by Sharon Hinck
It was close to dark when Tristan came home. He opened the door and shoved Nolan inside. Ignoring the boy, Kendra threw herself into Tristan’s arms. He buried his face in her hair, and then pulled back to rest his forehead against hers. Both the man and boy reeked of sweat and the acrid chemical smoke that permeated their clothes. Nolan’s wrists were still tied and he kept his gaze down. His lip was cracked and caked with dried blood, and his face was puffy and swollen.
I shot Tristan a questioning look.
He untangled himself from Kendra’s embrace. “I decided to bring him here for the night. Some of the guardians I asked to watch him were a little . . . overzealous. I need to talk to him, and he’ll be safe here.”
“Maybe so, but how safe will we be?” Talia strode into the room and glanced over to the corner of the room. Dustin and Aubrey had dozed off after their game and were curled around each other like puppies. I thought about the Hazorite demand that these children be handed over to Zarek in Sidian and shuddered.
“Susan can take care of him,” Tristan said.
Terrific. As far as I was concerned, guarding an adolescent hostage wasn’t in my job description. But then, none of this was. Tristan whispered something to Kendra, and she smiled. He touched her face again, “I’ll be right back.” Then he gestured to me to follow him. When we stepped outside, I could barely see the trees a few feet from the house. Night was falling fast.
Tristan dragged a hand across his forehead. “We need to find out everything we can about how strong Hazor is and what their plans are. Did the boy say anything to you earlier?”
“He begged me to kill him. He seemed terrified about being brought back here.”
Tristan grunted. “Good. We can use that. Keep him scared and find out what you can.”
“I . . . I don’t think I can handle that.” My stomach clenched at the memory of Nolan’s fear earlier that day.
“I’m not asking you to torture him. Just get him talking.”
“What’s going to happen now? Will the Council gather an army to come and help defend Braide Wood? And why did Hazor ask for something so crazy?”
Tristan’s face was indistinct in the darkness, but I heard him sigh. “If Hazor is as strong as I fear, there may not be a choice. It’s common for them to take children when they conquer a land. That way they know the nation won’t retaliate. A war would put our own children at risk. Their strategy gives them more control over the countries they absorb.” His foot scraped against the hard-packed earth as he shifted his weight. “By the way . . . I didn’t get a chance to thank you for raising the alarm this morning—”
“It didn’t help.”
“—and for bringing Kendra back. I . . . I’d lost hope. She’s everything to me. I owe you my life.”
I could hear the effort it took him to voice his feelings, and a glow of pleasure and gratitude swept over me. “I’m just glad I could help. Now go inside and clean up. We all need some supper.”
The meal was quiet. Everyone cast uneasy glances at Nolan, whom I had convinced Tristan to let me untie. I gave the boy some soup and bread, but he just glowered at me, probably suspicious of drugs or poison. After the meal, Dustin and Aubrey dutifully chanted the Verses they were learning, with a few corrections from Gareth and Talia. I covertly watched Nolan as the children’s clear voices filled the room. He seemed to listen, though he kept his gaze averted from everyone.
Tristan made a point of gathering up all the weapons before heading to bed. He showed me a closet with no windows, where I could lock Nolan in for the night when I finished talking to him. After steering everyone to the back rooms, he slapped his boot knife into my palm. “Keep this handy.”
Nolan huddled in his chair at the end of the table. He didn’t look like much of a threat, but I nodded and tucked the dagger into my belt.
“I’ll be close by if you need anything,” Tristan added loudly. Nolan flinched. Then Tristan left me alone in the common room with our prisoner.
I was tired, but the boy had to be exhausted. The Hazorites must have risen hours before dawn in order to launch their attack at first light.
I walked over to the kitchen and brought a pitcher and mug to the table. “Have some water,” I offered, pouring.
He ignored me, staring at his hands in his lap, but he licked his cracked lips.
I sat down at the table near him. “Nolan, look at me.” I waited until he complied before continuing, “You can watch me drink some first so you’ll know it’s safe.” I drank a few swallows and pushed the cup over to him.
He glanced up at me through his dark cropped bangs, and after a long pause, he reached for the mug. His hands shook as he drained it.
Great. Tristan wanted me to keep him scared. I wanted to send the poor kid home to his parents for a good night’s sleep. “So, Nolan, I’m not from around here. Something puzzles me. Why did they leave you behind to deliver the message? Isn’t that kind of dangerous for someone so young?” I poured him some more water from the pitcher.
He shrugged but didn’t answer.
I had to grin. With two teenagers at home, I had lots of experience with the silent treatment.
Reaching for the mug, he looked up and saw me grinning. His eyes widened, and his hand shook so much that some of the water splashed onto the table. He set the mug down, and his eyes darted around the room. He was looking for exits.
I shook my head and leaned forward. Time to pull up everything I’d ever learned about intimidation from watching TV spy dramas over the years. “There’s nowhere for you to go. I know you’re mad that I wouldn’t kill you. I’m sorry. Maybe it would have been easier for you. But Tristan . . .” I tilted my head toward the back rooms. “Well, Tristan wants you alive. I don’t know why. But I think it’d be better for you if you just talk to me and don’t make me call him away from his bed.”
