by Trudi Jaye
He hadn’t said good-bye to anyone, and a small lump of guilt scratched at him for leaving Bree and Jena without a word of thanks. But he knew he needed a big head start on Argus, and telling the sisters would only lessen that.
He even felt bad about deserting Argus. The mercenary had saved Nate’s life twice now. But if he’d said his good-byes to Argus, he’d have ended up hog tied to a horse, heading out behind Argus on the trail before he could speak another word.
No, this was the right decision. The only one he could make. One foot in the stirrup, Nate leaped onto his horse. The trees blocked part of the landscape beyond, but he knew what lay ahead of him.
The initial trek through the forest had worried him more. He hadn’t been sure he could find his way out through the dark trees, but it had been surprisingly easy, almost as if the forest was helping him. He shrugged. It was entirely possible, given the centuries of power it held.
“Are you sure this is wise?” said a voice behind him.
Nate jumped, his heart in his throat as he swiveled around in the saddle. How could they have found him so quickly?
His fears eased when he saw the ghost mage standing behind him. The familiar lined face was frowning, his long hair held back by a strip of leather. The ghost clasped his gnarled hands in front of him.
“Pardon me?” Nate said. Surely, this was too far from the original site for a ghost to have traveled. He pulled on the reigns and turned his horse to face the old mage. Another damn ghost who’d figured out a few things he shouldn’t have.
“You need the protection offered by the mercenary right now.”
“What concern is it of yours?” Nate frowned at the ghost. He knew too much, and he was behaving strangely. Something niggled at the back of Nate’s consciousness, but it slipped away before he could figure it out.
“You’re the realm’s concern, Nate. What happens to you concerns us all. You’re not grasping the truth of your situation. I’m disappointed in you.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked Nate. Could this apparition be some dark creature sent by Lothar? Was he about to meet his death?
“I’m simply a concerned observer. My status as a ghost means I’m no longer able to actively participate.”
“Then you’ll be aware this decision is nothing to do with you,” Nate snapped. He turned his horse and walked her to the edge of the forest.
He looked out at the view before him, ignoring the ghost. The land was barren and dry, rolling hills struggling to provide sustenance for even the most hardy of grasses. In the distance, he could just make out the tips of the Ember Volcanoes. To the south, rocky hills moved into rigid mountains. A road carved out a path through the middle, heading squarely for Flame City.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure even now where to go. He couldn’t go home, that was certain. Looking to the volcanoes, he saw a spurt of orange flame burst out of the distant peak and made his decision. It was the last thing Argus would expect, that he’d head in the direction of Argus’s master.
If he got enough of a head start, he could veer off at any point and find a place to lay low.
He didn’t know if his departure from the forest would immediately alert Lothar. He was counting on the king-in-waiting having better things to do than hunt for Nate all day long.
“Only one way to find out.” He urged his mare forward and headed out of the forest into the pastures beyond.
Turning back for one last glimpse of the dark trees, he saw the shimmering reflection of a ghost in the shadows.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
They stopped for camp that night, tired and dirty after a long day in the saddle. Jena eased her aching legs from her horse and watched Bree do the same. Argus was already off his horse, unsaddling, and starting to brush the stallion down. Damn arrogant mercenary.
“We can’t light a fire. We’ll eat our rations as is and sleep close.” Argus didn’t look at them as he spoke, just kept rubbing the sweat off his horse. He was still annoyed that he’d lost the fight with Miara. Jena wasn’t even sure how it had happened. Miara had kept acting as if it was a given, and soon it just was.
In the end, Jena knew why she had to be part of this undertaking. The weight of the Hashishin knife in her bag spurred her on, and Nate was as good a connection to Lothar as she was going to get. But she didn’t understand why Bree had agreed to go, perhaps something to do with the glances she kept giving Argus when she thought no one was watching.
“Everyone looks after their own horse. That means making sure they’re comfortable before you see to yourself. We won’t make it without the horses.” This time Argus glared at Bree, as if expecting her to argue with him. Bree didn’t look at him, just continued the care she had already been giving her horse.
It was the end of their first day in the saddle, and they were heading directly for the Ember Volcanoes. Miara had done a casting, and then Jena’s raven had secretly flown up into the sky to confirm the direction. For some reason, Nate was heading in the very direction Argus wanted him to go.
“He’s trying to fool us. He thinks we’ll search in the opposite direction,” Argus had said.
Jena finished with her horse, giving the mare a lump of sugar from her pocket.
She started to organize their evening meal by pulling out the rations they’d been given. Beef jerky, travel bread, and cheese would sustain them for the next few weeks, supplemented by whatever she could scrounge for them along the roadside. Her gypsy upbringing had some uses.
As she sliced the bread, she considered whether they would actually be able to catch up with Nate. He had a half day head start, and he was only one person. They were three, one of whom was recovering from a near fatal wound. Despite the healing sessions Bree insisted on, Argus was the one who would slow them down, not the other way around.
But she would do everything she could to make sure they did, and to make sure she crossed paths with Lothar.
