It worked. Melchor yanked open the exterior door and bolted into the courtyard without any opposition whatsoever. With a quick bound and a pull he was over the wall and back into the dark avenues of Bellshire.
Exhaling and straightening his coat, Melchor slowed his pace and wandered away toward the Crooks. With an assassination attempt to add to an already tall pile of damning evidence, Lady Arianne Hightower’s judge would have a much easier time bringing her trial and her life to a swift conclusion.
Only one task remained to him now. End the life of the ancient Queen. For that he would need to kill another man and commandeer another costume.
Baron Olivanne Longford waited for his brother, the Duke, in the alley by the Twoberry Gentleman’s Club. The hour was late, but at the back entrance of the club there were still plenty of people passing in and out to avoid the scandal that might erupt should they leave through the front. The gentlemen and their mistresses preferred a more clandestine exit.
Olivanne smoked a pipe, savoring the fragrant and soothing tobacco from the south, and for once he had some nerves to settle. After his encounter with Baron Carver and the tipsy Mr. Goodwin, he had felt fear. Not of the two men, of course; they were nothing. He feared because he had enjoyed the memory of whacking his wife’s latest bird against the tree and throwing it in the river.
The Voice forbade such pleasure in killing. He had thought the act stoically accomplished, but a fleeting burst of joy at seeing the annoying squawker dead rose within him whenever he thought back on the incident. Just as quickly as the joy came, it turned to anxiety; he had gone against the strictures the Voice had tried to inculcate in him, and now the punishment had come.
The Voice had instructed him to return to the beginning of his journey to enlightenment by crushing more Peacock beetles, reinforcing old lessons by forcing him to root in the dirt for hours. His last act of penance was to kill his wife, though if the Voice thought that would cost him any feeling of enjoyment or regret, it was dreadfully mistaken. He had contemplated the act so frequently that doing it came as unconsciously as sucking in pipe smoke.
Her body he had hidden away in his cave where no one would find it. Still, thanks to Baron Carver and the weak willed Justus Paige, he was now a fugitive in Bittermarch. It bothered him little. The Voice’s final lesson loomed close now. The Eternal Flame would sputter and die just like the tongues of any other fire when met with a deluge, and his deluge would be no ordinary flood. Just a quick trip back to Longford and his cave and all would be ready.
The door of the club creaked open, and the tall silhouette of his brother, Duke Melbourne Longford, stepped out, eyes searching the shadows cast by the lantern hanging by the door.
“Over here,” Olivanne prompted.
The Duke was ever the gentleman. Even when walking in a back alley under the cover of night, his posture was erect, his demeanor commanding and in control. Olivanne wondered why the Voice had not chosen his brother for its work instead. If the Duke could act so unperturbed after his oldest son precipitated a war and was stabbed to death, then surely the man had a steady grip on his emotions.
But as the Duke neared, Olivanne retracted his assessment. The face was worn, eyes haunted and hateful. The Duke wasn’t sleeping well. While his shoulders might be up and back, his spirit slumped in weariness.
The Duke stared at him for a moment before speaking. “How could you let yourself be discovered, Olivanne? The plan is in shambles! The plot is going to be exposed in open court tomorrow. Names will be named!”
“Let myself be discovered, brother?” Olivanne spat back. “It is Justus Paige that has undone this scheme. Apparently Baron Carver and Mr. Goodwin are quite persuasive.”
“And how did he escape your grasp?” the Duke demanded, tone sharp.
“The men I sent chased them into the Royal Wood and were slaughtered by beasts, terror birds by the looks of it. Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Paige escaped, though no one’s seen anything of Baron Carver since.”
Hands behind his back, the Duke paced back and forth for a few moments, and Olivanne puffed at his pipe while he waited for his brother to collect his thoughts.
“This could not have come at a worse time!” the Duke lamented. “These accusations against our family, your implication in the whole affair, and my son’s actions—they have all cast a long shadow across the house of Longford.”
