by Lara Morgan
He gritted his teeth, waiting for the strike, but instead it swung the woman around. For a moment he was looking into her face. She was not much older than he, and there was a tiny scar on her cheek. She was crying and he saw terror, then hope in her eyes as their gazes met, but then the beast shrieked and with one talon ripped her open from the neck.
That sharp, terrible scream she made as the beast took her life would come to haunt him. Blood sprayed, fine splatters showered Attar as he moved in again to attack. The beast threw the woman’s body to the ground, and in desperation Tallis tried to fling his mind out, to make the connection and find the words before the serpent turned on him; but nothing came and the beast didn’t move. It merely eyed him. Arak-ferish, the words hissed through his mind, then with a last snap of its jaws, the serpent crouched and flung itself up into the winds, winging away into darkness. Shaking, Tallis watched it leave.
Arak-ferish – there’d been a message in that last cry meant only for him.
31
Azoth’s grip on her arm was like a bracelet of steel and Shaan could do nothing but follow as he dragged her down the corridors of Morfessa’s house. She tried to scream, but no sound would come from her throat. He pulled her down the shallow steps of the inner courtyard. The fountain still tinkled quietly but the area was empty. They moved through the softly lit space quickly, Azoth casting his eyes about as though he could see well into the deeply shadowed corners.
And maybe he could. After all, he had overpowered both Morfessa and the Seer, and his touch bound her to him like a rope made of iron. Was he really Azoth? He will come for you, she heard Nuathin’s hissing whisper again. They turned left, heading down a columned hallway, passing two doors, stopping at the third. A shout rang out behind them and the sound of boots clattering on tile. She wanted to call out for help, but she was mute. Azoth smiled down at her, then without hurrying opened the door and pulled her into the room. Twisting, she saw the shadows of running men looming on the walls of the hallway.
‘Stop!’ A voice shouted, but Azoth ignored it. Crossing the moonlit room he unlatched a set of doors. Outside, a paved area stretched away to the darkness of the garden.
‘Stop!’ Rorc ran into the room, his sword unsheathed, followed by Balkis and a gaunt, older man.
Azoth pulled Shaan close, his grip on her arm tightening, and laughed. ‘You can’t stop me.’
Rorc approached him, his sword held ready. ‘Let her go.’
‘I can’t do that. Besides, I only claim what is mine.’
Struggling in his grip, Shaan looked desperately at Balkis as he moved to flank the Commander. His sword was unsheathed and his mouth set as he caught her glance. He looked like he was contemplating charging them. Her eyes pleading, she shook her head. Azoth would kill him.
‘You’ll not escape.’ Rorc moved a step closer. ‘My Hunters will find you.’
‘Rorc!’ The old man suddenly spoke sharply. ‘Be careful.’ And he moved toward them, his pale, watery eyes fixed on Azoth.
Rorc hesitated, and Azoth’s eyes flicked to the old man. His look became dangerous. ‘I can feel you old man . . . Seducer,’ he hissed. ‘Don’t be foolish.’
His hand tightened around her wrist and Shaan winced as the small bones ground together. From the corner of her eye she saw Balkis move in, his face furious. She tried to shout to stop him, but white-hot pain raked her and she couldn’t speak. She resisted as best she could as burning cold spread from Azoth’s grip. He was drawing on her again. Screaming in agony, she heard the old man grunt in pain and drop to his knees. Balkis shouted and both he and the Commander charged.
Azoth drew on her harder, sucking the energy from her. The ground tilted beneath her feet, sounds muted, and blackness threatened as she desperately resisted him. Azoth flung out a hand and the men were sent hurtling backwards into the wall, their swords clattering to the floor. She sagged to the ground, her mind numb and ringing with pain. Had she saved them, were they alive? Azoth lifted her up, slinging her over his shoulder, and she saw through bleary eyes all three men lying on the floor as he carried her from the house.
For a while she knew nothing, the pain driving her into darkness. When she woke, she was draped across Azoth’s shoulder. He was walking quickly and she bounced painfully against him. She raised her head and pounded weakly on his back. He stopped and the world tipped as he lowered her to her feet. She staggered and almost fell as blood roared in her ears. He gripped her arm.