Her life had been strange, broken, unsettled, but her time with Thornal had been her happiest. He had given her a home, a place in life. If nothing else, she owed him vengeance. Lothar needed to pay for the life he had taken, for the family ties he had broken. Knowing Thornal was her grandfather just made the desire for justice stronger, more immediate. Her anger rumbled close to the surface. Jena planned to make sure Lothar paid for his crimes. It was a promise that shimmered in the very core of her soul.
This time around, however, it was much harder to travel. She was so much more afraid of giving herself away. She now knew who she was and where she’d come from. And it wasn’t just herself she had to worry about now; Bree’s life was at stake too. Even Miara telling Argus that Jena could protect them from Lothar’s eyes through the Flames was dangerous. If he started asking questions, she had no answers.
It seemed impossible that she would survive this trip without ending up at the bottom of some dungeon or burning in mage fire. The only way she had a chance of defeating Lothar was by using the power of the Book of Spells, and what other reaction could be expected than to call for her immediate death? Especially if she’d just killed the most powerful man in the kingdom?
Her life expectancy wasn’t that great, whatever way she looked at it. But the anger that burned deep inside her every time she thought of holding Thornal’s dying body in her arms wasn’t just going to go away. And all she really needed to do was survive until her reckoning with Lothar. After that, it didn’t matter.
To do that, she needed to be smart. She needed to keep her powers hidden. She squared her shoulders; then jumped when Bree tapped on her arm.
“He’s struggling,” said Bree next to her ear, low enough that only Jena could hear. “That’s why he’s so angry.” She settled beside Jena on the log she’d set up as both table and chairs for their evening meal.
“I think he’s annoyed we’re even here.”
Bree glanced over to where Argus was patting his horse, delaying coming to the meal. “Do you ever wonder about that spel
l? The one we found inside him?” she asked.
“It means we have to be careful, Bree. No matter how much we think we know Argus, he’s not a man with a free will.”
“Is there anything you know of that might help undo it? Perhaps we can free him from this mage Remus?”
Jena shook her head. “That kind of thing is difficult. We could as easily kill him as save him, if we tried.”
Bree sighed. “I feel sorry for him. He’s so proud. It can’t be easy.”
“No, I suppose not.” Jena looked at Argus, trying to see how the spell was affecting him. Would he be the same man if that dark fog wasn’t settled around his heart?
She rather thought he would be. He didn’t seem the kind to bend easily, even for this unknown master.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Nate licked at the metallic taste of blood on his lips, and a familiar smell assaulted his nostrils—baneberry root. He tried to lift his head, but couldn’t.
When he’d found the cave after a long day’s ride, Nate had thought the Flames were on his side. He’d settled himself down, prepared a cold dinner from his rations, and slid into his makeshift bed.
He’d been asleep when they arrived.
Rough hands had grabbed his arms and dragged him up. A punch to his stomach had knocked the wind out of him. He hadn’t even been able to gasp in pain. There had been no time to think before ropes were around his hands. A sacking bag, similar to the one Argus had used, was shoved over his head. A rope was tied around his neck a little too tight.
He was strangely grateful to Argus; this time he’d been able to recover quickly after the sacking was thrust over his head. He didn’t panic as he had when Argus had done it the first time, and he was faster getting his focus back, despite the continuing effects of the baneberry root.
Hands pushed him again, and he kept blindly walking, one step in front of the other.
“Hurry up, we ain’t got all day,” a voice jeered behind him. Another man sniggered somewhere to his left.
“D’you think we’ll get more, ‘cause we was the ones found ‘im?” a whiney voice asked.
“You ask th’ C’ptain that, see wot he says,” said the first voice.
“Not likely.”
Rough laughter surrounded Nate, and he stumbled as someone gave him another push. He righted himself and continued to lurch blindly along a path only his captors could see.
His nose twitched beneath the sacking bag, and he could smell meat roasting over a fire, and damper cooking in the embers. The sounds of a camp became obvious; voices raised, utensils clashing, the nickering of horses. It wasn’t long before his small band was reunited with their camp.
“Look what we found up in them caves.”
“You never! The C’ptain was right, weren’t he?” said a new voice.
“We’re the ones found him,” said the whiney voice.
Abruptly something changed in the mood of his captors. Throats cleared nervously, and the man behind Nate tapped his finger against his leather jerkin in an agitated pattern. He listened carefully to understand what was happening, but all he could be sure of was there seemed to be at least ten men.
“Sir, we found him. Up in the caves, where you said to look.”
There was a pause, and then a quiet, clipped voice answered, “Well done. We journey to the Flame City on the morn. Tie him to the chain; you two take first guard shift.”
Nate tried to hide the tremor that rocked his body at those words. Not even a day out from the forest, and he was already in Lothar’s hands. He was pushed forward and then dumped on the ground, away from the warmth of the fire. Blindly, he tried to get up again, and unseen hands punched him, a heavy fist to the face, and another gut-pummeling blow to his stomach.
“Do that again, and I’ll knock yer senseless,” a voice snarled in his ear. Nate swayed, stars swirling in front of his eyes.
