by Jane Shoup
Picture it, Vincent coaxed in her mind. Picture him dead. Want it! You need it to happen.
The other prisoners had moved in and begun assailing him with kicks and stomps, but her job was to crush his airway. Until her strength gave out or her hands were sliced from her wrists, which felt like it was happening. There was such noise. A sort of thundering. Was it the blood pounding in her head? No. It was men shouting.
The faces of other soldiers loomed in front of her and yanked her away. Dizzy and breathing hard, clutching her bloodied wrists to her, she looked down at the brute as he was turned over. He was staring out sightlessly, his meaty face ghastly looking, his thick lips blue and open, his tongue huge and protruding. She’d done it. He was dead.
“Now, you die,” a man swore as he reached for Ammey.
“He was after the child,” a woman cried.
A soldier hit the woman’s face, knocking her backwards.
The man who’d grabbed Ammey forced her onward.
“Chale, wait,” another soldier shouted, trying to block his way. “Habah Yor was—”
“It doesn’t matter what he was,” Chale retorted, shaking with fury. “You,” he yelled into Ammey’s ear, “are going to be pulled apart, limb from limb. Let’s see how pretty you are then.”
“She’s our gift to the king,” the other soldier argued.
Chale glowered at the man. “Aban,” he scoffed. “Why don’t you present yourself as a gift to the king. She dies. I want three men on their horses,” he yelled as he walked on.
Ammey was being taken and she could not stop it. He reached his horse, pulled rope from his pack and thread it though her bound hands. Blood was oozing from her wrists and dripping down here fingers, but she would bleed more before he was finished with her. Much more. He mounted his horse and saw that only one man obeyed his command. The others remained frozen. “You all stand there?” he railed.
“Whether she lives or dies is Corin’s decision to make,” Aban argued fiercely, watching the rope in Chale’s hand for an opportunity to grab it or to cut it. He made a lunge for it, but Chale took off. Ammey was yanked off her feet and dragged.
“Damn you!” Aban exploded. But he could only watch powerlessly. Chale would drag the captive to her death and there was nothing he or anyone could do to stop him.
“Corin,” one of the men exclaimed.
“It’s too late, now,” Aban seethed.
“No! It’s him! Look!”
Aban looked westward and saw the black and silver banners. A party, apparently headed by the king himself, had just crested a hill and Chale, the fool, had ridden right to them. But perhaps Corin would feel Chale was in the right. Aban hurried for his own horse and rode out to meet them.
It was the shock on the soldier’s face that alerted Marko Corin to the fact that something was amiss. Down the hill was a camp of his men and what looked to be captives, mostly women. Were these the unpleasant details? The means to an end that Zino had mentioned? He should have demanded to know everything that was happening in his name. He certainly would when he returned. Marko’s eyes followed the rope in the man’s hand to the body of a woman being dragged behind him. “What is this?”
“Sire,” the man exclaimed. He dismounted, bowed, and looked back at the captive. She was dead now, so he dropped the rope. “It…she was a prisoner, sire.”
Marko dismounted and went toward the woman.
“A dangerous prisoner,” the man added.
Marko reached her, dropped to one knee and turned her onto her back. She was beautiful, even in death. Dangerous? She was delicate. There were almost completely faded bruises around her neck, fresh bruises on her face, and a gash in her head was bleeding profusely where it had struck something, probably a rock. He touched the side of her still-warm throat, concentrating to be certain. “She’s alive,” he announced.
Another soldier reached them and quickly came off his horse. “She should not have been killed,” he declared.
Marko looked from him to the first man. “Why?” he asked him.
“She killed six of our number, sire,” the man replied hotly. “She felled three at one time and she killed another a short time ago with her hands bound.”
Marko looked down at her. “How does a creature such as this best six wolves?” No one replied. He noticed her bloodied wrists. They would be scarred for life.
“We were going to make her a gift to you,” the newer arrival said. “I am Aban, your majesty. I wanted to make her a gift to you.”
Marko stood. “I accept. Cut her free and put her in the wagon.” He waved his surgeon over. “Tend her wounds,” he called to the man.
As Aban bent to cut the rope from her hand, Corin turned to the first man. “And you are?”
“Chale, your majesty.”
“Who are those prisoners?”
“They’re from the village of Daleog, sire.”
Marko was puzzled. A harmless farming village? “Why?”
“Zephyr’s orders.”
Marko felt a rush of disturbing emotions. “Return to the city at once,” he ordered tightly.
“Yes, sire,” both men said.
“We were on our way,” Aban added.
“Feed and transport those prisoners. You will take great care until I get to the bottom of this.”
Aban nodded. “Yes, sire.”
Chale looked ill, but he also gave his word.
Marko started back to his horse, but turned back again. “How did she kill a man with her hands bound?” she asked Aban. “Or were they not bound at the time?”
“They were,” he replied. “She got them around his neck and choked him to death.”
“Had he attacked her?”
“No, sire. He was …after a child.”
Marko cocked his head, unsure he’d heard correctly. “What?”
“He had a weakness for young ones.”
Marko grimaced. The thought made him queasy. “How young was the child?”