‘Careful,’ he whispered. She blinked and tried to focus. They were in a narrow alley between two dilapidated buildings. Rubbish was strewn along one wall and the smell of decay and urine was strong. The place was vaguely familiar. Were they near the wharves? It was still night, but she guessed sunrise wasn’t far off. She hung off his grip, deliberately stalling so she could orientate herself. The alley ended not far ahead, joining with a wider street. She could see the dark shadow of a two-storey building, leaning at a precarious angle against the neighbouring wall, and the small, huddled shape of a person lying near a doorstep. With a jolt of recognition she realised they were near the crist sellers’ quarter.
‘Know where you are now?’ he said.
She didn’t answer, but tried to twist out of his grip.
He gave a low laugh and putting one arm around her, brought his lips close to her ear. ‘Why do you fight me? You need me. You belong to me.’
A tight band of fear squeezed her chest. ‘Let me go!’ Her limbs were weak, but she fought him anyway. She turned on him in a fury, striking out with her free arm, kicking him and twisting in his grip. It was such a sudden attack it caught him unawares. His fingers lost their hold and she lunged away toward the mouth of the alley, tasting freedom. But he was taller, his reach was long, and she heard him chuckle as his hands fell on her and jerked her backwards. He spun her to face him, one hand curled around her neck as he pushed her up against the damp wall.
‘Stop now,’ he said calmly. She tried to wrench his hand away, but he held her wrists in his other hand. ‘Stop,’ he repeated, his eyes boring into hers. A strange tilting sensation took her and she felt all her need to escape drain away. She stopped struggling and relaxed back against the wall, his hand a collar around her throat.
‘Yes,’ he said and his teeth showed white as he smiled. His angular face was inhumanly beautiful in the faint blue-hued light. His hair seemed to blend into the darkness around them and his eyes were almost purple as they stared into hers. She was mesmerised by the way the moonlight caught across his right cheekbone and slid into darkness in the contours of his lips. She felt the warmth of his body. Her breath quickened and sudden desire curled like hot smoke up her limbs.
He saw it in her eyes. ‘Yes,’ he whispered. His hand loosened around her throat while the other gently smoothed the hair back from her forehead. ‘Shaan.’ His fingers drifted down her cheek, tracing the curve of her jaw. ‘I have been looking for you, calling you.’ His purple eyes looked into hers. ‘Do you know what you are? Who you are?’ A finger stroked her chin and he smiled. ‘You will, and then you will never want to leave me. I will look after you always.’
Gazing up at him, she knew it was true. He would never leave her, she was his. It felt right and she nodded and her withheld breath came out in a rush. She couldn’t remember why she had wanted to get away. His lips curved in a smile and slowly his hand left her throat. He stood looking down at her, holding her only lightly now by the wrist.
‘I will have to keep you silent, though,’ he said with a frown. ‘Although it does tire me.’ He tilted his head slightly to one side and brushed a hand down her cheek. ‘But this will wear off eventually and you will try to escape again.’ A fleeting look of disappointment flitted across his face.
Shaan suddenly, fervently, wanted to tell him that no, she would never leave him, of course not. But she could not speak.
‘Now, I need to know where this is?’ Suddenly there was an image in her mind: a gold ring glittered and along its outer
edge she saw a wavy line, like a serpent’s tail, etched into the metal. ‘You know it?’ His voice was eager and she struggled to do his bidding. Yes, now he was here she could feel it, that ring. She had seen it before. Why had she never realised how precious it was, that it belonged to her?
‘I know where it is,’ she answered, her hands fluttering to touch him. He saw into her mind, saw the thief who had taken it. His smile was triumphant.
‘Come,’ he pulled on her hand, ‘we have much to do, there is a lesson to be taught.’ Obediently, she nodded and followed him eagerly as he led her out of the alley and toward the wharves.
