Reaper of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy)

by Debra Holland

  Beside her, Khan slipped his bow off his shoulder, pulled an arrow from the quiver on his back, and nocked it. He’d changed into a green uniform, but still looked every inch a foreign warrior.

  When her head cleared the top, all Daria saw was a silent city, empty of people. The road widened and continued straight to a distant square temple. With a shiver, she recognized the one from her dream. Indaran should be within. She scanned the buildings lining the street. Perhaps stores or warehouses. But where were all the people? Daria glanced at Khan, lifting her eyebrows.

  He shrugged in response, slinging the bow back over his shoulder. But his narrowed eyes studied their surroundings, and he kept the arrow in his hand

  She caught her breath from the climb, then touched her othersense, aiming it toward the temple, striving to find the faintest sign of Indaran’s heartline.

  Nothing.

  She strained harder.

  Still nothing.

  Khan’s energy reached out, twining with hers, giving her own a boost.

  Something tugged to the west. Why there and not straight to the temple, she didn’t know. She hesitated, then decided to trust their othersense. “That way,” she called, pointing down a narrower road that curved along the top of the cliff, hoping she wasn’t leading them into an ambush.

  Daria set a quick pace. Although her sense of urgency pushed her to run, she held herself to a jog, not wishing to use up all her reserves. She didn’t know how far they had to go and didn’t want to deplete her army before they got there.

  Thank goodness, I had everyone doing sprints on board the ship. At least my men haven’t lost their endurance.

  She’d judged they’d gone about a quarter of a mile, when she heard shouting and pain-filled cries. Her heart thumped in fear. A wave of memory made her dizzy; she wavered, her pace slowing. She’d heard those horrible sounds the day Seagem had been sacked.

  Khan also slowed. Seeming to know her feelings, he grabbed her arm, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Courage, habibti.”

  Daria nodded, flashing him a loving smile, before breaking his hold and unsheathing her sword. The othersense pressure yanked her onward, and once more she quickened speed.

  The bodyguard hurried to flank them, and she didn’t order them back.

  They rounded a building and emerged onto the edge of a battlefield.

  Gray kilted, dark-skinned fighters surrounded a wooden stockade, the walls obviously just breached. Bodies lay piled around the tumbled wood, and the front rows of the army pressed in on men and women fighting with swords and pikes.

  Men and women who looked like the people of Seagem. My people. Daria’s heart jumped into her throat.

  With their attention forward, none of the fighters noticed the small force that had appeared at their unprotected flank. A glancing count showed Daria’s troops outnumbered about five to one. But the opposing army only carried swords. No shields, no bows. They’d be vulnerable to the arrows, evening out the odds.

  The enemy.

  Daria didn’t question how she knew the good from the bad. Not just coloring, but a gut-churning knowledge from her othersense. “Archers, with us,” she commanded, waving them forward to stand next to her and Khan. “Aim for the dark ones wearing gray kilts.” She sheathed her sword and loosened her bow, drawing out an arrow.

  The archers eased around them and took up front row positions, pulling arrows out of their quivers and targeting the enemy. Khan also stood prepared.

  “Let fly,” she called, picking out her own target.

  A wave of arrows flew through the air, landing with deadly precision.

  Men dropped, writhing, screaming.

  A second volley quickly followed. Then another.

  By this time, they’d drawn the enemies’ attention. Men shouted and pointed to them, but with the deadly rain of arrows, none dared turn to attack.

  A group of horsemen in gray robes crashed out of the fence debris, galloping through the fighters, unconcerned about whom they rode down. The leader carried a dark-haired woman, captive in his arms.

  Daria sighted an arrow on him, but didn’t dare let fly lest she hit the woman. Instead, she aimed for the second man. Her arrow took him in the shoulder, tossing him off his horse.

  The animal neighed and jerked to a stop, milling around.

  Khan’s arrow took the next man.

  Then it was her turn. Together, they accounted for five of the riders, before four of the horsemen cleared the dirt area and disappeared around a building.

  Daria took her last shot. Glancing around, she noticed the rest of the archers finishing up their arrows. Scores of bodies lay on the ground between them and the fence, feathered shafts buried in their chests.

