“Priska is exploring her newfound power and the freedom it provides from the shackles her father has placed on her. She’s nothing to me. As for Razmus … he’ll regret insulting and opposing me.”
“We can’t have any dissent in our little group, can we?”
“Precisely. We should have left them both in Caronath, but these idiots were forced upon me.” Valeria probably didn’t realize he included her in that comment.
She chuckled throatily, as if she knew something he didn’t. “She does look a little like the Lady, does she not?”
Niklaus stiffened before he could stop himself. “No one looks like the goddess.”
“I see your desires, Niklaus, as if they were written on a page in front of me. You might as well reach for the moons.”
“You know nothing of my desires. Best you remember that, if you want to stay alive.”
“We both know you won’t kill me. You can’t kill me. I’m one of her high priestesses, and you’re her Chosen Sword. We both serve her. And if Sokhelle tries to stop me fulfilling the goddess’s wishes, she’ll find out how weak she is compared to divine power. Sorcerers! Always convinced they have the upper hand. Light counters light. Dark counters dark. They don’t like to remember they are feeble. Sokhelle’s pitiful wards will crack and crumble against the power the goddess has bequeathed me.”
“How melodramatic. I’m sure Sokhelle will be mortified to find her talent and hard work count for nothing when fighting someone with no talent who’s been handed her power on a plate.”
Valeria hissed. “You mock me. Just as well you’re Sylva Kalisia’s chosen, or you’d feel my wrath.”
“I don’t desire to feel anything of yours.”
That was Valeria’s problem, Niklaus decided: she lusted after things. Power. People. And if she couldn’t obtain what she wanted by guile or force, she destroyed it.
The priestess visibly hardened, then she laughed softly. “You will. The goddess … it may be her plan. What I do know is that whatever Aldric’s Church is after, we must take it for ourselves. Together we will forge the goddess’s Church anew! You, the anvil, and I, the hammer.”
Interesting. If the goddess wanted more, she would have it. However, who was he to assume her will? Was he here to help Valeria or to stop her? He wasn’t sure that Valeria didn’t serve herself first and the goddess second. And she was in for a shock if she thought she could get away with her plan of raising the goddess’s Church from its current position.
Niklaus shivered in a particularly icy blast of wind. He hunched his shoulders and indicated they should head back to the settlement. “Come, it’s full-dark in two nights, and the Dead-eyes were scouting the village. It looks like the Lady wants us to earn the gratitude of these defenseless settlers.”
The inky sky towered above them, and the pitch-black cliffs surrounding the valley seemed to brood, dark and hollow.
~ ~ ~
Razmus rubbed his aching eyes and yawned. He hadn’t managed much sleep after his fight with Priska. She was too headstrong! Why wouldn’t she just listen to what he had to say and heed his advice?
He looked around in the gray predawn light. No one else had risen yet, and he’d decided to slip outside before he had to make small talk with anyone and head off to begin the early morning training. It was refreshing the settlers didn’t grumble about such an early start, like his soldier colleagues used to: as farmers they were accustomed to getting up at the crack of dawn.
Smoke poured from the chimneys atop the nearby houses, though only a few had lights on inside. But right now, he found it hard to care about the settlement. Priska’s rejection had left him empty inside. After all their time together, he couldn’t comprehend why she was acting this way.
He made his way to the cleared space where he’d been drilling the settlers with sharpened sticks and whatever other weapons they could lay their hands on. The straw-stuffed dummy had been ripped to shreds and lay on the ground at the base of its pole. A raven was hopping around it, a few stalks of straw in its beak. When Razmus approached, it flew off into the closest tree. As he watched it go, Razmus was surprised to see one of the settlers—the heavyset miller named Drusst—perched on a log. He was eating a sweet roll, both cheeks bulging like a bullfrog’s.
Drusst nodded and shoved the remaining half of his roll into his mouth.
Razmus nodded back, but decided not to go over. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation. Besides, the settlers had left their sharpened poles lying all around the place. He began to pick them up and stack them to one side, thoughts wandering back to Priska.