Olivanne nodded. “True, but should you ride in to rescue Bellshire in its hour of need, that will certainly dispel any ill will these events might dredge up. I assume you have been more careful about your ledgers than those fools at Hightower?”
“Of course,” Duke Longford answered, “but you know as well as I that proof is hardly needed in the court of public opinion. With the names of so many northern lords rolling off of Justus Paige’s lips, it will be quite clear to anyone what is at work here. The worst of it is they think we’re arming Creetis!”
“Have you secured the weapons?” Olivanne asked. “Do you have hands to hold them?”
“I have dispatched men to gather them,” the Duke explained. “I am only glad that your man—Dales, was it?—was never caught. He knows where all of the stockpiles are.”
Olivanne grunted in agreement, biting his pipe to stifle a smile. His brother had a rude awakening in store. The stockpiles had been moved not a week ago into the hands of the very Creetisians from whom the Duke was planning to save Bittermarch. Olivanne dutifully played along, acting the conspirator with his brother and the useful Melchor Raines. All Olivanne wanted was more death to teach the Voice’s lessons on the finality and futility of life. Who ruled in Bittermarch was hardly his concern.
Olivanne removed the pipe from his mouth and tapped it out on the wall. “Will you attend Lady Hightower’s trial tomorrow?”
The Duke snorted in his high class way. “Hardly. I cannot afford to be associated with that woman, though she was dreadfully close to being my daughter-in-law. I will wait for news from a discreet distance.”
“Very wise,” Olivanne said. “I am going to leave Bellshire for a while until things are a little more friendly to our family.”
The Duke nodded. “That is best. Give my regards to the Baroness.”
Olivanne nodded and they parted ways. A quick trip to the cave near the river would return him to the mighty form of Dales. Then at last he would begin the journey he had waited for since the Voice had first found him: to carry the Primal Water to its natural enemy.
Chapter 39
Davon’s mind slipped in and out of a sleepy haze, his eyes never quite able to focus before they closed again in profound slumber. Blurs of light followed blurs of dark, like the white flame and the dark shape that had danced around it, each taking turns in his fuzzy consciousness.
The first concrete recollection he had was of being trapped, something on top and to the sides of him keeping his shivering body from moving. During his next brief sojourn of wakefulness, it was light again and he found that the confining weight on top of him was a pile of fur blankets.
Drifting into consciousness of the outside world mingled with dreams both comforting and terrifying when he drifted out again, his slumbering visions a repeat of his experience at the Seeing Wall. In those dreams, he would caress Arianne’s face, then he would watch the executioner lower her into the water, trapped in a cage and drowned in the Cloud River that ran near Bellshire.
When his eyes finally snapped open for good, he waited for a moment for his thoughts and his vision to clear. His body felt warm but sapped of its strength, like the morning he had awoken after the sabercat attack. A famished body demanded satisfaction, his stomach churning with hunger. Otherwise, he was intact, though confused about what exactly had happened to him after the Seeing Wall had pushed him out of its icy embrace.
He exhaled and stirred, pushing off the furs until he noticed his nakedness. Ki and Ta sat at the entrance to the hide-covered dwelling where someone had laid him to recover. They glanced up from little rings they were
carving out of bone and smiled in unison.
“The Brown Man awakes!” Ki exclaimed.
“You must call him Khodo Khim, sister,” Ta admonished.
“I gave him of my heat so that he wouldn’t die, so I shall call him whatever I wish until he repays the debt,” Ki answered. “Go get him some food and tell father he is awake. I will give him drink and get him dressed.”
Ta put her carving down and strode out. Ki was using his carving knife and noticed him spying it. “Don’t worry, Brown Man, I will give it back. I simply wanted to try it to see if it might aid my craft.”
She put the knife back in the carving bag, crossed to a bucket near the tent flap, and dipped the ladle in it.
After kneeling at his side, she offered the ladle to him. “Drink, Brown Man. Food is coming.”
He drank it quickly and downed two more ladles-full before he was finished.