  She tossed her bow and quiver to Khan and pulled out her sword. “Get back behind that building and wait for us.”

  He nodded, reluctance written on his face. But a week’s practice hadn’t given him enough proficiency with the sword, and he knew it. “The Goddess go with you, habibti.”

  She waved her sword in the air. “Seagem,” she yelled, then pointed her sword forward. “Follow me!” Daria charged into the fray, her men shouting and rushing after her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Anger thundered in Mastin’s mind; the pounding beat of his rage accompanied each swing of his arm. His strength was mightier than ten warriors; his speed faster than a striking bird of prey. He slew all who dared to oppose him.

  Soldiers charged toward him. He mowed them down like a farmer scything hay. Bodies piled at his feet. None touched him with their swords.

  The tide of men pouring toward him paused, fear stark on their faces.

  “Come to me, cowards.” His voice rang over the battle yells and the cries of the wounded. He jumped over a hacked pile of corpses and took himself into the midst of the fray.

  The anger thrumming through Mastin ceased, as if his veins had suddenly blocked. A new sensation walked into his body. Softly at first, he barely noticed the sudden weakness, efficiently displacing the soldiers in front of him.

  His anger seeped away. Vol’s helm pressed against his forehead. The red coloring his vision chanced to purple. Sadness leaped into his heart, a contraction so full of grief that he howled, raising his sword to the sky.

  The men around him backed away.

  The faces of his lost family swept in front of his eyes, hands held out to him, imploring. He could see the fear in the bright blue of his mother’s eyes…see the tears of his sisters. Behind them, his city burned, orange flames licking at the wooden parts of the greenstone buildings. Smoke blackened the lavender sky.

  Anguish contracted his ribcage until he couldn’t breath. Weeping, he crumbled into a ball, barely feeling the sword that pierced his belly.

  ~ ~ ~

  Engrossed in the fighting, trying to rally his strength, Indaran could only spare brief glances to stay abreast of the battle. To his left, Mastin fought with a berserker rage; from the bodies accumulating at his feet, his friend accounted for four soldiers to Indaran’s one. He’d never seen anything like it. But even with Mastin’s mad battle, the enemy marched on, a relentless tide that the beleaguered fighters of Seagem couldn’t turn.

  With his sword, he blocked the clumsy stab of a man rushing toward him. The soldier’s momentum made him overbalance, and with a sweep of his leg, Indaran kicked the man’s feet out from under him. The man tumbled to his knees, sword smacking into the ground. Indaran quickly dispatched him.

  Horsemen burst out of the entrance to the compound. The riders urged their mounts to a gallop, not caring who, dead or alive, they rode down. Kokam held Jasmine captive.

  “No!” Indaran yelled. “Jasmine!”

  As the riders sped past, arrows struck them down. Indaran held his breath, lest an arrow hit Jasmine.

  Archers? Where did they come from?

  The four remaining riders cleared the battlefield and disappeared around the corner, heading toward the temple.

  A s
oldier rose up in front of him, and he slew him. But more followed. Several hundred of the enemy stood between him and his beloved.

  Anger fired through Indaran. Jasmine. I need to get to Jasmine. I don’t care if I swore never to enter Ontarem’s temple alive. I need to go after her.

  He thrust, cut, parried, slashed, blocked, and stabbed. His arm trembled with fatigue. Sweat dripped into his eyes. Several small wounds burned. The force of Ontarem’s army seemed endless.

  The flight of arrows splintering the sky and mowing down the enemy surprised him as much as Ontarem’s soldiers. From his position on the left side of the battlefield, he could see a line of archers clad in uniforms of Seagem’s green, outflanking the gray warriors. Behind them, several ranks of soldiers waited. How many, he couldn’t tell.

  Rescue. A new hope gave courage to his heart and strength to his arm.

  More and more of Ontarem’s soldiers dropped. As the enemy turned their attention to the archers, the press of battle ebbed.

  Arrows flew. The ranks of the enemy thinned.

  Then the flight of arrows ceased.

  “Seagem!” A female voice, strong and carrying, sounded above the noise.