It’s not like she’s never rebelled before. Gods knows she’s had a hard life, and sometimes she needs to let off steam. But now isn’t the time.
It was all Niklaus’s fault for trying to bed her with no thought other than getting his wick wet. And Valeria’s too, for filling Priska’s head with tales of a woman’s rightful place in society and how her goddess valued women over men.
He saw Valeria going with three young women and an older one into a house. No doubt getting her claws into them. Maybe she’d leave Priska alone now …
And that sorcerer too, Sokhelle. Razmus paused. Maybe he was being too harsh. Sokhelle was teaching Priska to better control her powers. A dream of his daughter’s, he knew, and one they’d thought would never come true. Damaged as she was, and without a Covenant willing to take her in, Priska had resigned herself, however bitterly, to never reaching her full potential. Now that had changed.
Behind Razmus, Drusst cleared his throat. “Want me to help? Or should I start on the drills we went over yesterday? The others will be here soon. I brought some fresh bread.” He gestured to a lumpy sack a few yards away.
“You’re not milling today?” asked Razmus, throwing more poles onto the steadily growing pile. Drusst had shown more promise than the other settlers. If he wasn’t so fat, he’d have had potential as a soldier. Not that he’d shown any interest … Razmus paused. For settlers to get so fat, they must have more food and beer than they’d been willing to share.
“Only the bare minimum of other work until we see off the Dead-eyes,” said Drusst. “Mayor’s orders.”
“Fair enough.”
Where was Neb, Razmus wondered. The old man had left in the middle of drills yesterday and never returned.
Drusst’s toe nudged the dismembered scarecrow. “Should I put this back together? We’ll need something to practice on.”
“No need. Today we’re sparring with each other.”
The miller’s eyes brightened and he licked his lips. “Really? At last.” He picked up a pole and leaned on it.
Two more settlers joined them: Lavst, a thin boy who Razmus thought probably wasn’t shaving yet, and Uvagen, a burly man with a bushy beard and short hair who looked like a blacksmith or lumberjack.
“Get a pole, lads,” Drusst said loudly. “We’re fighting each other today.”
“I’m no lad,” said Shand as she strode up to the training area. She’d joined them for a short time yesterday and hadn’t done too badly considering her lack of height and slight build.
Nervous laughs eased the tension slightly. They knew what they learnt here would be used very soon, and the specter of the next Dead-eye attack hung over them.
“Aldric can heal anyone who gets injured,” Razmus said. “You did well yesterday. I’m proud of you all.” Razmus thought that in another life Drusst might have made a good warrior.
He realized he was. The settlers were all working hard, learning skills they might only use over the next day or so, and never again. But if your life was on the line, it gave you an incentive to focus. “But I’ve noted a few problems and today we’ll work on everyone’s weaknesses.”
Lavst and Uvagen grabbed poles and squared off. Shand sat in the dirt to the side and pulled a dried apple out of her shirt. She bit into it with relish, as if expecting a fine show from Lavst and Uvagen.
“Go through the attacking and defens
ive forms first to warm up,” said Razmus. “Then we’ll spar until the others arrive.”
“Why not longer?” asked Lavst. “I’m sure the others’ll want to have a go—”
“Because you won’t be taking on the Dead-eyes one-on-one,” snapped Razmus. “That’ll just get you killed. You stay together, shoulder to shoulder, and you fight as a unit. If you don’t, you’ll die. Understand?”
Uvagen nodded, a grim smile on his face.
Lavst swallowed. “I do,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Razmus ran a hand over his tired eyes. “No, don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have been so harsh, but this is serious. You’re all doing your best, and that’s all I can ask for.”
A slow smile crept across Lavst’s face, and he motioned for Uvagen to join him in sparring.
Razmus turned to pick up a pole of his own and found Drusst hovering closer than was comfortable. He took a step back, noting that Drusst had a fake smile plastered across his face and was shifting his weight from foot to foot. What now?
“Something you want to say, Drusst?”