Torg and Tuon sat quietly together at the table in the kitchen, an oil lantern burning between them. The other women had long since seen off their customers and retired to bed, but Tuon, worried about Shaan, had found herself unable to sleep. She’d gone down to the kitchen and found Torg sitting silently at the table, a frown across his brow, his gaze distant. He poured her some wine and pushed the cup across to her without a word. She sat down without touching it.
Since her meeting with Rorc she had been drifting aimlessly from one room of the inn to another, oscillating between panic, sadness and fear. She had received a note from Meelin; Menon had been delayed in the common quarter and when he arrived at the inn, Shaan had not been there. She was sick with fear. Menon had been too worried about drawing attention to himself to ask anyone about her. Coward, she thought. Where could Shaan have gone? Had she got away on her own? Was she now on her way to the Free Lands in some other caravan? Or had Rorc figured out what had happened to Petar and had the Faithful found Shaan already? Did he have her in custody? Perhaps he knew she was involved as well. What could she do? She had stayed at the Red Pepino in case Shaan came back, but how long could she wait? Thoughts chased round and round her mind until she felt they would drive her mad.
She’d thought about running. At some point earlier that night she had stood in her room, folding and re-folding a dress, and tried to think of what she could do. She could follow her own advice, run to the Free Lands. But what if she were caught? Rorc could use a Seducer on her and it would all be over. She couldn’t risk it. And who was she trying to fool? She didn’t want to leave. Leaving meant never seeing him again.
Torg’s chair scraped as he stood up. ‘Hungry?’
She shook her head, staring at the still flame of the lantern. He pulled out a half loaf of bread and sliced off an uneven slab, topping it with a bit of cheese, but then didn’t eat it. He just sat, fingering the bread into crumbs.
Tuon glanced at him. It wasn’t like him to be so morose. ‘Torg, are you . . .’
‘You’ve gotten her out of the city, haven’t you?’ he said. ‘Shaan, she’s gone isn’t she?’
She hesitated. His eyes were dark and weary, but there was no recrimination in them.
‘I know you, Tuon. You thought she was in trouble and wanted to save her, but you may have only made her more vulnerable.’
‘What are you talking about?’ She tried to speak sharply, as though he were telling her lies.
‘I talked to Rorc this morning.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘He does not want her because he suspects she has done anything wrong, but rather because of what she may be.’
‘You’re not making any sense, besides I don’t . . .’
‘He thinks she may be a descendant of the Fallen,’ he cut her off, ‘and if Azoth finds her she could be the key to regaining his powers.’
‘What?’ Tuon whispered. ‘The Fallen isn’t here, is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ Torg said grimly. ‘But I know Shaan has been troubled lately. Something in her has changed, she seems . . .’ he spread his hands, ‘different. And the serpents in the yards, they swoop and cry over the city. The Fallen was the lord of the serpents, their master, if he were to return surely they would feel it.’
Tuon didn’t answer. She stared at the lantern’s flame. That was what she had said to Shaan in the market that morning. It seemed so long ago now. She thought about the dreams Shaan had been having; and the day she had come back from the yards, she’d been pale and shaken. What had happened? But she could not believe she’d done wrong in trying to protect her.
‘Rorc is coming here tonight,’ Torg said. ‘You should tell him where she is.’
Tuon’s heart leaped thudding into her throat. ‘What? When?’
He looked troubled. ‘I don’t know, he’s late already.’
Tuon felt a twinge of unease. Rorc was never late.
‘Is he . . .’ But she wasn’t able to finish her words. The door to the courtyard suddenly opened and she looked up, her heart in her mouth. But it wasn’t Rorc; it was a stranger, a tall dark-haired man.
‘Torg Fairwind,’ he said. ‘Where is the Prophet’s ring?’
Torg went very still, then slowly he rose from the table and moved back a step so he was out of the bright circle of light. ‘Who are you?’ he said.
The man smiled and Tuon’s breath caught at the beauty of his face, yet at the same time she was repelled. There was something otherworldly in the cast of his cheekbone, the slant of his eye. A dangerous strength resonated from him. The man stepped into the room and shut the door, and a woman moved from behind him and into the light.
