Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Boerk unsaddled the horses. “I’ll go summon Counselor Ogan.”

  “Good,” Khan said. “I’ll rub down the horses while we wait.

  Daria shot Khan a don’t-treat-me-like-a-princess look.

  He held his hands up in front of him. “I meant, we’ll rub down the horses.”

  They worked in silence for a while, Khan on Nika and Daria busy with Teifa. The familiar routine was hypnotic, helping to still the fear rumbling in her stomach. But she didn’t lose her alertness. One quick move would bring her sword into her hand.

  Daria combed out the tangles of her horse’s long mane, then looked over at Khan, who was talking in Arabic to Nika as he groomed him.

  “We’re helpless here,” she said. “I don’t like it.”

  “We knew it was a risk to come, habibti. You felt it was the right decision. And it is.”

  She touched the sword at her side. “These soldiers hunted me a long time. If there’s trouble. I don’t know whether to fight, or surrender and demand to be taken to Ogan.”

  One of his eyebrows rose in mock sarcasm. “You can fight. I’ll surrender. That way you don’t have to choose.”

  Daria shook her head, but her mood lightened. “Someday, we’ll have some peace. Then I’ll teach you how to fight.”

  He laughed. “You don’t even hear the irony in what you just said.”

  “What?” Daria pondered her words. Sometimes she had a hard time keeping up with her mate’s quicksilver sense of humor. He could pull out a quip even in the tensest of times.

  “If we are at peace, I won’t need to fight.”

  “The skills are still something you should know. Mastery of a sword takes years of practice. If you remember, our time has been very full.”

  A smile played around Khan’s lips. “And it’s likely to remain so.”

  A clamor outside had them both stiffening and laying down their currycombs. Daria tried to straighten her shirt, wishing she looked like a princess instead of a walking ragbag.

  Counselor Ogan barreled through the door, then stopped with a small bounce in front of her. “Princess Daria. Princess Daria.”

  She held out her hand, shocked by the change in his sugar dumpling appearance. Gone were his plumpness and round cheeks. Wrinkles creased his formerly smooth skin, and shadows haunted his pale blue eyes. His gray beard lacked its precise trim, and his clothes hung loosely, as if he’d never bothered to have them tailored to fit his thinner frame.

  He grabbed her hand with both of hers. Tears sheened his eyes, spilling over as he sank to both knees. “I’m so sorry for the destruction Ocean’s Glory has visited upon your family, upon your country. I tried to stop the king, but I couldn’t.” A sob burst forth, and he sank his head to her hand. “Please forgive me.”

  “Counselor Ogan,” Daria said in distress, emotion blurring her own vision. “There is nothing to forgive. You aren’t to blame for what happened. That was Thaddis’s doing.” She tugged on her hand, encouraging him to rise.

  He didn’t budge.

  Giving in to the grief clogging her own throat, Daria folded her legs until she knelt head to head with him. Then she leaned over and embraced his shaking body with her other arm. He smelled of the cammor leaves she remembered from her last visit. The scent evoked a sharp memory of that day—being with her father and her brothers—and her tears flowed into his gray hair.

  A hand stroked her shoulder. Khan’s. She knew without looking up. She choked back her tears and glanced up at him.

  He touched her cheek with the side of his forefinger.

  The little gesture of support enabled her to speak. “Come, Counselor Ogan, rise.” She put a gentle command into her tone. “We have much to speak of, both the past and the future.”

  He lifted his head. “You are right, Princess. Forgive an old man his emotions.”

  “As I have said, there is nothing to forgive. You loved my father well. And my brothers. And you loved and served your king with honor. However, he did not honor you. I know you tried to rein in his evil madness, and how you were punished for your loyal attempts. Because of this I dared to come to you today, placing my life in your hands.”

  “King Thaddis stripped me of my position. There is not much I can do to help you.”

  “I think when the rest of the council sees the state King Thaddis is in, they’ll be more than happy to welcome you back. In fact, I’m sure they will beg you.”

  Daria helped him to his feet.

  “Boerk told me what happened to King Thaddis.”

