She let out a slow breath. “Without knowing if the kidnappers are acting on Mosaba’s instructions or maneuvering on their own, I hesitate to speak. But if they’re following Mosaba, then they’ll do what we least expect. In which case, their path back to Sartis would not be straight.”
“Which route do you believe he would have them take?” Shanks asked.
“It depends on where they’re holding Becknah.”
“Why does that matter?” Sebande asked. “We don’t even know if Becknah was kidnapped or not.”
Nica hesitated. “Because I think Mosaba intends to go after the Getheas Stone. I think that’s why they took Becknah. And now Jaaniyah.” She took a deep breath. She had given this topic a lot of thought while she was locked in Jaaniyah’s rooms. It was the only answer that made any sense. “I think that’s why he stole me in the first place.”
Shanks stared at her with a curious expression. “What part do you play in this?”
“I’ve always known of Mosaba’s obsession with the Getheas Stone but I believed the stone was a legend—a myth.” She brushed dirt from her pants. “But now that I’ve learned of the quatrains, I wonder. There’s the verse that speaks of two royal born daughters reuniting. Becknah thought the poem referred to me and Jaaniyah.”
“But if Becknah just found the book of prophecies, how could Mosaba know of the verse?” Shanks asked.
Nica shrugged. “Mosaba always claimed to have documents written by Getheas. Documents he kept secret and well-guarded.” She wished now she’d paid more attention to his ramblings. “It’s possible he had other information that tied Jaaniyah and I to finding the stone.”
“Steal a child because of a poem?” Sebande snorted in disbelief. “You’d have to be insane.” He turned away from Nica. “Shonn, what do you think?”
Nica peered at Sebande from under her eyelashes, trying to hide her hurt at his dismissive tone. Why had he slurred Shanks’ name again? Had he been drinking? She would ask Shanks about that later.
“Mosaba’s passion for war does have a sort of madness to it,” Shanks said.
“Exactly,” Nica agreed. “He desires control of both Jarisa and Sartis but his armies haven’t been strong enough to battle Jacoby’s. So he seeks any advantage he can find.”
“Nica’s right about that,” Shanks said as he pushed himself up from the ground with a grunt of pain. “Mosaba is obsessively superstitious. He believes greatness is his destiny.” Shanks eased upright against the rock, moving slowly. “If he has convinced himself that the Getheas Stone exists, what better way to claim a kingdom than by holding the key to seeing the future?”
“Do you think he has Becknah and Jaaniyah together?” Sebande asked.
“Yes,” Nica nodded. “He’ll hide them somewhere. Just pray it isn’t the Ortawn.”
Shanks and Sebande exchanged a look that Nica couldn’t decipher.
“Why do you think he’d take them there?” Shanks asked.
“It’s where he takes the prisoners he never intends to release,” Nica said softly. “The Ortawn is his own personal torture chamber.” She held her hands out to the warmth of the fire as she fought back a shudder. “Jaaniyah told me she and Becknah purposely let Tarantu overhear a conversation about going after the Stone so he’d pass the information on and Mosaba would be afraid to kill Jacoby. But it seems the trick has worked too well.”
A series of loud cracks erupted from the fire as fiery motes sparked into the sky.
“Perhaps,” Nica continued softly, “what Mosaba doesn’t know is that the secret to finding the Stone is hidden within the texts of the Avedla. Maybe within one book in particular.”
Sebande raised his eyebrows at her. “Don’t tell me you think the Getheas Stone is real too?”
Nica gave the soldier a cool look. “I think you need to check Shanks’ bandage.”
Shanks scowled at Nica and pushed away from the rock. “I’m fine.” He held up an arm to ward off Sebande as his friend took a step toward him. “Keep your bloody hands off me. You’ve done enough damage.”
“Then let me look,” Nica said. “If the skin around your wound turns red it will take twice as long to heal and will make you sick, besides. I spoke often with our healer in Sartis. He showed me a few of the healing arts.”
“No,” Shanks replied, brushing the dirt from the seat of his breeches. Sebande shrugged and turned his back to the fire. Shanks mimicked his movement and crossed his arms over his chest.
