Lunatic

by Dekker, Ted

  Qurong ordered him to submit to Sucrow. Sucrow ordered him to kill this albino.

  Darsal worked her way to her knees. She went to one knee, then into a crouch. Now standing at attention with her hands behind her back, she waited.

  The wench looked him right in the eye, pendant suspended from her throat.

  Jordan's defiance and Ronas gaze stared at him. Waited for the blow.

  A buzzing flitted like a dozen hummingbird wings in his head.

  Looking at this woman, he could see only Rona, only the woman he'd loved and cast aside because she'd become albino. The woman his brother married because he refused.

  He had to.

  Marak brought up his sword. Moved to strike. The seconds felt like forever.

  He lowered the blade. Then raised it again.

  Slung it into the dirt along with a scream that tore at his throat and lungs.

  Quiet. For better or worse, Marak could not kill her.

  He clenched his teeth and swore. Slid his blade back into his scabbard, his stomach twisted in knots.

  She was Rona. And now he had to deal with her. Deal with this albino and all the trouble that came with her.

  His hand touched her shoulder. They both jerked away. Darsal stared up at him, eyes and mouth wide. Marak could only stand there.

  Finally he cleared his throat. "Let me untie your hands."

  "ARE YOU ALL RIGHT?" SILUIE SOUNDED LIKE SHE WAS TALKing underwater.

  "She's wearing me out. I'm exhausted."

  The dark presence seemed to wrap around his mind, sinking invisible claws into his brain. He could almost taste something coppery and salty on his tongue and lips. The siren song in his head grew louder. Louder.

  "I am with you, my Johnisss ... I and all my power, if you will but yield entirely ... "

  What did that mean?

  "What do you mean?"

  "I mean ... I mean it's like ..."

  Johnis fell quiet. Admitting he wasn't entirely acting of his own will wasn't really something he wanted Silvie to know. But she seemed to already notice anyway. She wasn't stupid.

  The siren song heightened. With it came the impulse to destroy everything in his path. To conquer.

  "Johnis." Silvie's hand snatched at his arm.

  Shaeda wanted him to give her total control. Yearned to share power with him. The pull intensified with every step. Drove him back into the southern desert. Drove him on like a wayward steer.

  The guard had been but a taste. Like the badaii.

  Like seeing Shaeda face-to-face.

  Her mesmerizing gaze flooded him. He could feel her cool skin, hands sliding over his arms. Smell her perfume as she whispered in his ear.

  Her thoughts came flooding in. She showed him the desert, a place called the Teardrop Canyon, showed him an eclipse of Shataiki at his command ...

  Showed him Middle as he ruled the enslaved Horde. The Horde he would destroy.

  He struggled to clear his head. What had he been telling Silvie ... ?

  "I mean it's as though I only know what I'm doing when it's directly related to Shaedas instructions."

  Silvie mulled that over. "So you're her prisoner."

  How dare she insinuate he was some kind of slave. Sassy wench.

  "I belong to no one, Silvie."

  "Continue speaking such sweet deceptions to yourself, my pet ...

  "Well, what are you going to do?"

  The noose tightened. Shaeda's ominous pronouncement echoed in his head. Yes, she'd given him power. But ... what kind of power? And ...

  "You are mine. . .

  Johnis growled. "Figure out a way to keep her from reading my mind. She's strong, Silvie. So much power ... what she's offering me ... it's beyond comprehension. What she's shown me is but a fraction of what she's capable of, I feel it."

  And to access the depths of that power meant he had to die to himself.

  Become utterly and irrevocably one with the Leedhan monarch.

  Secretly, though the understanding unnerved him somewhat, he liked the rush that came with her power whenever her spirit came upon him.

  Shaeda was indeed with them. Better with them than against.

  "Wow you begin to comprehend, my pet."

  He heard a rustling in the trees behind them.

  Silvie jumped up and whirled, blade drawn. Johnis was right behind her with his sword.

  A man rode out of the trees, dropped off his mount, and came forward, palms extended. He was tall and broad and wore black and purple like the priest. Thick dreadlocks fell almost to his waist. Dull, gray-white eyes scrutinized them.

