It was the names I didn’t see that had me moving faster through the line.
There were only ten markers left. I had an absurd hope I would make it to the end.
That none of them would be here.
I made it past five more when that hope vanished. It took my strength too. It was equal parts grief and fatigue that brought me down. It was pain that kept me there; kneeling beside the knoll, running my fingers over the letters carved deep in the wooden headstone. There were only three. They didn’t know her proper name. So I said it aloud.
“Kit’anya. Gods, Kit…I’m so sorry.” Beneath the letters someone had etched a small flower. Words were scrawled into the wood. “You healed my heart, too.”
Krillos. Son of a bitch.
I placed my hand on the ground where Kit’s body was buried. Softly, in ancient Shinree, I wished her peace and rest. “B’tay roo-sta, Nef’Kit’anya.”
FIFTY ONE
Dusk was falling along with the rain. The clouds were thick and gray.
Still, it was blacker than it should be in the shadow of the wall surrounding my father’s city. I hadn’t seen the monstrosity up close before. My only view of the structure had been from the mountaintop through Jem’s mutated eyes. Next to it now, looking through my own, the stone barrier was more massive than I imagined. Magic wise, there wasn’t just an absence of vibration. With this much hornblende in one place, the air felt cold. Dead.
There was life, though, on the other side of the wall. It was nothing distinct, just the usual murmur of large groups of people existing in one place. Up top, guards walked the narrow ledge. The yellow light from their lanterns swung hypnotically at their sides as they strolled. Some stood still, staring out across the sea of twilight-darkened sand as if they expected company. Nothing was visible. Only dry grassy dunes and the mountains of Langor that stretched up behind them. My guess was they were listening for more of the distant howls that had greeted me on arrival; hungry desert scavengers venturing out of their dens for an evening meal. Either way, the guards’ vigilance appeared to be centered on the possibility of some oncoming attack. Not a lone man coming through a magical door that had barely stayed open long enough to spit him out.
Collapsed on the ground in the shadowy space between torch poles, I knew I had no business being here. Even if my father had taken the refugees to his city, I was in no condition to mount a rescue. It was doubtful I could even make it inside. A potential entrance was thirty feet or so away, where a metal grate covered a rectangular section of the wall. Possibly, the metal served as a second barrier, allowing the guards to safely question anyone requesting entry. If I was right, a glamour spell might get me in; if I had a face to borrow. But there was no one about. I had no supplies for scaling the wall, and I couldn’t manage it anyway. Not in my current state. Two doors in such a short period of time had sapped me considerably. I had no backup. And if they caught me, I had a fair idea what my father’s men did with intruders.
There were at least twenty-five of them, all hung by their necks from the top of the wall. The long, thick rope left their bodies dangling just off the ground. Some had been dead for a while; the meat had long since fled their bones. Others had perished more recently. Pallid bodies slack, the wet breeze blew with the putrid scent of their sun-roasted flesh.
With some strength I could climb over them, I thought. But there was something profane about using a noose to gain entry when the body was still attached.
That’s it then. I have to go. If Lirih or Jarryd, or any of them, were inside, I was no good to them. I needed food and a place to rest. I needed cover before the desert cold settled in. I just wasn’t sure I had enough strength left to make another door.
A shout rang out from the wall. I sunk deeper into the sand as a group of men gathered at the top directly in front of my position. More shouting erupted. Someone screamed. I raised my head to see a man with a rope around his neck being pushed from the wall. The slack grew less as he dropped. When it was gone, he bounced off the stone with a painful thud. His neck should have been broken, but having fallen upside down, at the last second he’d grabbed the rope with his legs, managing to take some of the pressure off. It was quick thinking. But he couldn’t hold the position. Now, right side up, legs kicking, bleeding profusely from his stomach, he clawed at the rope as it tightened around his throat.
I glanced up. The show over, the guards were already returning to their posts.