Nica put a hand on Shanks’ arm. “Shonn, please.”
Shanks stared at her, surprise etched across his face.
“You told her?” Sebande’s voice echoed with disbelief.
Shanks ignored Sebande as he answered Nic. “You can look at my side but I make the decision about any ‘healing arts’ you want to try. Fair?” he said in a terse voice. At her nod, Shanks gave Sebande a piercing glare. “You stay over there.”
“Come sit over here by the fire so you stay warm,” Nica said. “I’ll be as quick as I can.” Shanks sat down on a rock and shrugged out of his coat. He frowned as he pulled his sweater up and leaned to the right so Nica could see the bandage.
Nica carefully unknotted the strands that held the bandage in place, noting he didn’t have an inch of fat on him.
As the bandage came free, the odor of the wound rose from underneath the wrap. Nica’s nose wrinkled at the smell. The blood on the last layer of fabric had dried and stuck to the wound. She had to work very slowly so she wouldn’t cause any fresh bleeding as she removed the blood-encrusted wrap. When she’d pulled the last section free she fought to keep her face blank as she looked at the massive purple bruises that wrapped around his stomach. A four inch long, deep gash stretched across his ribs on one side.
“What happened, exactly?” she asked.
Shanks relaxed as he realized she wasn’t going to cry or scream. He gave her an appreciative grin. “One man hit me with a broadsword before the other tried to run me through.” He looked down at his side and added in a thoughtful tone, “I think it was the broadsword that cracked my ribs, but luckily, by then, there were only the two of them left.”
“Luckily,” Nica muttered. She bit her bottom lip as she put her fingers to the wound and gently probed the tissue to see how deep the damage went. Immediately, bright red blood began to flow. “Mediche.” She swore and grabbed the wad of used bandage to press against the wound. A long shadow stretched over them and she looked up to find Sebande standing there.
“Clean cloth to re-wrap the wound.” He held out a small bundle.
“Thank you.” Nica reached up and took the cloth. “It needs to be stitched,” she said, casting a worried glance at Shanks.
“Stitched?” Both men repeated the word in a tone of disbelief.
“Like a piece of cloth. To hold the flesh together so it can heal.” She looked from one to the other. “Our healer taught me.”
Shanks snorted in disgust “What was he, your tailor before he decided to be a healer?”
She ignored him and pulled back the pad of material to eye the torn flesh. “No black edges, yet. That’s a good sign. It must have been a very sharp sword.” She raised her eyebrows. “Luckily.”
IT TOOK NICA almost twenty minutes to clean the wound. Shanks was shivering by the time she got done—whether from pain or cold, she wasn’t sure. “We’ll need to clean this again—” she placed the wad of cloth back against his side and motioned at Sebande— “but for now, press on this please.”
Sebande did as she asked and with both hands free Nica took the new cloth and tore it into strips, then folded the strips into small rectangular bundles. Satisfied, she motioned for Sebande to pull back. Carefully lining up the edges of the wound, she placed the clean cloth over the cut and pressed. “Hold again.” As Sebande took over she straightened the old cloth and began to wind it around Shanks’ ribs again.
“This may feel too tight, but it will hold your ribs in place and relieve some of that pain. Hopefully the pressure will
stop the bleeding and press the skin together to start mending. I’ll need to check it again in a few hours.”
Sebande held one end of the cloth while Nica wrapped it tightly around Shanks’ ribs.
“Should I be able to breathe?” Shanks asked in a strangled voice.
Nica didn’t reply. Satisfied she had the bandage tight enough she tied the knots to hold it in place. “There. That should hold until I can get it stitched.”
Shanks frowned. “Where in the name of the Ancients do you think you’re going to find materials to sew up my skin?”
Nica smiled sweetly. “In Berjerac, of course.”
ool air coursed over Jaaniyah, causing her to shiver, as the low mutter of voices roused her. She was no longer swaddled with the horse blanket, but covered by it instead. She gingerly moved her arms and legs. Her wrists and ankles were still tied. The gag pulled uncomfortably against the corners of her mouth, making it hard to breathe.