  “See for yourself.” Daria guided him to the other stall.

  Ogan stood in silence, staring down at the old man who’d been his king. “Besolet has lost much of Her power. I doubt She could heal him at this time. Not that we’d want him back. But we have no heir.” He looked up at her, pale red-rimmed eyes imploring. “Will you accept the rule, Princess Daria? Will you become the Queen of Ocean’s Glory?”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Time to develop a war plan. Jasmine dropped to a cross-legged position on the blanket covering the dried-seaweed floor in Anza’s tent. Indaran settled on one side of her, and Anza lowered herself more stiffly across from them.

  A scent of bitter herbs mingled with the smell of dried seaweed. Landers had quickly seen to Jasmine’s requests, and several canvas bags of precious berst were bundled in a corner.

  Jasmine turned her hands palm up and rested them on her knees. “Now that the first part of our plan has been implemented, you need to know what happens next. I mentioned Arvintor before. I need to tell you His story, and what He plans to do.”

  Anza wrinkled her nose. “I wonder how many more Gods or Goddesses exist that we didn’t know about? Why didn’t we know about them?”

  Jasmine leaned forward. “Did you ever ask?”

  Anza pursed her lips in a rueful grimace. “No.”

  “Well, I did. Arvintor said that there are six.”

  “Six.” Anza rolled her eyes upward and to the left, apparently thinking. “There’s still one we don’t know about then.” She held up her hand. “Yadarius,” she said, ticking the names off her fingers. “Besolet. Guinheld. Ontarem. Arvintor.”

  “Withea.”

  Anza shook her head. “I’ve never heard of Withea, either.”

  “I met Withea.” Jasmine paused, uncertain how much to tell. “She saved my life. Sent me to Louat from another place.”

  Both Anza and Indaran looked at her with interest.

  “Saved your life?” they echoed.

  “That’s not important right now.

  Indaran lightly touched her forearm. “Sometime soon, I want to hear these other not important stories of yours.”

  Jasmine cocked one eyebrow at him. “And I want to hear yours.”

  “We’ll trade.”

  Did she want the intimacy his warm gaze offered? No—how could she ever give herself to a man after the nightmares of the past? Not that Indaran would want her if he knew her shame. That future was lost. Only the need to bring the people of Louat to freedom held meaning for her.

  Jasmine turned her face from the emerald gaze of the man she had saved and took a deep breath, preparing to begin her tale. “Arvintor and Ontarem are TwinGods and in the beginning ruled Louat together.” She related the story Arvintor had told her.

  Indaran pressed his hand to his forehead and inhaled sharply. “You’re saying Ontarem’s our ancient enemy?”

  “Yes.”

  “My people fled from him. We found safety in Yadarius’s realm.” He bowed his head into his palm.

  Jasmine looked over at Anza, and she knew what the Archpriestess was thinking. How will he bear this burden?

  “Now he has the descendants of Arvintor’s people.” His hand muffled the words. “The people of Seagem. At least the ones left alive.” He buried his face in both hands.

  Jasmine’s heart ached for him. Her hand crept out, hovered over his back. A few days ago, she wouldn’t have thought she’d ever vo
luntarily touch a man again.

  But you touched this man.

  He was unconscious at the time.

  Her hand trembled, then fluttered down, resting on the nubby woolen fabric of his gray vest. She rubbed her hand back and forth, feeling the hard outline of his back under her palm.

  Amazing, the healer in her thought, that his muscles hadn’t atrophied. Ontarem must have done something to Indaran’s body to keep him in stasis, barely aging.

  A few minutes passed, and then Indaran raised his head and looked at her, his eyes red. “Is there any way we can free Arvintor?”

  “There’s more to my story. Arvintor sent me to spy out this city, to learn what’s been happening in the generations since he’s been enslaved.” She told them about her time with the Che-da-wah, and the homage they’d paid to the God chained in the gray forest, how their energy had helped free the captives in the temple.

  Anza settled back. “We have much to be grateful to Arvintor then.”