I pulled a knife from my brace and made a run for the man. His popping eyes popped wider as I rushed toward him. Wrapping one arm around his legs, I reached up and sawed at the heavy rope.
“Hurry,” he choked out.
I sawed faster.
A wolf cry split the air. Panicking, the man flailed in my grasp.
“Hold still,” I whispered. My grip on him was slipping. My legs were near to buckling. The dagger in my boot would make the job easier, but I couldn’t reach it without letting him go.
Another cry came; closer.
“Please…”he begged.
Gritting my teeth, I clasped him tighter and kept sawing. I pretended the rain wasn’t threatening my grip on the knife, that I actually had the strength to continue.
Finally, the blade cut through. The rope dropped away, and we both fell to the ground. Shushing his groans of pain, as I untangled myself, I tried to be careful of him. There were bruises and lacerations all over his face. Large, dark stains soaked the front of his Rellan guard uniform. The blood trailed off him in thick streaks as I grabbed his shoulders and dragged him away. By the time we were a safe distance from the wall, I knew the man didn’t have long.
He patted my arm as I lowered him down. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I glanced back to check on the guards and something scurried behind me across the sand. I pulled a sword as I knelt beside him. “You’re with the Rellan guard, under King Malaq’s command?”
Faintly, I saw him nod. “Yes.”
“Where were you captured?”
“Ula,” he swallowed. “It’s a village on Rella’s southern shore.”
“I know it.”
“The King sent us in. There were reports of…” he trailed off with a gurgle. It turned into a strained cough as he choked on the thick swell of blood bubbling from his mouth. I turned him slightly on his side until the fit passed.
When he was calm again, I asked, “What happened in Ula?”
“Eldring. They were dispatched to round up dissidents for execution.” The man made a slight gesture in the direction of the wall. “We tried to free them. We couldn’t match the beasts’ numbers. We…”
“Dissidents? You mean members of Malaq’s resistance?”
“I…” The man’s head rolled against my leg.
“Hey. Stay with me.” I gave him a shake. “How many are being held inside?”
A few seconds passed. “Many.”
“I’m looking for some people that might have been brought here. Do you know the name Jarryd Kane, or Lirih? What about Krillos? Jillyan? Sienn? Do any of those sound familiar?”
“Yes,” he breathed.
“Which ones?” He didn’t reply and I shook him harder. “Which ones?”
I waited as long as I could stand before giving the man another shake.
There was no response. I felt for a pulse. There was none.
Smacking the sand, I cried out, “Son of a bitch!”
And the dark in front of me growled.
Slowly, I lifted my head. Through pleats of wet hair, I did a quick count of the glowing eyes: fourteen. Staring harder, I detected the silhouettes of seven exceptionally large coyotes, hackles raised. They were, maybe, fifteen feet away.
“Easy boys…” Sword in my hand, I stood. One of the animals in the middle moved closer. His musky fur stunk from the rain. “You must be in charge,” I said, noticing the rest all held position, waiting to see what he would do. I wondered too, as I started backing up. I didn’t want to leave the Rell
an man to such a fate, but he was dead. If I didn’t go, I would join him, and my father would win. He would have Rella and Langor. He would have Sienn. And Lirih.
An abrupt warning growl escaped the leader’s clenched jaw.
It wasn’t much of a warning. Three seconds later he leapt after me.
I took off. Wet sand slid beneath my boots. My legs didn’t want to work. I had scant breath and less strength. I knew there was no way I could outrun him.
His jaw grazed my boot. I turned and slashed hard at the darkness. My blade bit into his pelt, splashing warm blood over my hands and sending the coyote flying. I heard him hit the sand with a whimper. Then I heard the rest of the pack give chase.
Calling to the crown’s power, its vibrations sprung to life.
There was one place, one person left I could turn to.
Opening my eyes, my groggy mind put me back on the ship; lying in the dark hold; my memories all a jumble. As I uncurled from the corner I was scrunched in, I expected the unsteady sway of the sea and the damp planks of the ship’s floor. Instead, the world was stable. The walls and floor were stone.