He was pushed to his knees, and hands grappled with something made of heavy metal. A chain. They attached it around his neck and pulled tight. The sacking scratched at his skin, and he gagged, his entire body convulsing. He was forced even further down when the chain was yanked from behind, and he realized they’d attached him to the ground.
The chain was excessively heavy; the large links pushed at his skin through the material of the sack, and he found it hard to breathe. He struggled to keep his head up for a while, but he was soon lying with his neck against the ground, unable to continue resisting the weight.
His two guards seemed to have moved closer to the fire. He could hear them talking and laughing a short distance away. The clinking of plates and cutlery indicated they were eating, but he could smell nothing other than the putrid sacking hood coated with baneberry root.
“I did warn you it wasn’t a good idea,” said a voice close to his head. Nate squeezed his eyes shut, not moving, in case it was a guard messing with him. He tried to remember where he’d heard the voice before.
“Can you smell it? The baneberry root?” The voice was tantalizingly familiar.
“Yes,” said Nate.
“The baneberry root will keep you confused until they deliver you to Lothar.”
“I know,” said Nate impatiently. “It’s the second damn time I’ve had it used on me recently.” He tried to think past the effects of the root. Why was the voice so familiar?
“You’re going to have to think past your bindings, past the baneberry root, and use your latent abilities to summon a demon. The others are coming, but not fast enough to rescue you. You’re going to have to rescue yourself.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The next morning Jena woke early, her stiff muscles painful after a night on the hard ground. She’d slept in worse places as a slave, but she’d gotten soft living with Thornal and having her own bed every night.
Morning was barely started, the light only just peeping over the hills, and the birds clearing their throats, but Argus was already up. Keeping as still as she could, she watched him moving around the campsite.
Argus was silent; he never stepped on a stray twig, never brushed his leg against a leaf or a branch. Even as he searched for something in his travel bag, there was little sound.
Sitting up, she stretched her arms above her head, trying to find the energy to start another day of hard riding. With a grunt of effort, she stood.
She followed Argus to where he was now feeding his horse.
“Morning.”
Argus didn’t jump. He’d known she was awake the whole time. “Morning,” he said without looking at her.
“You’re a gypsy. I don’t know why I didn’t see it earlier.” Jena’s heart was thumping.
“I was born Utugani,” he agreed. “I left many years ago and have never been back.” His voice was clipped, not inviting further comment. He brushed a hand over his horse’s neck.
“It’s not an easy life.”
Argus stared at her, his dark eyes serious. “There is nothing better than being Utugani,” he said. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to.”
“I lived with them as a child.” Jena couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice, despite the years that had passed. Her scars were too constant a reminder.
Argus frowned. “They did not treat you well?”
“No.” Jena paused, touching one hand to the scar on her face. “I wasn’t of the true blood. Perhaps that’s why.”
“They weren’t of the true blood either, to have treated a child badly. Utugani take care of our own, yes, but they would never allow a child to suffer. Ever.” Argus’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Jena’s face.
She blinked. Argus spoke with a ring of truth, and what she knew of him already backed it up. He was proud and stern, but he took care of his own. He was Utugani; he would know.
But she knew what had happened to her. “It was our leader who pushed me into a fire, gave me these burns.” She gestured to her cheek. “When I healed, they sold me.”
Argus frowned, his eyes flicking to the
visible scars on her face. “When your group met up with everyone at the Summer Gathering, they would have asked questions. It’s not the Utugani way to be silent about abuse.”
“I never knew any others,” said Jena, frowning.
“You never went to a Summer Gathering?”
“No. Elsa sometimes spoke of them, but we never went.”
Argus shook his head. “Who were these people you were with?”
“It was a small group, led by Elsa and her son Otis Blackmoon. Elsa found me and took me in.”
Argus nodded slowly. “I think I know of them. They were exiled.”
“Exiled?”
“I was only a child, but I remember it. It caused a huge uproar. There was a fight at Summer Gathering. A young girl was killed, and the son was in the middle of it.”
Jena shivered. Otis had always had a nasty temper. He’d been in a rage when he threw her into the flames of the campfire. Jena had often protected the younger kids from him. She closed her eyes. Strange how her view of events could be changed with a few words. “So they were outcasts?”
“No one in my family would ever have hurt a child. I’m sorry for what happened to you, Jena.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Feathers ruffled around her stomach, shifting position. “When I was younger, I used to think it was me. That I’d done something wrong.”
“It wasn’t you. Otis Blackmoon was broken; there was something wrong with him. He is a disgrace to my people.” Argus gave a brisk nod, and stalked back toward their makeshift campsite, to where Bree was just stirring. She heard him telling Bree to hurry and get up.
Jena smiled, tears in her eyes.
They rode hard again that day. Argus led them toward the Ember Volcanoes, and if he was struggling, he hid it better than he had the day before. Sometime just before noon, he called a rest and food break near a stream that was more of a trickle, but provided some water for the animals. Jena slid from her horse, scratching at the tired animal’s ears and trying to ignore her aching muscles.