“How long is it since I returned from the Seeing Wall?” he asked.
“Two days and two nights,” she said, pulling his clothes out from under the furs at the foot of his bed. They had been cleaned and mended. “This is the start of the third day.”
She tossed him the clothes and regarded him speculatively, hands on her hips. “How do you feel?”
“Weak. And hungry. Would you mind turning around, please?”
Her eyes rolled up and she turned. “My sister and I had to warm you to keep you from dying, Brown Man. Your body holds no secrets for us.”
They had warmed him? He cleared his throat. “I thank you for the courtesy all the same, Ki.”
“I am Ta,” she lied.
“You are Ki,” he answered.
She half turned, and Davon barked a warning as he hadn’t so much as lifted his pants.
“You can tell us apart?” she exclaimed.
“Well, it is only by the design around your navel that I can do so, nothing more.”
“Very good, Brown Man,” she said. “No other man has divined that little secret yet. You are more clever than you look.”
“Well, I am sure someone observant will come along, but if you were more modestly dressed, I would be as lost as everyone else.” It was a subtle suggestion that didn’t seem to register to her Aua’Catan mind.
“So, tell me about this woman, Arianne. She’s the one you wish to bond, yes?”
“Well, she and I are, well, it is difficult to explain.”
Ki snorted. “Is she brown like you are? Like us?”
“Her skin is pale, though her hair is as black as the night.”
“And from your ramblings, you fear she is in some danger?”
“Yes. I must depart as soon as I am able. But do your people think I am Khodo Khim now?”
She turned, mouth agape. “Think you are Khodo Khim? How can you say that? You are Khodo Khim! My father, the A’Kor, and the other Kai saw you in beast form. You are the Tamal u’Khan of the Primal Beast. You have the gift!”
He was halfway up the buttons of his shirt and stopped. “Beast form?”
“Yes, ridiculous man! Beast form! Come outside. Come on!”
Davon finished the buttons on his shirt and retrieved his knife and carving bag. Outside the tent, the sun was bright, warm morning rays infusing him with a little spark. Ju’Jal’s family dwellings appeared deserted save for the two of them. Ki turned, planting her feet and folding her arms.
“Now change,” she instructed.
“Change? How?” he asked.
“How should I know?” she said, sounding a little disgusted. “You are the Khodo Khim. How did you first change?”
“I don’t remember it clearly. I pushed into the wall because I saw Arianne in danger. I was furious, desperate…”
His emotions rose at the memory, and then it happened. His body, his clothes, his carving bag, everything connected to him swirled together into a gigantic mass of a sabercat. Ki yelped and then covered her mouth in amazement before dropping her arms and smiling at him. She walked forward tentatively.
Davon tried to talk, but it came out as bestial grunts. While he still felt weak, the body he inhabited held unimaginable physical power. As Ki approached, he realized just how big he was. He looked her in the eye as she reached out and ran her fingers through the snow-white fur along his neck, face astonished.
“You are magnificent!” she said reverently, stepping back. “Now roar to the sky! Announce to the world that Khodo Khim has come!”
At first, the idea seemed strange, but something inside him was building, a thrill he had never felt before. The knowledge of what he could do and the power of the body he now possessed poured a confidence into him that could not be restrained. Sucking the clear mountain air into his massive lungs, he let loose a yell so deep and primal that it shook the very earth around their feet. Ki fell to the ground and covered her ears, the long blast reverberating through the mountain valley.
Dazed, Ki stood. “I…I have never heard anything…”
In moments, Ju’Jal and Ta ran into the clearing in front of the dwellings and joined in the amazement, approaching him cautiously. Davon calmed himself and concentrated, which returned him to his human form. Everyone relaxed.
Legs unsteady, Davon sat at one of the rough-hewn benches near the smoldering fire pit. Ju’Jal signaled Ta forward and she handed Davon a sack of bitter dried berries and a slab of cold, roasted meat.