Confused, I scooted back. With one good look around, I remembered where I was, why I’d come here, and why I’d been sleeping off my last spell in an empty, cold alcove. Consuming so much magic, with no rest and zero food, had about finished me off. The sleep had helped some. But I still felt like I hadn’t eaten for days.
I winced through a stretch and studied the corridor. I hadn’t spent much time in Arcana Castle. All my previous visits had been tainted by strife or heartache of some sort. None of which had left me too concerned with mapping the place. But when I finally convinced my worn body to move, I realized the layout was more familiar than I thought.
There was no sound to mask my own; night had the place shut up tight. So I kept my steps light and a hand on my sword as I snuck down the empty halls. When I came out near the main stairs I thought about going up. Searching bedrooms would take too long, though. And since most kings were apt to spend quiet evenings in their hall, drinking alone in front of a fading fire, I headed there first.
The repairs Malaq had been lamenting about were finally complete. Apparently, the impending visit of an Arullan dignitary was motivation to get the job done. Structurally, you would never know the Langorians had ever pillaged the place. The evidence of their intrusion was more subtle in the lack of decoration and warmth. There was a noticeable lack of guards as well. The few I encountered were shamefully inattentive, making their rounds with drowsy eyes and plodding steps. I had no trouble staying still and waiting for them to move on.
At the entrance to the Great Hall, I snuck inside and closed the doors. Gloom hung heavy in the sparsely furnished room. The warm air smelled of smoke. The walk to the hearth at the complete other side of the hall was lengthy. I managed to cross half of it before I went down. The thudding echo of my collapse made it the rest of the way; announcing my arrival and bringing the man dozing in his chair shooting up to his feet.
I blinked at the blurry, far-away figure. He drew a weapon and approached cautiously. I really hoped it was him.
“Malaq?” I croaked out.
The man stopped. He stood motionless a long, tense moment, outlined by the fire. Then he sucked in a breath of surprise, sheathed his sword, and started toward me again.
There was a sense of frenzy to his movements. It carried over into his voice as he started running. “Son of a bitch…” Reaching me, I thought he would pull me up from the floor. Instead, Malaq dropped down and threw his arms around me in a strong, painful, embrace. “Gods,” his voice broke. “It’s really you. Where the fuck have you been, you stupid…”
“Ouch,” I groaned.
With a throaty laugh Malaq moved back. Hands tight on my arms, as if afraid to let go, he looked me over with unabashed emotion. The display was completely unlike him. There were actual tears on his face—on one side. On the other, nothing existed to make them, only a dry pocket of puckered, scarred skin and an empty socket. Above and below the hollow, from forehead to chin, prominent, ugly scars striped Malaq’s face. From the look of the marks I knew well what had taken his eye and disfigured his face. Eldring.
His appearance was so altered. I tried not to look horrified. Yet, I couldn’t understand why Sienn hadn’t done something. From the ‘old’ look to the wound, she’d sped its natural healing, but never finished the job. Malaq, however, seemed undisturbed by my protracted, mute staring. He was preoccupied with squeezing me; harder each time, like he wasn’t sure I was real.
Finally, he stood and pulled me up alongside him. An arm still around me, Malaq wiped the emotion from his face. “You look weary. What can I do?”
“Food,” I said eagerly.
“I’ll wake the cook. First, let’s get you out of sight.”
“What happened, Malaq?”
“Not here.” He started ushering me from the hall.
“I saw the camp. I saw Kit’s grave.” I stopped him. “Where’s Lirih?”
“Lirih?” My question seemed to confuse him, almost to the point of anger. “No one has heard from Lirih since she went through that door with you.”
“Damn it.” The last of my hope vanished. “I have to find them. I have to get to Jarryd. I can barely feel him in the link.”
“There’s nothing you can do for him, Ian.”