“Er … the high priestess that came with you?” He’d pitched his voice low so the others couldn’t hear.
Razmus nodded, frowning. He hoped this wasn’t trouble. “What of her?”
“A few of the men are upset. Yesterday she was preaching to the young women, telling them all sorts of nonsense. Some of the girls are enamored of her and her high-class ways, and they’re talking of traveling to Caronath to join her Church. She’s stirring up trouble, and we want her to stop. Things are hard enough here without filling the young folks’ heads with ideas.”
Suppressing a sigh, Razmus gave Drusst a curt nod. “I’ll talk to Aldric, see if he can rein her in. After all, we’re here to help, not create discord. But if she’s only preaching, there probably isn’t much he can do. People are free to choose for themselves.”
One rule for the settlers and another for Priska, thought Razmus. But Priska was his daughter, and he only wanted what was best for her.
As the settlers want for their daughters.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Old Tales and Nightmares
KURIO HEARD THE SCRAPE of a boot on earth. Leaves rustled. Something hovered over her. She turned onto her back in a panic, flinging the blanket aside.
Mellish stepped back from her, one hand on the hated turtle. His gray eyes were the same as always—hard and mocking, tinged with disgust.
A pale light shone faintly to the east. The campfire had died and was nothing but ash. A cold wind blew, cutting through her shirt. Kurio lurched to her feet, seeing that Mellish had already packed their—his—gear, and the horses were saddled. She must have slept through his preparations. And no wonder: her joints still ached from the agony he had sent coursing through her again last night.
He made a game of it. At night he tortured her; and during the day, trepidation haunted her, even though it could have been pleasant riding through the forest. She knew what was coming when they stopped. And Mellish enjoyed her dread. Reveled in it.
Demon, he’d whisper to her as she writhed.
Cursed.
Abomination.
Kurio put on a brave face and went about the business of tugging her boots on, then walked over to the fire and picked up the scrap of bread her captor had left for her. She squatted by the ashes, pretending they were still warm, and gnawed on the dry, coarse breakfast. It was all she’d get until midday. At least he left her to eat without troubling her.
The farther away from Caronath they rode, the meaner Mellish became. As if whatever chains that bound him to Zarina and their cause loosened, and he revealed his true self. Her wrists crusted with dried blood, the accursed sorcerous collar around her neck, Kurio silently cursed all the gods and goddesses she could remember.
“Hurry up, demon,” Mellish said.
Kurio rose without speaking and hastened to her horse. It huffed and nuzzled her arms as she patted its neck.
As she was about to mount, she heard Mellish’s tread behind her and felt his fingers entwine into her hair. He gripped it hard until it pulled at her scalp. “We’re almost at the settlement,” he whispered into her ear, so close she felt his breath on her skin. “Remember to behave yourself when we’re there. And don’t speak. You’re my mute assistant and bedfellow.”
Kurio remained silent, bracing herself for the cruel wrench she was sure would come. But his grip loosened, and the tug did not eventuate. She seized the chance to mount her horse, which moved her out of his reach. Looking down into his cruel, piglike eyes, Kurio almost spat in his face. He looked smaller from up here. Diminished.
I must kill him, she thought. But how?
He had too much power over her. If she took the smallest step toward him, made the least threatening gesture, a fire of agony and screams was sure to follow.
The pain goes, doesn’t it?
Or does it become a part of me, stain my soul?
If I’m a demon, do I have a soul to be stained? Or am I already damned?
Kurio rubbed her arms to warm them in the biting dawn air, but nothing would lessen the chill inside her heart.
~ ~ ~
The sun had passed its zenith and was descending. They hadn’t stopped to eat the entire day, though Kurio had seen Mellish reach often into a saddlebag for something to chew on, probably dried meat. He didn’t offer her any. It didn’t matter. She’d passed from hunger to a point where she couldn’t care less if she ate or not.
This far into the wilderness, the air was even thinner, and Kurio’s nose itched. She had to sniff to stop it running. She studied her captor. Short brown stubble covered his face now, and the expensive shirt he’d worn in Caronath had been replaced by one of a tougher, more serviceable weave.