“What do you want?” he asked in a small voice.
“I just want to talk. I’m curious about your customs. Answer a few questions for me, and I’ll do my best to keep Tristan away from you. Deal?”
He blinked at me in confusion.
“A deal. A bargain. Is it a bargain?” I asked again.
He made a noncommittal sound in his throat and slouched back into this chair, staring at the table.
I felt another wave of familiarity. This reminded me of many kitchen table conversations with my teens. Unfortunately, taking away the car keys wasn’t going to help in this situation. I slapped my hand down on the tabletop and pushed my chair back as I stood up. “Fine. I’ll just go call Tristan. I’m tired anyway. Since you’d rather talk to him, I can get some sleep.”
“No!” he said.
I stood, waiting.
“They left me because my life isn’t important,” he blurted out, answering my earlier question. “I’m not strong enough for the army, so they made me a messenger. That was my job. I went where I was needed, so they didn’t waste the life of someone useful.”
I slid back into my chair, careful not to let him see the pity I was feeling. “And why does Hazor want Braide Wood?”
“Why not? Hazor is growing. Hazor can take any nation it wants, so it will.”
“And this is just a start?”
“Maybe. Probably. The hill gods have told us that Hazor will rule the entire world.” There was no small hint of a boast in his voice.
“So you worship the hill gods?” I knew this line of questioning wasn’t getting to the military information Tristan wanted, but I was curious.
“Of course. It’s why we’re a strong nation. We serve them. They give us power.”
“Here in Braide Wood, we serve only one God.”
“We know.” His lip curled. “It’s not really a fair battle, is it? Your one god against all of ours? Your swords and knives against our weapons?”
“Tell me about your weapons,” I
said, jumping at the opening he gave me. “What did they use to kill Bekkah?” Anger edged my voice, and this time I didn’t have to fake it.
“I wasn’t there then. They brought me in afterwards.”
“But you know the weapons the army carried. You’ve seen them.”
He nodded slowly. “Syncbeams. Focused heat weapons. Easy to carry. Works at a long distance if you have good aim. I guess it doesn’t matter if I talk about them. They’ve been selling them out of Corros Hills.”
“What?” That made no sense.
He looked at me with obvious pity for my stupidity. “Your Council paid a huge tribute for some.”
“But why would Hazor sell their sync-things to an enemy nation?”
“Syncbeams.”
“Whatever. But why would they sell them to our Council?”
Nolan shifted in the chair but didn’t answer.
I was baffled. Cameron’s conversation in the transport began to make more sense. The trade delegation had been procuring weapons—weapons that were forbidden by the Verses. But why would Hazor barter away their advanced technology? Unless . . . “They don’t really work?”
“Oh, they work,” Nolan said.
I kept thinking. The Council in Lyric was worried about an attack from Kahlarea. Lyric tries to build an alliance with Hazor. Hazor bleeds them for tribute in exchange for weapons . . . “But Hazor only trades the old models,” I said, catching on. “They have newer and more powerful syncbeams . . . and probably defenses against the old ones.”
“Of course,” the boy answered, looking at me as if I were a bit slow.
I carried the pitcher of water back to the kitchen to give me time to process this information. If Hazor planned to keep expanding, Kahlarea would be a target one day, too. By supplying the Council with weapons, Hazor hoped that the People of the Verses would weaken Kahlarea in war. Then, after Hazor moved through the clans, Kahlarea would be ripe for attack as well. I grabbed a cloth, soaked it in cold water, and wrung it out.
“But then why today’s attack? It would interfere with Hazor’s master plan if the People of the Verses mount a retaliation now.”
Nolan shrugged. “Your people won’t fight. Zarek is too strong. And with the Braide Wood children in Hazor . . .”
I nodded. “Less chance of a random invasion later.”
When I walked back to the table, Nolan watched me warily. Dark bruises were beginning to show up on his face, especially around one eye.
I held his chin and gently blotted the dried blood at the side of his mouth. “What did Tristan’s men do to you?”
He gave me another look as if he thought I were the village idiot and didn’t bother answering.
Folding the cloth, I pressed it over the worst bruise on the side of his face. “Hold it there. It’ll bring down the swelling a little.” I sat down again and wished for the millionth time that I were home. Nolan was a messenger for the enemy Hazorites, but he was also a boy. Somewhere his mother worried about him. If I were back home, I’d know how to reach out to him. I’d been a volunteer tutor at Jake and Karen’s high school, and even did a little career counseling. None of that was particularly helpful right now. Nolan didn’t have career options. He was considered dispensable. The thought of someone treating my son that way broke my heart. Whatever Tristan said, I had to offer this boy at least a little truth and encouragement.
“Nolan, this might be hard for you to understand, but the One doesn’t believe anyone is useless. Big or small, strong or weak, every single person has value.” I stared into his eyes. “He cares about you.”
The young messenger looked at me for a long moment and rubbed his raw wrists.