“You’re right. I don’t have it in me. I need Sienn. Is she here?”
“Keep your voice down.”
I raised it. “Is she here?”
Offering a vague, helpless shake of his head, Malaq tried again to put me off. “Let’s find you a bed.”
I held my ground. “No bed. Not yet. Krillos and I need to make a plan. The link is working again. It can help me find Jarryd.”
“Not here.” Malaq clamped a hand on my arm. He tried taking me forcibly from the room.
Pulling away, I barked at him. “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me—”
“Jarryd’s dead.” With a low, aggravated growl, Malaq ran a frustrated hand over his unkempt hair. “He’s dead, Ian. They’re all dead.”
My heart stopped. I took a step back. “No. I checked the graves. There was…”
“Kit,” he nodded sadly. “Neela died in the attack as well. The others… they died after.”
“After? I haven’t been gone that long. A couple of weeks? A month? What the hell happened?”
Malaq lowered his head. I put myself in front of him, ready to beat the answers out of him if I had to. But exhaustion had leached the color from his skin. And the pity in his one eye scared the hell out of me. “I’m sorry, Ian. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know where you’ve been.” Malaq’s scarred face twisted in sorrow. “It hasn’t been weeks since you left camp. It’s been years. I haven’t seen you in five years.”
FIFTY TWO
Sitting alone in the old Library, drowning myself in wine, I couldn’t help but wonder if Malaq recognized where he’d put me. It was the same room where he’d drugged me in a failed attempt to stop my interference in Neela’s wedding. It was where he’d told me of Sienn’s betrayal in healing my father and of Jarryd’s capture by Draken. But that conversation hadn’t happened nearly three years ago, as I remembered. It was eight.
The thought made me ill. It’s not possible.
Taking a long, slow drink, I glanced at the food on the table beside me. Malaq had dropped off the platter of cold meat and bread well over an hour ago and hadn’t come back. I’d barely touched it. My appetite was gone.
They were gone.
All of them.
To hell with it, I thought, and upended the bottle.
It was my third. There were four in total. Malaq had sorely miscalculated if he thought that would be enough. Not when there was zero point in remaining sober. I had nowhere to go, nothing to do. Because they’re gone. All of them.
Eyes damp and burning, I wiped at them. I’d been trying like hell to suppress what was building in
me. But the longer I sat, the more I drank, the more it all sunk in. The harder it was to hold back.
A scream was building; probably several. I had an overwhelming urge to throw the empty bottle in my hand. To hear the satisfying sound it would make as it smashed against the wall. But the sound would fade and the pain wouldn’t.
Ever.
I sat the bottle down gently on the table.
Then I changed my mind.
Standing, grabbing the empties, I pitched them in rapid succession—one, two three—against the side of the hearth. They exploded with a rewarding crash. Glass flew. Drops of wine trickled red down the stones.
It wasn’t enough.
I threw the plate of food, then both chairs. Taking the last bottle for solace, I kicked over the table and paced to the window. I looked down at the city, and my mood worsened.
As a boy, before the first burning of Kabri, I’d thought the place a wonder. The streets had been a bubbling pot of life and merriment no matter the hour. Venturing into them had felt like some grand escapade. Now, there were no more sounds of revelry echoing up the mountainside. Barely a light could be found on the entire island.
I pulled the curtain closed. As I popped open the wine, the door opened, and Malaq’s unmistakable imposing form entered the room. I heard a click as he locked the door behind him. Coming closer, passing rows of half empty bookshelves, he barely glanced at the mess I’d made. He stepped over the splattered bits of meat and glass in silence, walked up, and swiped the bottle from me.
After a couple of healthy swigs, Malaq shoved the wine back in my hand. He righted both chairs and the table and sat down.
I took the other seat in silence. Our eyes met and Malaq smiled. It was drawn and tense, but more than I could muster after losing five years of my life in a matter of hours.
The Crown of Stones: Magic-Scars Page 43