  A throater.

  Behind him well over a dozen men on horseback split in half and surrounded them. Two extra mounts were with them. Saddled.

  Almost two dozen throaters, all spellbound and loyal to the Dark Priest alone. They dressed alike, with gold and silver jewelry and armbands fashioned into silver winged serpents. Curved, wicked blades gleamed at their sides.

  "My name is Warryn," the first, the leader, said. A jagged smile overtook his face. The kind few would ever trust. "I come on behalf of our illustrious priest."

  "The priest had his chance," Silvie snapped.

  Warryn raised a brow. "He's reconsidered your offer."

  Johnis felt his mind sharpen and reorient itself Shaeda's vise grip held fast. She shared his hate for the Dark Priest, this one who served the lord of the Shataiki.

  He would rather deal with Marak. But now the priest had come to him.

  Accept his offer, my pet. "

  A heady, powerful sensation washed over him. His interest overshadowed his disgust.

  "And what might that offer be?"

  "Our lord wishes to commission you on this errand." Warryn came forward, hands behind his back.

  "Do I look like a servant or a dog to be summoned and dismissed at will?" Johnis asked.

  Yes, he was interested.

  No, he would not accept too readily.

  Shaedas invisible grip strangled his will.

  The chief serpent warrior looked irritated. "He has sent me to go with you to retrieve the amulet. If we return with it, he will mount a full-scale expedition to escort you to the lair, and he himself will lead it."

  "And what makes-" Silvie started.

  "Arya." Johnis held up a hand. Silvie's new name still sounded strange on his tongue. He didn't like hushing her in front of the priest's men, but they couldn't irritate Warryn too much.

  He stepped forward, sheathed his sword. "Why does your priest change his mind?"

  They needed the priest. Who would no doubt double-cross them. He'd come up with a way to circumvent that. The Dark Priest did not share power. And Johnis needed to think. The claws in his mind dug in, punishing his hesitation, driving him to obey.

  Ally yourself with the priest ... "

  Johnis stiffened. No. He couldn't do that. Could he?

  She was so strong ...

  Could he defy her? Should he defy her?

  Not yet. Patience, johnis ...

  "Upon your exit-" Warryn said.

  "You mean our being thrown down the temple steps like garbage," Silvie snapped. She sheathed her last knife.

  Was she listening? Did she know he planned to betray her?

  Could she stop him if he tried?

  That was foolish. Shaeda could kill at will.

  Focus, my Johnisss ...

  He sucked a breath. She'd heard that.

  "A mistake our lord intends to remedy," Warryn replied.

  "I won't tolerate anymore such `mistakes,"' Silvie fired back.

  She really needed to learn to let him do the talking.

  Warryn gave a sharp nod. "We have supplies and horses. We can set out as soon as you are willing."

  "Give us a moment." Johnis motioned to Silvie.

  The throater nodded. "Of course."

  Johnis and Silvie went aside. Her skeptical look showed what she was thinking. "What do you think?"

  "You know what I
think," she whispered back, too quiet for the throaters to hear. "I won't go surrounded by the priest's Scabs. Thomas would never stand for this."

  "Thomas isn't here," Johnis snapped. Shaeda's sight tinged his vision reddish-purple. Had he said that or she?

  Silvie stared at him. Johnis's face heated up.

  Thomas wasn't dead. And he wasn't betraying him.

  He just had to keep remembering that. He would leave them a way of escape. Just like last time.

  Somehow.

  Somehow this would all work out, and maybe he could get control of the Horde without killing the entire Forest Guard.

  Maybe. The details would work themselves out.

  "Fine. We'll go, but only because I don't see another way."

  Compulsion forced his hand.

  Johnis nodded and turned back to Warryn. "Very well. We accept. But for the duration of the journey you are under my command and not the priest's. Understood?"

  Warryn scowled.

  "Understood?"

  After a few minutes of arguing, the throater consented, however reluctant. Johnis and Silvie mounted the offered horses and rode to the head of the group.