  “The energy from the Che-da-wah alone will not be enough for Arvintor to challenge and defeat Ontarem permanently,” Jasmine warned. “He needs more followers. The worship of the people of Seagem should add much to His power.”

  Anza slowly nodded. “That can be done. A great part of everyone’s distress has been the desertion of Yadarius. They believe the God whom they loved and trusted betrayed them in the bitterest way. And of course, they loathe Ontarem, and wouldn’t willingly worship Him.”

  “But if they knew Yadarius probably was trapped like Arvintor—”

  “At least,” Anza interrupted, excitement lighting her careworn face, “they’d understand He didn’t betray them, He was likely betrayed. Some of that pain would ease.”

  “Good.” Indaran’s face appeared less tense.

  Jasmine gave a little bounce of excitement. “Learning about Arvintor would also give them a God to turn to. Especially if Arvintor could help you all escape.”

  Anza closed her eyes on a long inhale and exhale. Opening her eyes, she said, “I’ll begin to spread this story among the people. The sooner they begin to worship Arvintor, the better.”

  Jasmine clasped her hands together. “The news should give them some hope.”

  “Yes.” Anza reached out and touched each of their knees. “For the first time in months, I have hope.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Queen of Ocean’s Glory. For a moment, the possibility dazzled Daria. Live a normal royal life, help the citizens recover from the damage of Thaddis’s rule, do something about the people’s relationship, or rather lack of relationship, with Besolet.

  What am I thinking?

  She inhaled a breath of the stable air, redolent with hay and horses. No power on Kimtair would make me give that Goddess any homage. Besides, I’m on a mission to find my brother.

  “I thank you for the honor, Counselor Ogan. However, I must decline. Ocean’s Glory must be ruled by its council.”

  His hopeful face crumpled. “I cannot blame you for not wanting to govern the country of your enemies.”

  “Thaddis was my enemy. Your soldiers followed his orders. I cannot believe most of Ocean’s Glory wanted war with Seagem.”

  “Only a few. Some power-grasping nobles. Some men who were smitten with Lady Pasinae. The young men who thought war would be glorious. That’s all. Most kept their concerns to themselves because Besolet backed Thaddis. One doesn’t go against one’s king and one’s Goddess.”

  “You did.”

  “And look at the consequences. Another reason most did not follow my path.”

  “I can’t believe Besolet condoned the attack on Seagem. Why?”

  “I don’t know. But I think it was Pasinae’s doing.”

  A surge of anger shook her. “That evil witch. Wait until I meet up with her.”

  “She’s left.”

  “Left? The city?”

  “One week ago, we found her unconscious in the chapel. The statue of Besolet also seemed completely drained of power. The next day, Lady Pasinae recovered. She booked passage on a ship and returned to her country.”

  “Where is her country?” Even as she asked the question, the dream she’d had on her marriage night flashed into her mind. The ominous building where Indaran lay imprisoned. With the intuition of her othersense, Daria knew that Pasinae was somehow involved in Indaran’s capture.

  Ogan scrunched his forehead, thinking. “I don’t know. Strange, how we never thought to ask where she hailed from.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I know. I’m going after her.”

  Alarm flared in Ogan’s pale blue eyes. “Princess Daria, you must not take any further risks to your royal person.”

  “I’m not just pursuing her. I have another goal. But confronting her will be a joy.” Daria touched the sword at her side. “I believe that my brother, Indaran, is being held a prisoner in her country.”

  “That cannot be. Prince Indaran alive?” Hope seeped into the older man’s face.

  “So I believe. I’m going to rescue him as soon as I can find a ship to take us.”

  “If, as you say, I’m restored as head of the council, I’ll send a fleet with you. With soldiers.”

  Oh, the irony. “Call your council together, Ogan.” She waved at Thaddis. “Reveal their king to them. Then send Thaddis to the healing monastery in the Goddess Guinheld’s mountains. There he will be cared for.”

  “I will have you shown to the quarters you’d occupied on your last visit, Princess. Clothes will be sent to you.”