  Squinting, he could make out a tall blond woman leading the charge of her troops.

  Who…? But it mattered not. Anger and hope poured into his sword arm, renewing the battle lust. He needed to get this over with, and quickly. He had to rescue Jasmine before Ontarem dug His claws into her.

  ~ ~ ~

  Once the horses reached the streets, their hoof beats echoed in Jasmine’s ears, matching the fear beating in her heart. With her cheek pressed against the lump on her captor’s chest, she couldn’t move. Now she understood exactly the helplessness of an Ontarem-induced paralysis.

  Her muscles cramped from the awkward curl of her body within the man’s tight embrace. But she couldn’t shift to a comfortable position. With her nose so close to the man, she could smell the noxious scent of incense penetrating his robe.

  What will Ontarem do with me? Shivers of fear turned her muscles soft.

  The horses drew up in front of the temple. Jasmine’s captor tossed her into the waiting arms of a guard.

  She squirmed in his grasp. Then Jasmine realized she could move, and reminded herself to stay limp. No use giving them more of a reason to restrain her.

  Watch for a chance to escape.

  The guard dropped Jasmine to her feet but kept a tight grip on her arm, dragging her toward the open doors. Inside the cavernous building, the reek of incense made her dizzy. She blinked, trying to clear her vision, but when she saw the statue of Ontarem in the front, her knees weakened. The guard marched her up the aisle toward the statue.

  At least the slabs are empty. But for how long?

  In the open area at the foot of the statue, her captor stepped in front of them and bowed to Ontarem. “My God. I have brought her to You. May You find strength from her offering.” He motioned for the guard to bring Jasmine forward.

  Although Ontarem’s head no longer lolled like the last time she’d seen the statue, the carved features seemed thin and drawn.

  She turned her attention to her captor. A handsome man, as tall as Indaran, although his shoulders weren’t as broad. Long jet-black hair was swept back from an aristocratic face. Dark skin smoothed over sharp cheekbones and slanted dark eyes appraised her.

  He tilted up her chin. “Now, where did you come from? Blue eyes.” He tipped her face first one way, then the other. “What were you doing in the slave camps? You seem to have the blood of some of the slaves. Good. Over the generations, slave blood has strengthened the power of our priests and priestesses and given us great vessels of energy for our God.”

  Jasmine narrowed her eyes, sending him a message of distain.

  “Ah, you don’t like the honor planned for you?” He smiled down at her, sexy and wicked. “You will give our God much power.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss on her lips.

  She shuddered. No. No. Not again.

  He turned away. “Bring the cagdean,” he said to another priest.

  “We don’t have it ready, Trine Kokam.”

  The Trine’s face suffused with angry color. “Prepare some immediately.”

  Jasmine shuffled back a half step, anxious to put some space between them.

  Kokam glanced up at the statue, fingering the large gray pearl on a chain around his neck. As if making a sudden decision, he jerked the chain from around his neck, holding the necklace over Jasmine’s head. “A temporary gift from Ontarem—” his voice held a threatening purr “—to ensure your compliance.” He dropped the chain around her neck.

  The pearl thumped against her breastbone, sending a shot of cold throughout her body. Her muscles froze, and her power leeched away. My memories will be next. Despair enveloped her.

  Kokam leaned close and ran his hand up her throat. His breath was warm on her cheek. “This will work until we can force some cagdean down you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The press of battle stilled. No clash of swords, no battle cries, only the moans of the wounded. None of the enemy remained upright. Several of the riderless horses milled around, avoiding the worst of the carnage.

  Indaran lowered his sword. A quick glance showed the green-uniformed warriors fanning over the field, securing the victory. We’ve won the battle, but lost Jasmine.

  But not for long.

  He stooped and cleaned his bloody blade on the kilt of a dead man, then sheathed his sword.

  I have to get to Jasmine. He took a few quick steps and grabbed the loose reins of the nearest horse. Where was Mastin?

  Indaran looked toward the left, where he’d last seen his berserker friend and saw him collapsed on the ground, blood covering his clothing.

  Indaran dropped the reins of the horse and vaulted over some bodies to reach Mastin. Sadness rose, softening his anger. Going down on one knee, he carefully pulled the helmet off his friend’s head.