“I don’t know, sire. Eight or nine years, perhaps.”
“And she tried to intervene?”
“Oh, she did intervene, your majesty. Choked the life from him.”
He nodded slowly. “Did she really kill men three at once?”
“She did. She’s quite something with a sword.”
“Hmm. Well, I’ll consider myself forewarned, being in the company of such a dangerous creature,” he added sardonically. “Who knows? Even unconscious she may take a few of us out,” he jested to the amusement of his party.
As Corin walked on, Aban and Chale looked at one another with intense dislike, neither of them sure of their standing with the king.
Chapter Seventeen
Graybil and Xavier were playing cards when Forzenay and the others walked in. The smile that lit Graybil’s face upon first seeing them vanished as he noticed their expressions. He stood. “What’s happened?”
“We’ve got to go,” Forzenay said.
“You can’t rest up?” Xavier asked. “Have a drink?”
“We just learned there’s a plan to sack Daleog,” Forzenay admitted.
Graybil felt his blood run cold. “What? No! That makes no sense. We’ve got nothing worth pillaging.”
Forzenay reeled as a terrible possibility occurred to him. That the purpose of destroying Daleog was to kill Graybil who should have been there. That would mean that the dark force knew who they were and was making an effort to end their lives. He closed his eyes and concentrated. Is it true?
Stripe stared at Forzenay, bewildered by what he was seeing. Forzenay had closed his eyes and flattened his hand against an amulet, which was turning a lighter color before his very eyes. Graybil narrowed his eyes at the same sight, and Kidder and Vincent stepped closer to see what the others were witnessing. The amulet had become an unholy looking eye looking out at them.
Forzenay opened his eyes. “They know who we are.”
“Who?” Vincent demanded.
“The dark force.
They will try and kill us.”
“Are you saying my village would be destroyed to get to me?” Graybil stammered.
Forzenay reluctantly nodded.
“Let’s go,” Kidder urged as he stepped back.
“When is it to happen?” Graybil asked, his voice rising in panic.
“Let’s go,” Stripe seconded, heading for the door.
The others followed quickly with grim faces and heavy hearts.
“When?” Graybil insisted.
“We do not know,” Forzenay replied. “I’m sorry.”
The door had no sooner shut behind them than Ulima appeared at the door looking cheerful. “Oh! I thought I heard—” The sight of her husband’s face silenced her. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Ulima,” Xavier replied, sitting back down. “It’s bad.”
~~~
In Daleog, some lodges had burned and there were no apparent signs of life. The Five came off their horses after two days of brutal riding and began looking around warily. A sheep bleated and they all turned toward it.
“Hello!” Vincent called. “Anyone here?”
Graybil’s lodge was still standing. He moved toward it numbly, but came to an abrupt stop when the door cracked open. A moment later, it opened fully and Ianthe stood there with a babe in her arms looking as stunned as he. He nearly dropped to his knees in gratitude and shock, but he made it to her and pulled her and the baby up into his arms. “Where’s Liani?”
“She’s here! She’s fine.”
Forzenay also felt like dropping to his knees.
“Papa,” Liani cried, running from inside the lodge. She stopped herself just before she leapt. “Is your belly still hurt?”
He couldn’t speak. He just opened his arms wider and gathered them all close.
Villagers began creeping out having recognized Graybil. This time the greetings were somber.
Vincent looked around for Ammey, all the while knowing she was not there. He could feel she was not there. She exuded a life force he always felt before he saw her. She was not there, but nor was she dead. He would know if she was dead. Within moments, the Five moved into Graybil’s lodge to learn what had happened. Ianthe sat next to her husband, clinging to his hand while Liani sat in his lap. Kidder took charge of the baby.
“They came without warning in the middle of the day,” Ianthe recounted. She shook her head, recalling the horror. “Nineteen were killed and they took twenty-six captive. I fear a few of the wounded will not live much longer.”
“What about Ammey?” Forzenay asked.
“She was taken.”
Vincent bowed his head and sighed.
“She saved us,” Liani said to her father.
“More than once,” Ianthe added.
“What happened?” Vincent asked Ianthe.
“It’s difficult to make sense of such chaos,” she said to him. “We’d come in from the field because something had stung me. Ammey was still there but she came for us. She didn’t have to. She could have run or hidden. She could have escaped. There was so much screaming. Ammey took your sword. Liani and I were trying to get to the caves, but a soldier—”
“He put a rope around mama,” Liani said.
“But Ammey fought off a man before that,” Ianthe said. “And killed him so that we could get away. Then men surrounded her.”
Vincent felt his breathing constrict.
“She had a sword,” Liani said reverently. “She swung it and killed three men at one time, papa. I saw it! And then she took their horse and she ran at the man who had mama and she hit him with the horse and she grabbed mama and kept riding.”
“Liani had made it to the gorge, but came back out,” Ianthe explained. “Which she knows she should not have done.”
Liani looked at her father, trying to gage his reaction. “I ran back when Ammey got Mama.”
He nodded and pressed a kiss to her head.