Would the power of the words reach him? It was hard to see if they were sinking in. He sagged with weariness.
“You need some sleep. Come on.” I walked him over to the closet Tristan had shown me earlier. I felt badly locking him up, but I wasn’t going to be able to stay awake much longer. I grabbed a pallet from one of the common room chairs and tossed it over the wood floor in the tiny room. Doubled over, it just fit.
Nolan stepped inside and sank to the floor in the corner, hugging his knees.
I slid the door closed and threw the latch, rattling the door once to test it. The lock seemed secure. The thought of waking up in the morning to find our prisoner gone kept me from heading to my room. Instead, I grabbed another pallet and stretched it out on the floor in front of the closet door. I lay down, and the dagger in my belt dug into my side. I was so tired, I barely had the energy to roll over and find a more comfortable position before falling asleep.
Chapter
16
“Susan, what are you doing?” Tara’s whisper woke me early the next morning.
I stretched and smiled up at her. “Tristan wanted me to keep the boy out of trouble.” I pressed my ear against the closet door but didn’t hear anything. “Do you think he can breathe in there?”
Tara didn’t look any happier about a prisoner locked in her closet than I was about guard duty. “Yes, there’s a big gap along the bottom of the door. Would you like some clavo?”
“If you’re making some.” It was our ritual morning exchange.
She smiled. “Yes, I’m making some. Why don’t you go and get cleaned up. I’ll keep an eye on the closet until you get back.”
I gave her a grateful hug.
When I returned, I unlatched the closet to check on Nolan. He was curled on the floor, his face a motley mix of purple and blue bruises. The sliding of the door jarred him awake. He pushed himself up groggily, squinting against the light. The instant he remembered where he was, he pressed himself back into the corner like a trapped animal. I offered him my hand, but he ignored it.
“Did he give you any trouble?” Tristan’s voice was loud in the quiet of the morning. Predictably, Nolan tensed at the sound and started breathing faster.
I stepped away from the, pulling Tristan with me. “No, he was very helpful.”
Tara brought us each a mug of clavo, and we sat at the table. Tristan glanced at the open closet door.
I shook my head. “Let him be for now. I think he feels safer in there.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “What exactly did you do to him?”
“Nothing!”
Tara brought us a bread loaf, and we dug into breakfast. When Talia’s husband, Gareth, appeared a few minutes later, Tristan asked him to guard Nolan for a while so we could talk.
“And see if you can get him to eat something,” I added. Tristan and I suited up with weapons and gear. I returned Tristan’s boot knife to him and slid my sword into my baldric. From force of habit, I grabbed my pack, and we headed outside.
The air still smelled slightly odd, but I took a moment to soak in the sight of trees in the pale morning light. They were comfortingly normal after the yesterday’s nightmare. My eyes felt seared by the sights they’d seen, far more than from the foul smoke that had burned them. We hiked to the clearing where Wade and I had worked on my sword training. It was far enough from the village that Tristan and I could talk in privacy.
I filled him in on everything I had learned from Nolan, along with my guesses about what Hazor was planning. “Tristan, how are we going to convince the Council to keep to the Verses? They can’t trust in an alliance with Hazor. This attack has to show them that.”
Tristan massaged the back of his neck. “I can’t believe Cameron is getting away with this. Most of the other members of the Council would never go against the Verses this way. I just don’t know—” His head snapped up, and he froze.
I wished I’d developed his habit of being constantly on alert. With my enhanced senses, I was usually the first to hear someone approaching, but today I was tired and had been focused on our conversation. I didn’t notice the crashing in the underbrush until it was almost on us.
Tristan tossed aside his pack and drew his sword. A few seconds later, I realized this was the kind of reflex he had tried to instill in me through our training. Obviously I needed more practice. I dropped my pack but didn’t have time to draw my sword before a burly shape charged into the clearing.
For a second, I thought it was a bear. Then I blinked and realized it was just Wade.
“Tristan. Run!” Wade panted, wide-eyed with panic. “Council guards are on their way. They’ve taken the Records. You’ve got to get out of here.”
“The Records?” Even as he asked Wade for information, Tristan was a blur of efficient movement. He sheathed his sword, shouldered his pack, strode toward mine and tossed it to me.
“They’re taking them to Lyric,” Wade said.
“What?” Tristan hesitated, then shook off his shock and disbelief. “Pine Caves. Bring supplies if you can,” he said. “And Wade? Thank you.”
Wade nodded and turned to leave. Tristan grabbed my arm to steer me toward the trail, but the crashing sound came again—louder this time. And from all directions. Men poured into the clearing. It seemed like dozens—although when I counted later, there were only five.
I dropped my pack and tugged at my sword hilt to free it, but Tristan squeezed my arm and gave a small shake of his head.
One of the men marched straight toward us. He was tall, with black hair slicked back from his forehead and the sleek type of tunic and trousers I had seen on Cameron and his entourage. However, he and his men also wore vests of thick leather, shin guards, and gauntlets. Their belts bristled with swords and knives.
“This is the one. Take her,” the man ordered.
Tristan pulled me behind him. “Case, what is this about?”