‘Shaan!’ Tuon sprang to her feet. But Shaan’s face was strangely vacant. A slight smile tipped the corners of her mouth and she looked through her as though she wasn’t there. The man flicked his eyes to Tuon curiously and she felt a jolt of fear. Nothing human looked out of those eyes. With a faint frightening smile, his gaze went back to Torg.
‘Where is it Fairwind? I know you have it.’
‘I don’t know of any ring,’ Torg said.
The smile dropped from his face, and the threat of violence rippled through the room. ‘Do not play games, Isles’ man. You are the Prophet’s heir, he willed it to be passed on from one child to another. I know you have it and it is mine. Give it to me.’
‘Tuon, take Shaan and leave,’ Torg said without looking at her.
The tone of his voice filled her with fear, but the man suddenly gripped Shaan’s wrist and pulled her to him.
‘No.’ He fixed dark eyes on Tuon and she found herself unable to move. Her feet felt as though they were fixed to the floor; her mind was willing but her limbs would not obey her.
‘Shaan!’ Tuon tried to reach out to her, but she seemed oblivious, staring up at the dark-haired man with a look of adoration. With a chill, she wondered if what Torg had said earlier was true; was this the Fallen? Was this Azoth?
Without making a sound, Torg suddenly picked up the knife he had used to slice the bread and launched himself at the stranger.
The man’s gaze widened as he saw the thick ring of gold in Torg’s ear. ‘Aaah!’ he exclaimed and, dropping Shaan’s wrist, gracefully sidestepped Torg’s attack. Grabbing the bigger man’s hand, he twisted the knife from his grasp and swept a foot under his legs, dropping him to the floor. With lightning agility he flipped the knife in his hand and dropping down, plunged it to the hilt into Torg’s chest.
Tuon screamed as blood spurted from his heart.
‘So ends the line of thieves,’ the man muttered, and ripped the gold earring from his ear.
‘No!’ Tuon shrieked. Finding that she could move, she flung herself at him.
With barely any effort he caught her flailing arms and threw her back against the table. Pain exploded along her side as she collided with the solid wood and fell to the floor, her head cracking against the hard tile. Her vision wavered. The tile was cold under her cheek and she could faintly see Torg, blood pooling around him. There was the sound of something falling, then footsteps and the door closed. The light in the room was brighter, the air warmer and smoke, was that smoke in the room? A sharp crack sounded and a lick of flame travelled down the table leg. Fire! She should move, she had to get away. Struggling as though against a strong tide, Tuon shuffled across the floor.
‘Take six four-man squads,’
Rorc said to the Hunter. ‘Sweep the city, if you find him, use crossbows, do not,’ he emphasised the words, ‘try to take him with your sword. He is too dangerous. And I want the girl alive.’
The man nodded. ‘What of Leader Balkis?’
‘I will find him.’
‘Sir.’ The Hunter turned and ran down the corridor disappearing in the shadows. His mouth set in frustration, Rorc watched him go. When he’d come to, Balkis had already gone, recklessly taking off on his own after Shaan and the man who called himself Azoth. The gods only knew how he thought he was going to take him. He should have seen it coming, Rorc thought. The man was smitten with her and men blinded by their heart never made the best decisions. Leashing his anger, he went back into the room.
As he entered he saw the Seer striding angrily back and forth across the floor while Morfessa and Cyri watched.
‘How could you not know!’ Veila glared at Morfessa. ‘He was in your home, helping you, right here!’
‘Veila.’ Cyri got slowly up from his chair and put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her pacing. ‘Azoth must have clouded his mind somehow, shielded himself. Do not forget what he is.’
Veila flashed him a look of annoyance and pushed his hand away. She stood over Morfessa. ‘Why did you not bring her straight to me? Why hide her in that room?’
Sitting in his armchair, Morfessa nursed the bruise on his head. He was pale and the deep shadows beneath his eyes made his face look gaunt and old. ‘I needed to be sure,’ he said quietly. ‘I thought the room would be safe. I didn’t know . . .’ he made a futile gesture with his hand and looked away. ‘Those eyes, they were the same, how could I not have seen . . .’