“You had us worried on the mountain,” Ju’Jal said. “Once you collapsed and returned to human form, we couldn’t find the beating of your heart for some time. The A’Kor thought you dead.”
He probably wished me dead, Davon thought.
A question came to Davon’s mind, something that had bothered him from the moment he awoke.
“Ju’Jal, you took the test at the Seeing Wall when you became the Tamal u’Khan of Primal Air, correct?”
“Yes. I am the only one who has taken the test in over thirty years.”
“What is the dark shadow that dances around the light?”
Ju’Jal’s face wrinkled. “Shadow?”
“Yes. It danced around the light as if to block or extinguish it.”
“I saw no such thing. Only the light.”
Davon explained what he had seen, but Ju’Jal just shook his head. “That is a new thing, Khodo Khim. It is not recorded in our lore anywhere. It troubles me. I will bring your report to the Kai. I expect they will be here soon after that roar.”
Davon tore a piece of meat and devoured it. “What’s the A’Kor going to do with me now?” Not that Davon cared. One way or another, he would leave through that crack in the mountainside and make for Bellshire.
“He is in an uncomfortable position,” Ju’Jal said as more people poured into the clearing, drawn by the roar of Khodo Khim. Ju’Jal lowered his voice. “He cannot command you, but he fears that you will do the Aua’Catan harm, bring more of your people here. He already fears the influence you have had.”
Davon nodded, understanding. The A’Kor feared the corruption and discovery of his people more than any other danger. From what Davon knew, Creetis had all but eradicated the Aua’Catan, fearing their belief and worship of the Primal Forces. If Davon could reassure the A’Kor that he meant them no harm and wished them well in their way of life, perhaps he could leave Jun’Kal with his blessing.
Before long, a veritable host of Aua’Catan had arrived and watched him eat breakfast, no doubt waiting for him to transform into the beast and favor them with a mighty bellow. The food and drink fortified him. As he licked he grease from his fingers, the A’Kor strode into view, his bone carving necklaces swaying back and forth around his neck with his vigorous stride.
“Khodo Khim,” he said, though Davon could see it cost him pain to apply that appellation to an outsider, “I have come to ask you what you intend to do, serve yourself or the needs of this people?”
“Neither,” he said. “The people of my nation are in grave peril from traitors. It is them I serve.”
Ki stepped forward. “
And the woman he wishes to bond is in grave danger, as well.”
The A’Kor waved her off. “Be that as it may. He is now bound to the Aua’Catan people. We have need of the Khodo Khim!”
Davon stared up at the A’Kor, finding his plaintive note odd. “What need do you have?”
“As Khodo Khim, you can find the Primal Forces. You can bring them here to our people.”
“To what end?” Davon asked.
“We are not strong. While your people are content to ignore us, those of Creetis hunt and destroy us when they can. We have seen them in great numbers in the mountains of late and fear they may have come to destroy us and our sacred home.”
“Creetisians in the mountains?” Davon asked, perplexed. “Here in the north? Are you sure?”
“I have seen them,” Ki said. “In numbers. They first came in the autumn last year. Even more came this spring.”
Davon stood. “What are they doing?”
Ki shrugged. “I do not know. What I saw were small groups based in larger encampments to the east. Scouting, perhaps.”
Davon paced for a moment. Why would the Creetisians bother with the mountains? It was nearly impossible to get an army through them. They had always amassed in the south when they wanted to do a little saber rattling. Still, a camp and some scouts hardly seemed evidence of a serious threat, though it was curious.
“A’Kor,” Davon said. “I must go. But when this is over, I promise I will return and help you when I am sure my country and my people are safe.”
“And that his woman is safe,” Ki added helpfully. “Ta and I will go with him to ensure he keeps his promise.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Davon said. “I am a man of my word and will return if I am able.”
“We go,” Ta said. “There is no argument. We can either accompany you or follow you.”
“You must understand that I will go as fast as I can. I will ride. I will run. I will not stop.”
“And we will follow,” Ta and Ki said together.
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