Pain lanced through her head as she tried to sit up against the weight of the blanket.
“South through … sliver… Galeron…..don’t dmmmm..”
The Sartish voices faded to an indistinguishable murmur as she concentrated on breathing through her nose. Footsteps approached. The blanket was yanked to the side and a rough hand grabbed her arm. Fingers fumbled at the ropes that tied her ankles and the pressure holding her legs together released. Jaaniyah debated whether to kick wildly but decided to save her strength for a better opportunity when the bag was removed from her head and she could see.
With a grunt, two arms scooped her up. The smell of the man’s sweat permeated the air.
“Get on,” a voice said in rough Jarisan as he steered her leg over a horse’s back. Jaaniyah settled into a saddle. Her captor yanked her bound wrists forward and tied them to the saddle horn. The weight of a blanket settled around her shoulders and hands fumbled under her chin as though tying the corners of the blanket in a knot.
“Do yer best to stay on,” he growled at her.
Jaaniyah spread her fingers wide reaching for something to grip. Her wrists were tied to the saddle horn, so she slid her fingers under the front of the saddle and held on to the flat edge.
They started off at a bone jarring trot. Jaaniyah gripped hard with her knees and hands as her head bobbled back and forth and she prayed she could stay on the animal. Thankfully, after a few strides, the horse moved into an easy lope.
She shivered against the chill air. If she’d heard them correctly they were heading south toward Galeron. The town was a Sartisian stronghold overlooking the Sea of Nephalon. No one would even think to look for her there.
JAANIYAH WAS DIZZY with exhaustion by the time she was pulled her from her horse. She staggered when her feet hit the ground and only the rough hands under her arms kept her upright. She twisted her head, this way and that, trying to free herself from the black sack over her head.
“Ai right, ai right,” a gruff voice grumbled.
The strings around her neck tightened as the man fumbled with the knot then mercifully the bag was pulled from her head. She inhaled the cool night air through her nose, thankful to be released from her dark prison.
“If you promise not to scream, I’ll take your gag out too,” a low voice said from behind her.
Jaaniyah jerked her head up and down.
“Not a word outta ye, or back in it goes,” the man warned as he began to work the knot at the back of Jaaniyah’s head. He pulled her hair as he struggled with the cloth but she tried not to wince for fear he’d change his mind. After what seemed like an eternity he pulled the gag roughly from her mouth.
“Thank you,” Jaaniyah whispered hoarsely, lifting the top of her bound hands up to her face to rub the raw corners of her mouth. “I promise I won’t scream. Please just don’t put that back in. I can’t breathe.”
“Don’t talk neither.” The man pushed her forward toward a small cabin.
She took a deep breath of fresh air expecting to taste the salty tang of the sea. Instead, the sharp scent of pine filled her nostrils. Cautiously, she looked around. She couldn’t see anything but forest surrounding them. She’d been wrong. They hadn’t gone to Galeron. They weren’t anywhere near the sea.
The man banged the door open and bent over to tie her ankles together again. Finished, he shoved her through the door. “You wait in there.”
Jaaniyah stumbled forward and heard the door slam closed behind her. Before she could turn, a bolt shot closed. She was locked in. She turned to assess her situation. The room was very dark. If there were windows, they were boarded over. No light seeped in anywhere that she could see. The orange glow of a small fire burned in one corner, but a solid shield was in front of the flames, forcing the heat and what little light the fire produced, up toward the ceiling.
She shuffled a step toward the warmth, trying to breathe through her fear.
“From where do you come?” A voice whispered from the darkness.
Jaaniyah nearly screamed. She jerked toward the voice and lost her balance. She hit the floor with a painful grunt, slamming her teeth hard into her lip. Immediately her mouth filled with the bitter taste of blood.
“W..who are you?” Jaaniyah whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. She pushed herself into a sitting position, struggling to get on her knees to defend herself if need be.
“I am the King’s scholar,” whispered the voice. “They call me Becknah.”
Jaaniyah gasped. “Becknah?”