  "Where exactly are we going again?" Warryn asked.

  Johnis pursed his lips. "South." Despite the throater's protests, he refused to say more. The minute he told them, they wouldn't require him any longer. Johnis settled on that as they headed for Natalga Gap.

  "You know where we're going?" Silvie asked.

  Immediately his mind focused. Shaeda's mind overpowered him, poured her thoughts into him. He was a human dam. This entity was the river. Information burst out. The onslaught overwhelmed him.

  "I can ... She showed me ... just now ... Silvie, it's amazing."

  Silvie raised a brow.

  He checked to make sure Warryn and the others couldn't hear him. "The canyon will be on our west. It's shaped like a teardrop."

  "How steep is it?"

  "Steep. We will be able to see a muddy road that goes underground. There's a tunnel leading into an underground lake. We find a cavern."

  Everything went reddish-purple. He could feel himself changing. Feel Shaeda slip in. Slowly their thoughts grew together. Her siren song grew louder. Her gaze pulled him toward her, toward the canyon.

  "You will need me, my Johniss ... "

  His mind's eye saw the lair, the Black Forest with its black lake gouged out of the desert with the hands of the dead. A lair housing Derias, the Shataiki queen. Her enemy. The enemy.

  Shaeda despised this one.

  He had something she wanted.

  Desperately.

  "Johnis." Silvie snapped to get his attention. He had yet to figure out why she alone broke Shaeda's vise.

  She was staring at him. "I don't want to do this."

  Shaedas pull grew taut.

  Johnis tightened his jaw and wouldn't look at Silvie, who really needed to learn her place and be more respectful. Ask fewer questions.

  "It's all about the mission, Silvie. Our Eclipse."

  ucrow ordered you to kill me."

  'Darsal hadn't really quit reeling. Johnis and Silvie were Scabs. The general she was supposed to love and serve was under orders to execute her. Had tried to execute her. And once more, only his little brother's pendant around her neck had saved her.

  That and her resemblance to his dead lover.

  "Shut up. Let me think." Marak paced in the secluded clearing they'd retreated to. Darsal watched, ready to fight him off if he got the idea in his head to try to kill her again.

  Unfortunately for him, her death was counterproductive to her mission.

  His hand played at his hilt.

  "Tell me what you're thinking," she demanded.

  Marak's boots trampled damp grass and flowers. Black mud from a streambed blackened the worn leather. His hands kept moving.

  Big, calloused hands, like Billos's.

  Big, muscled Billos, who had fought with and loved her with all his heart and soul and saved her twice over.

  He hadn't just tried to kill her. He'd touched her.

  Worse, that little touch sent something through her she hadn't felt since Billos.

  The last few minutes left her completely out of her element. Billos had never tried to kill her. Why Billos? Why now?

  She shook it off. "Let me help you."

  Marak stilled, but did not, could not, would not look at her.

  "Tell me."

  "Rona, would you please be quiet! You-"

  They both stopped.

  Elyon's voice whispered in her ears.

  Marak had killed on a principle he was no longer convinced he held.

  Return to the Horde and love them for me. For Johnis.

  The silence was finally more than she could take. She wasn't sure what Elyon wanted. But something had to happen.

  Elyon had forgiven her.

  Johnis had forgiven her.

  And now ... now she had to forgive a Scab.

  Darsal struggled to her feet, untangled her leg chain, and shuffled behind Marak. Her palms started to sweat and felt clammy.

  His smell didn't bother her like it had before. Time would increase that acclimation. But she didn't have that kind of time.

  She hesitated.

  The very idea of touching a Scab repulsed her.

  This mighty Horde general had shown her his underbelly. His brother's death had wounded him deeply. He had loved and lost.

  And now he'd defied Sucrow and Qurong all in one moment.

  Elyon...

  A bird warbled from overhead. Darsal glanced up, recognizing the song. She smiled shyly at the snowy white bird with its red plume and red-tipped wings and tail. A swisher no bigger than both Darsal's hands cupped together. The little creature called out again then darted above the trees and vanished.