“We made it as far as the mouth of the gorge,” Ianthe continued, “but they right were on us. I hung on for dear life and Ammey jumped off.” She paused. “She held them off for the moments it took. I got to the water and Liani and I swam to the caves and stayed hidden for hours.”
“Did they say where they were taking the captives?” Stripe asked.
“There was no talking,” Ianthe replied with a shake of her head.
“They’re taking them back to Bellux-Abry,” Vincent said. “Where else?” He rose and abruptly left the lodge. After a tense moment, Forzenay went after him.
“We have to go after her,” Vincent declared.
“We’re less than a day’s ride from Vihlae,” Forzenay reminded him. “We need their help.”
“Vihlae is in the opposite direction of Bellux-Abry. Besides which, I’m not certain I ever want to see the Seidh again. Why didn’t they tell us? Why couldn’t they have trusted us with the truth? The whole truth, not bits of it in poems and riddles. Ammey has been taken!”
Stripe stepped from the lodge. As he listened to the exchange between Vincent and Forzenay, he wondered if this turn of events would destroy them. The door opened again and Kidder and Graybil joined him. “Look at my village,” Graybil said. “Because of me.”
Stripe shook his head. “If we think like that, we’re lost. There are men responsible for this and it is not you.”
Graybil sighed. He was fatigued to his bones. “I came back to help whichever of you needed it and then I was returning home to stay.”
“I’d do the same,” Stripe replied.
Graybil looked at him searchingly.
“I would,” Stripe reiterated. “And I wouldn’t question it for a moment. If I’m ever fortunate enough to find a woman who can see past this,” he gestured to the scar on his face. “I will be there.”
“You will find that woman,” Graybil said. “I know you will.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Kidder spoke up. “About the sequence of events. On the trip before last into Vilhae, the seidhkona warned us correctly about Ghlaxmire and that warning saved our lives. Then, last time we were there, we were given a deadline to reach Draven and we were told that Ammey would help with the operation.”
Stripe nodded. “Milainah also foretold that one of us would be injured badly enough that he would need to be returned home.”
“And that Ammey was to bring me,” Graybil said.
“But not return with you,” Kidder said significantly. “You were told to return to save one of our lives, which turned out to be your life.”
Stripe faced him. “You think Ammey was meant to be taken?”
Kidder nodded. “I think it’s possible.”
Stripe looked over at Forzenay and Vincent who were still in conversation. “Forzenay,” he called. He walked toward them and the others followed. “After the last trip to Vilhae, you said there was hope. That there was one who would make a difference.”
Kidder nodded, recalling the conversation. “We asked if it was one of us and you said no.”
“No,” Graybil rejoined. “He said it is not one of our Five.’”
Vincent grabbed Forzenay’s arm, his heart in this throat. “It’s her?”
“It is,” Graybil said. “It’s Ammey, isn’t it? That’s why she was to be here.”
“She’s the one to make a difference?” Kidder asked, genuinely confused.
“Yes,” Forzenay said quietly. “She is the one.”
Vincent swallowed hard, suddenly queasy.
Kidder was incredulous. “To make a difference with whom?”
“She’s an innocent,” Stripe said furiously. “We taught her to kill. I’d wager my life she’s a virgin. Or was.”
Vincent turned his back on his friends and worked to get a decent breath.
“How can she make a difference in such a hostile time?” Graybil asked, directing it to Forzenay. “Surrounded by thugs and wolves and demons?”
“I don’t know,” Forzenay replied tiredly.
“We should have returned her to the
Forge,” Stripe declared.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” Kidder asked.
“We don’t even know if she’s still alive,” Vincent said miserably.
Forzenay removed the talisman from around his neck and offered it to him.
Vincent looked at it and then at Forzenay. “What am I supposed to do with it?”
“It’s never to be used lightly,” Forzenay replied. “Only to ask a question that can be answered simply. With a yes or no. Something you seek to know with all your heart.”
Vincent took it and placed it around his neck.
“It should lie against the flesh that covers your heart,” Forzenay said. “You needn’t ask your question aloud.”
Vincent closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on what he wanted to know, but images and feelings rushed him. The way she felt in his arms. The feeling of her lips on his. Her seductive dancing in Tariq’s lodge. That bastard’s hands on her throat.
“She lives,” Milainah said.
Vincent jerked his eyes open. The others were staring at him curiously.
“What?” Kidder asked. “What did you ask? It turned silver,” he exclaimed, pointing at the talisman.
“Did you hear her?” Vincent asked.
“Who?” Stripe asked.
“Milainah!”
Forzenay shook his head. “It’s only in the mind of the one who wears it.”
Vincent turned from the others and walked away, struggling for control. Should we go after her? He waited, but there was no reply. There was no voice and no changing of the stone. “Should we go after her?” he asked aloud. Damn it, there was no change. He turned back to Forzenay, frowning. “Why isn’t it working?”
“It is,” Forzenay replied. “The answer is no.”
~~~
The next afternoon, the Five were led into the sacred circle of the council of Elpis where Milainah awaited them. Vincent had never seen the place before. It was a semicircular twelve-foot wall of clear quartz. There were benches of quartz and a square altar in the center. Because the wall was opaque, the trees of the forest showed through blurred and distorted.