“No.” Becknah’s hushed voice was laced with horror. “Jaaniyah, that’s not you, is it?”
“Yes.” She inched herself toward the old man on her hands and knees. “Where are you?”
“In the corner, to your right, I think.”
Jaaniyah pulled herself toward his voice. “Are you injured?”
“No.” Becknah said, “Just old. What about you, my dear? Did they hurt you?”
“Not yet,” Jaaniyah said. She scooted next to Becknah and leaned against the wall. Her eyes were growing accustomed to the darkness and the glow from the fire added sufficient light for her to see through the shadows. The room appeared to be empty except for the two of them. “Are your hands tied?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think I can untie the knots?” she whispered.
“You can try,” Becknah, replied. “But maybe you should rest first.”
Jaaniyah leaned her head back against the wall. “Why do you think they have both of us?”
Becknah sighed. “I’m afraid our plan has gone awry.”
“What do you mean?”
“I fear they really believe we know the location of the Getheas Stone. I suspect Mosaba has taken the two of us so that we can lead him to the hiding spot.”
Jaaniyah pressed her lips together. She feared the same thing. “But we don’t know where the Stone is,” she whispered. “What will he do to us when he realizes it was a lie?”
Becknah remained silent.
“They’ll look for us. Heathron, Shanks, my sister. Nica knew you were kidnapped. She told me, but I didn’t believe her. She told me it was Tarantu.”
“Indeed, she was right.”
“They’ll come for us.” Jaaniyah said again, as if repeating the words would make them true. “I know they will.”
The door slammed open, banging against the wall. Jaaniyah sat back with a cry and stared at the shadowy figure holding a candle aloft. The small flame lit their captor’s bearded face and long hair. He eyed them sitting together in the corner before he dropped some bread to the floor and set down a tall, metal mug.
“Here’s your grub.”
He disappeared back through the doorway, leaving the portal open.
“I’ll get it,” Jaaniyah said. She worked her way over to the food, trying to ignore the pain of the hard floor on her knees. The metal cup held a liquid she presumed to be water. She clutched the rolls in one hand and the cup in the other and pushed herself onto her feet then shuffled slowly toward Becknah, concen
trating on taking little steps. After what felt like forever she had returned to the old man.
“Well done.” Becknah steadied her with his bound hands as she sank to the floor beside him. He peered into the mug. “Bread and some water, it would seem.” His shadowed face turned toward Jaaniyah. “What would you like, M’lady?”
Jaaniyah was struck by his odd formality given their primal circumstances. “Just some water for now,” she replied. “Turn your back to me so I can work on loosening the ropes on your wrists.”
“Certainly, certainly,” Becknah mumbled as he twisted around.
“Did your devices warn you of this event, Becknah?” Jaaniyah asked as she fumbled at the knot.
“The Xanfere have been very mysterious lately, giving signs that are hard to divine.”
“That doesn’t sound helpful.” Jaaniyah strained and felt the cord begin to give way. After another minute of prying, the knot released enough she could unwind the cords. “There, you should be able to move your arms a bit now.”
Becknah’s face grimaced with pain as he slowly brought his arms forward. “Thank you, M’lady.” He nodded. “That is much better.”
Jaaniyah reached for the cup and took a tentative sip to taste the water. Could the fluid be poisoned? But if their intent had been to assassinate her, she would never have left the palace in LaBricé.
She leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. They would know she was missing by now. A vision of Jonn Shanks filled her closed eyes. He would come for her. She knew it.
“Ai right, it’s time to go.” The gruff voice spoke from the doorway again. Another large shadow stood behind him. “We’ll take the old man first,” their captor said. Jaaniyah shrunk back in fear as they approached. They went for Becknah first. One on each side, they slid their arms under his and lifted him up.
“Slowly, slowly,” Becknah said. “These bones are old and fragile.”
Their captor grunted but slowed his movements until the older man was upright.
“Grab his feet.” Amid Becknah’s protests they swung him into the air and bodily carried him out the door. They did not seem to notice his hands were free.
The Midnight Spy Page 15