  “Thank you.” She reached back and placed her hand on Khan’s arm, drawing him to her side. “I do have some good news. I want you to meet Khan, my mate, and the Archpriest of the Goddess Withea, whose power is restored. She has healed Her land. The desert wasteland around Her shrine is no more. Perhaps when She gains in power, the whole desert will be no more.”

  Ogan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “I’m not sure which of your statements to respond to first. Perhaps I should try the simplest.” He bowed to Khan. “Welcome to Ocean’s Glory, Prince Khan.”

  Khan slanted one eyebrow at Daria before returning Ogan’s bow.

  “Perhaps at a more leisurely time,” said Ogan, “you can tell me more about your country and your courtship of the jewel of Seagem. Now, however, I’d better hear about this Goddess, Withea.”

  “Gladly,” Khan said. “Hundreds of years ago, the God Ontarem, the same evil God who is behind what has happened with Thaddis and Seagem, destroyed Withea’s city, rendering her powerless. She gradually regained a small degree of her power from the few animals and insects that roamed her land.”

  Ogan looked from one to the other. “Such power is infinitesimal,” he protested.

  Khan smiled. “The process took her hundreds of years. Then our coming, the power of our joined othersense, gave her even more energy. It was Withea who defeated your king.” He sent a pointed glance at the sleeping man.

  “And,” Daria added. “She’s willing to help the people of Ocean’s Glory. If they want to turn from the worship of Besolet, She will accept them.”

  Ogan tugged on his scraggly pointed beard. “Besolet isn’t going to like that.”

  Daria bared her teeth in a feral grin. “I’m depending on it.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Standing bare-chested in the makeshift practice ring, Indaran balanced his unfamiliar sword. Straw bales ringed a circular area, situated within a screen of tents, away from prying eyes. He’d banished any spectators, not wanting witnesses to his feeble attempts at weapons practice. Fourteen years had passed since he’d performed the nis-alt, although he’d often done the individual sword dances in his mind. He hefted the sword, enjoying the weight of the blade in his hand, and took a practice swing, before resting the blade at his side.

  Indaran closed his eyes and touched his chest with his first two fingers widespread. Then he wondered if he should even be acknowledging Yadarius. Should he perhaps salute Arvintor?

  He shrugged, not knowing the r
itual gesture for Arvintor. He’d used a Y for his whole life. At least for today—for this blessed first time of real practice—he’d honor the SeaGod.

  Indaran inhaled a centering breath, then struck out with the beginning thrust, followed by a flying slash through the air. His body easily fell into the familiar patterns, and he exalted in his freedom of movement. For so long, he’d dreamed of this.

  After a few minutes, he began to feel the results of his years of inactivity. As his breathing became harsher, and his muscles protested, his euphoric feelings gradually burned away. He ignored the discomfort, pressing through. He’d done many a nis-alt with stiff, sore muscles and knew how to persevere through pain and fatigue. He used the memory of that discipline to push on.

  Sweat beaded on his brow, and he swiped his forehead with his sleeve, before lunging into a jab, then stepping sideways in a parry. Figure by figure, he paced through the nis-alt-du, until he finished by slicing off his shadow opponent’s head.

  He lowered the sword to his side and stood panting for air, his whole body trembling with fatigue. What Micfal would say if he could see me now? His old weaponsmaster would peel the skin off his pupil’s back with his caustic criticisms about sloppy footwork and weak swings. Then Micfal would set Indaran to some heavy practicing. If only that old warrior were here…

  A shuffling sound had him spinning around.

  Tempor’s sister stood framed between the two columns of stacked straw bales that delineated the entrance. The setting sun coated her hair in amber light. She’d braided her flowing tresses into one long tail, and her blue dress covered the bruises on her chest and arms.

  Indaran grabbed for his shirt, hastily wiped off his face, and pulled the garment over his head. Then he strode over to her and held out his hand, palm up.

  She hesitated, then placed her hand in his.

  He bowed over her hand. “I’m afraid I never learned your name.”

  “Elanath. You might remember my father, Counselor Cleintis?”

  “Yes, yes, I do.” He guided her to a seat on a straw bale and dropped down beside her. “I remember him telling me some high tales of his two troublesome little twins.”