His hand moved to touch the turtle at his waist, and Kurio flinched and almost cried out before she could stop herself. Mellish laughed, obviously having heard her gasp of fear. It wasn’t the first time he’d made such a feint, and his cruelty made her cringe.
She turned her gaze to the forest around them. Monotonous trees and drab bushes and hardly any wildlife, except for a few lizards basking in the remaining sunlight.
I wonder what the range is on his little turtle?
She slowed her horse a touch, letting the distance between her and Mellish grow imperceptibly. She hung her head to seem as if she was dozing in case he turned to look at her. Occasionally she opened her eyes a slit to see how far she’d fallen behind and if Mellish suspected anything. All she had to do was get far enough away and keep running. Right now Kurio couldn’t see any other way.
Mellish rounded a bend in the trail. Kurio’s breath caught in her throat as he and his horse disappeared behind the thick trunk of an ancient tree. She hauled on her reins to turn her mount and urged it in the opposite direction as quietly as she could.
Bloody hells. There’s no point doing this half-heartedly.
She dug her heels into her horse’s flanks. “Go, go go!” she whispered urgently.
Her mount’s pace increased to a trot. A shout came from behind them, but no pain.
“I’m free!” she said, laughing, relief flooding through her.
Agonizing fire lashed her nerves. She doubled over, retching as her stomach twisted into knots. But in the blaze of agony, she imagined a presence there with her. Strangely, it offered comfort, understanding.
The pain redoubled, and Kurio fell sideways, off her mount, and slammed into the earth.
The next thing she knew, Mellish stood over her.
Kurio groaned. Her head ached, and her shoulder throbbed from her fall.
He stared at her, expressionless. “For your kind, there is no escape.”
~ ~ ~
The day sank toward dark, reddening the trees of the forest, and Mellish led them slowly, searching for a suitable place to camp. Kurio caught the occasional glimpse of the turtle when his horse turned to follow a bend in the trail.
Night was coming.
Pain was coming.
She shivered, and a whimper escaped her lips before she clenched them tight against her weakness. She thought back to the times she’d felt a comforting presence in the midst of her suffering. Maybe she was going mad.
Mellish halted his horse, and Kurio looked up into her tormentor’s eyes. Mellish smiled a dishonest smile at her. “Are you well, demon?” His tone was that of inquiring after an old friend.
He was too far away to spit on. And though she knew she would have paid for it in full, and then some, she would have done it. Despair tugged at her. Hate sank its poisoned fangs into her heart. “Piss on you,” she snarled. It wasn’t much of a curse, but she was frightened. She could scarcely control her trembling.
Mellish only laughed, a sound without mirth.
They kept moving and came upon a rocky area where the trees and undergrowth thinned out. Only then did Kurio realize they’d been riding up a slight incline for some time. Many of the trees amid the granite outcroppings were stunted and twisted. Pines held a smattering of needles, their bare trunks diminutive.
The light faded, and they rode a path among warped trees in the twilight. Mellish went carefully, keeping his eyes on the surrounding forest. The trees thinned to nothing, giving way to a clearing of flat rocks surrounded by tufted grass. Aged bones poked from the grass on one side of the space. At the far side, blackness. A cliff edge.
“We’ll camp here,” he said. “Must have taken a wrong turn. We’ll have to go back to find a way around.”
A vision came to Kurio of Mellish tumbling over the cliff to be dashed on sharp rocks below.
She gathered her courage against the coming night and dismounted, stumbling on loose gravel. When she looked up, a dark figure stood at the edge of the clearing opposite the cliff. It had appeared as if from nowhere, without a sound or betraying movement.
A curse from Mellish; a frantic scrabbling as he drew his steel.
The figure—a man, it had to be, he was so tall—remained motionless.
“Who goes there?” Mellish shouted. “Reveal yourself. Stop skulking in the shadows.”
Revenant Winds (The Tainted Cabal Book 1) Page 33