the trip to Caria, the small port at the mouth of the Meandering River, had been uneventful. So much so, she had arrived two days too soon for her meeting with the tugboat captain who would take her up the river and into the Capital.
Not willing to risk someone recognizing her, she had spent most of that time locked up in her room at one of the many inns that dotted the port. She even took her meals there, despite her desire to check out the unfamiliar city and hear the local rumors.
She had chosen a room that viewed a lanky bell tower with a clock, one of the highlights of Caria. It now chimed midnight, which meant her wait was finally over. She sprang to eager feet and hoisted her satchel on her shoulder. Her short sword was already tied around her belt and thigh, and she had settled her bill earlier in the evening. With nothing keeping her from the next leg of her journey, she swung the door open and slipped out of the inn and into a dark street.
As she turned the corner, her hair in the back tingled with the familiar sensation of being watched. She pushed her cowl down to her ears and glanced around her. No soul was to be seen. Her hand slipped to the pommel of her sword as she let her satchel slip down and pretended to think about which direction to go.
A young couple stumbled out of a house behind her. The girl giggled as they passed her. When they disappeared down a side street, Gella’s hand relaxed on the pommel. She leaned to pick up the satchel, then a violent shove knocked her over.
Instead of pushing back, she let herself fall and twisted her body to jump right back on her feet. Her hand flew to her sword and released it from its leather prison.
Two men stood before her, their shadows standing out in the darkness. One of them stood half a foot taller than her, the big muscles in his body tight against a long leather overall.
“You’re the Butcher,” a deep, gravel-like voice whispered.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, her eyes scanning the street for more attackers. She saw none, and lowered her body, ready to run.
The tall man took a step forward, stepping into a thin sliver of light that came through a broken shutter. Half his face seemed to have melted away like a wax candle. Pale and smooth, the damaged skin hung limp. “I’d recognize you anywhere, Butcher.”
“You did this to my brother,” the second man said, emerging from the shadows. He was shorter and leaner, but the hate in his vitriolic voice sent a shiver down her spine. “He was in Ephia. Remember it, Butcher?”
Remember it? Her mouth twitched. I still have nightmares about it. “How can I remember it? You’re mistaking me for someone else.”
The flash of fury on the big man’s face told her this was the wrong response. The smaller man stepped before him, revealing a toothy, evil grin. “Remember the ship that brought you here? One of the sailors is our cousin. He told us where to find you.”
She swallowed a curse. “I’m here to help prevent a war.”
“Don’t know noth
ing ‘bout no war,” the big man growled. “But you’re the Butcher.” He pointed at his face. “And you did this to me,” he roared, spittle flying from his broken lips.
Without a warning, he lunged at her. She jumped to the side, pushing him behind her, using his momentum to throw him against the wall. As he crashed against it, she felt a sharp shove in her back, right under her right armpit. A second later, pain flared down her arm.
The bastard’s stabbed me! She swung around. A blade glinted in the short man’s hands, and he threw another throwing knife at her. Her knees bent and the knife scratched her coat. Before he had a chance to prepare a third knife, she clasped her sword with her left hand and barreled down the alley, cutting the air in sharp figure-eight-like motions. His eyes widened at the sword’s whoosh and he took several steps back.
She followed him, her gaze following his eyes. When she saw them fix behind her, she ducked and shoved the sword backward. It met with enough resistance to leave her hand as it disemboweled the large man. She spun around to see him clutch the blade that had cut into his belly in an effort to remove it. Blood gushed from his abdomen. Still kneeling, she grabbed the hilt with her right hand. Her fingers felt numb, and the slippery sword slid under her fingers as he collapsed to the ground.
Cursing under her breath, she grabbed it again, this time with her left hand. She fixed her fingers through the warm liquid and around the leathery pommel. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement. She pulled with all her strength and drew the sword, waving it before her just in time to deflect another throwing knife.
“Why won’t you die?” the smaller man screamed and lunged at her with a small sword.
Despite his preference of missile weapons, he was more proficient at close range than she expected. Her injured arm started throbbing as she blocked his assault. Warm blood flowed down her back, making her shirt stick to her skin. Her head started swimming.
The man feigned an attack to her right. Had she not been watching his eyes, his blade would have cut through her coat and into her abdomen. Instead, she pretended to fall for his trap, then whirled around and dug her elbow into his back as she spun around him. He let out a pained cry and stumbled down.
Pearseus Bundle: The Complete Pearseus Sci-fi/Fantasy Series Page 91