  Love him.

  Darsal approached him from behind. She put her hand on his back.

  JORDAN'S VOICE TAUNTED MARAK. HE COULD SEE HIS LITTLE brother's accusing finger and red face in his mind's eye, demanding answers Marak couldn't provide.

  And Rona, huddled on the floor, catatonic after whatever cruel ritual the throaters had subjected her to at Sucrow's command.

  A pair of hands touched him. Marak's insides jolted. Who was...?

  Slender brown arms slid down his torso and locked smooth, brown fingers.

  Rona?

  No. Darsal. The slave.

  The one who was supposed to be dead right now.

  Teeleh's breath, he'd called her Rona. And now she was touching him.

  For a second he was too stunned to respond. Nothing in him wanted to touch her. Nothing. He couldn't even rationalize what he'd just done.

  He couldn't keep her.

  He couldn't kill her.

  Everything in him told him to turn on her, to throw her off and finish her. It would certainly rid him of one of his many complicating factors.

  Blood pounded in his ears.

  Darsal put her head against him, hugging him from behind. But why was she ... ? What was she trying to do?

  Then, against his will, he reached up and rubbed her arms. Held her fingers to his chest. Seconds passed.

  Good grief, what was he thinking?

  Marak broke free of her. "This is lunacy."

  He should never have allowed himself the connection between Rona and Darsal. Both were albinos doomed to die. He should not have spared Darsal's life the first time. That was it-that was the reason he could not execute her now. He'd allowed himself to sympathize with the enemy.

  She stepped back. "You called me Rona. Before."

  "Also lunacy. You should be dead."

  "But I'm not." Darsal let her arms drop to her sides.

  "Don't ever do that again."

  "Don't try to take my head off again."

  His jaw clenched. "I'm not going to-" Marak cut himself off and turned away from her. Rona was right.

  Overnight he'd become a monster.

  "I don't know the wa
y out of this one, Darsal. One or both of us has to die."

  "There's a way."

  "What way?" He knew without asking. His fist tightened. "I am not diseased."

  "Then explain how any of this makes sense."

  "You're ill."

  "One of us is. But it isn't the albinos trying to eliminate the Horde."

  He turned to confront her and froze.

  Sucrow's servant stood gawking at them, face a mask of horror and disgust. Darsal turned to look and grew still.

  Marak bore down on the servant and grabbed him by the throat. "What do you want this time, fool?"

  The apprentice was still gaping. "What did you see?" Marak snarled.

  "I-nothing, General." The wretch cowered.

  Marak dug the edge of his blade into the man's flesh. "Liar."

  The fool gulped. "Sir ..."

  "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Marak sneered. "I will kill you if you don't answer." He dug in. Blood oozed from the cut.

  "Wait, General, wait! Cassak sent me."

  Darsal scowled.

  Their captive flinched away. "You can't kill me, General."

  Marak gave a dark chuckle. Cassak had his own means of getting things done. He wasn't above using one of Sucrow's useless servants if that was the swiftest means available. "I can kill anyone, fool. I killed my own brother. Now tell me the truth, pup."

  Hesitation.

  "The priest cannot save you from me."

  "N-no, sir.

  "Now, you weak-willed, half-brained excuse for a piece of meat, what did you see?"

  His eyes widened. "I saw ... you and the albino ..."

  Beat.

  "And in the event you breathe a word to a soul, living or dead, what do you think is going to happen?" Marak cut a little deeper.

  "You're going to kill me."

  "Very good. Say it again, to make sure we don't have any misunderstanding."

  "Under penalty of death will I repeat anything I saw today."

  "Good boy." Marak let go. "What's the message?"

  The little weasel glanced around, looking for a way out and seeing none. Cassak must have been desperate to tax his general with this fool.

  "Sucrow is sending warriors into the desert with the boy and girl to find the amulet and bring it back."

  Marak frowned. Imbeciles, all of them. "Fine. But tell him not to provoke Eram or I'll make sure the whole mess comes down on his head. He is not to engage or frustrate them."