  Mastin’s eyes fluttered open. He moved his mouth. One word drifted out. “Color.”

  Indaran leaned closer. “Color?”

  “Memories colored again.”

  “Mastin,” Indaran said urgently. “Did the helmet do that for you?”

  “Hit…me…with all…the…feelings…past.” He gasped out each word.

  “All. Is that why you were so mad at me?”

  “So much ra…ge…then sad…ness.”

  “The helmet flooded you with feelings?” He strove to understand. “First anger, than sadness?”

  Mastin’s fingers moved. “Too…sad…to…fight.”

  Indaran grasped Mastin’s hand.

  “Forgi…” The words died away.

  “I understand, my friend. I forgive you. Be at peace.”

  Tempor came to stand next to them.

  The light faded from Mastin’s eyes.

  Indaran reached over and closed the lids. “Goodbye, old friend.” He boxed up his feelings of pain and regret. Later, he’d feel them.

  If there is a later.

  He placed Mastin’s hand on his chest, then stood, looking at Tempor. “I’m going after Jasmine.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  Indaran nodded, retreating to gather the reins of the horse. “Get the other one.” He swung into the saddle.

  “King Indaran. King Indaran.” Timba’s piping voice caught his attention. She ran over to him, Shareef in her arms. “You must take Shareef.”

  The animal watched him, amber eyes bright.

  “No, child. I must rescue Lady Jasmine.”

  “My othersense says you must take him.”

  The urgency in her voice penetrated his resistance. He couldn’t deny an othersense request. He leaned down and plucked Shareef from Timba’s arms, settling the animal between his legs.

  “Timba, find someone to gather Mastin’s helmet and find the spear. Make sure no one touches them directly. Keep them wrapped.”

  “Yes, King Indaran.”

 
; After a glance to see if Tempor was ready, he kneed his horse forward, his heart filled with determination.

  ~ ~ ~

  Daria strode toward the remains of the camp. Her bodyguards spread out in front of her, checking the enemy bodies, dispatching the wounded. Others of her men gathered up Seagem’s walking wounded.

  A blond-haired warrior sprang onto one of the loose horses. A redheaded man mounted another. Together, they rode off the battlefield, following the direction of the original riders.

  Indaran?

  Excitement spiked in her chest, and she started to run after him, then halted, realizing the futility of catching up.

  She pivoted, striding toward the broken-down fence.

  A woman emerged. Her green robe fluttered in the breeze.

  Anza. With a cry of joy, Daria ran to the Archpriestess, calling her name.

  Anza jerked her head in Daria’s direction. Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened in shock. She stretched out her hands.

  Daria flew into Anza’s arms. The two embraced in a tearful hug, rocking back and forth. “I thought you were dead,” Daria gasped out between sobs.

  Anza pulled away enough just to frame Daria’s face with her hands. “And I thought you were dead, princess. Yadarius’s blessing that you’re alive.”

  “My brother?”

  “King Indaran is alive.”

  “Did I just see him ride off?”

  “Yes. Lady Jasmine was captured. If she falls into Ontarem’s hands, He will gain much power.”

  “Jasmine is here! Who’s Ontarem?”

  “There’s so much to explain, princess. Ontarem is the Evil God who is behind all of Seagem’s troubles. He is our true enemy. The Lady Jasmine is a healer and priestess to the God, Arvintor, Ontarem’s good twin.”

  What is she talking about? Never mind. I’ll find out later. “I need to aid my brother.” Daria whirled to go after Indaran.

  Anza grabbed her arm. “No, Princess Daria. You can’t. Ontarem destroyed Seagem to capture you. He wants your power. You can’t just walk into His hands.”

  Daria raised her chin.

  Evidently recognizing royal determination, Anza shook Daria’s arm for emphasis. “You have the strongest othersense of all. If you fall into Ontarem’s clutches, all will be lost. Between you, Indaran, and Jasmine, He will have power enough to suppress Arvintor’s rebellion, leading Him to conquer all the Gods—Arvintor, Withea, Yadarius. The Evil One will reign over our whole world.”