Brohmin glanced at him, an unspoken question asked with his eyes, before turning back to the staircase. He climbed again. Jakob and Anda followed.
As the stairs brought them higher, occasionally Jakob thought he saw other tracks along the stairs, but the dim light made it difficult to be sure. The longer they went, the harder he breathed, and his thighs burned. Brohmin did not slow.
They reached another landing. The floor here was much the same as the other. Lamps along the walls cast their pale light, and doorways lined the long corridor, and this time, figures stood motionless in the distance.
“What is this?” he asked Brohmin.
“I’m not sure.”
Anda turned to him. “They’re people.”
Jakob frowned, confused. “People? Men and women like me?” He remembered the vision that had come to him seemingly ages ago, one in which he’d seen people with the groeliin. Was that what he saw now? “What are they doing here?”
Anda smiled strangely. “They are men and women.”
“I should have suspected,” Brohmin began.
“What?” Jakob asked.
Brohmin turned to him. “There are groeliin within the Tower somewhere. There would have to be to hold Alyta here. We see those they have captured,” Brohmin said. “Men and women who were taken, their minds broken so that they are no longer what they were. The Conclave referred to them as the Mindless. They are bodies only now, slaves. They do as their groeliin masters demand.”
Was that what he’d seen in the vision the first time he’d seen the groeliin? He remembered seeing people then, naked and walking alongside the beasts.
“Is she here?” Brohmin asked.
Jakob closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of the slaves and letting the pull on his ahmaean guide him. It was faster now, as was his heartbeat. Almost louder, if such a thing were possible. Finally, he shook his head.
“No,” he answered. “Still higher.”
Brohmin took his word and climbed higher, now running up the stairs.
Anda stayed by his side as he huffed up the stairs with legs that were growing tired. Occasionally, she would touch his arm, and her touch gave him extra strength. Jakob was panting by the time they reached the next landing, tired and out of breath. The pale light from the torches showed another hall, much like the last two. Shapes in the distance moved, and he turned to Anda.
She nodded. “The same as the last.”
“This floor?” Brohmin asked, somehow not short of breath. Jakob wondered how that was possible. Brohmin had nearly died in the forest following the Deshmahne attack. How was it that he managed to climb the stairs faster than Jakob?
Jakob again closed his eyes, feeling his ahmaean. His heart was hammering in his chest. Was it the pull upon his ahmaean or his fatigue from climbing the stairs?
“Higher, but I think we’re closer.” The pull was stronger now. He practically hummed with the pull upon him.
Brohmin sprinted up the staircase. The Tower stretched impossibly high into the sky. How much higher they would climb? Once they reached Alyta, he began to wonder whether he would have the necessary strength to save her.
Another countless number of stairs passed by before they reached another landing.
His legs trembled, and his face dripped with sweat. He couldn’t continue at this pace and be of any use. As he stepped out into the light, he saw this floor was little different from the last, and he sighed, doubting that he could go up any more stairs.
Something was different, though. Something he could not quite place.
He still felt the pull. Stronger now, it pulsated, beating in time with his racing heart and the pulsing in his head. It was a rapid staccato, repeatedly against his skull.
He stood, silent for a long time, his body swaying with the rhythm he felt, letting it play about him, filling him.
Then he knew.
It no longer pulled him up, though the stairs still led up behind him. It was forward, pulling him down the corridor.
Alyta was down the hall, pulling at him from where she was held.
Brohmin looked at him, and Jakob nodded.
Brohmin raced down the hall, leaving Jakob and Anda to run after him, and paused near one of the doors. Two men stood silently on either side of the door, completely naked, and stared blankly. Not only were their heads shaven, their whole bodies were shorn clean. They were well muscled, and each held a spear in hand.
Jakob reached Brohmin and stopped. He stared at the men, and the burning in his legs eased, but he still struggled to breathe.
“Why are you waiting?” he asked Brohmin.
“Their minds are gone, but their bodies are strong. If we push through, we’ll be forced to fight.”
“I’ve seen you fight before,” he said.
“This would be different,” Brohmin said. “These men did not choose this fight.” He struggled with his words a moment. “I do not know how to explain it, but I cannot attack these men.”
“Then how will we get past?” Jakob asked.
Anda touched both of the naked men above their ears with a long finger. They looked up suddenly, as if startled, before falling to the ground.
Brohmin knelt down to examine them and gasped. “You killed them?” he asked incredulously.
“They were already dead. Their minds, anyway. I only released their bodies. May their souls find the sun,” she whispered.
Brohmin frowned. “How do you know?”
“The daneamiin are all too familiar with groeliin and the way they use those they capture,” she answered.
Jakob looked down at the men, remembering the people he saw in his vision. They appeared peaceful now, the faint traces of a smile curling their lips.
The pull of the ahmaean upon him was strong and tore at his attention. He breathed deeply, but it remained difficult, a heaviness still upon his chest. He should have caught his breath by now, shouldn’t he?
It was the same sensation he’d experienced in the garden. What had happened then? How had he released it? If he didn’t do so again, would he begin to suffocate, the same way that he almost had there?
“Breathe carefully, Jakob, and focus your mind,” Anda said.
“What is it?” Brohmin asked.
Anda nodded toward Jakob before answering. “He feels the groeliin. They are near.”
“What can he do?” Brohmin asked. “How does he stop this?”
“I have never seen this reaction in person before. I have only heard about it.” She paused, staring at the door before glancing to Jakob. “It must come from within. That is all I know of it.”
The longer Jakob stood there, the more the weight pushed on him. Each breath became more difficult, reminding him of when he’d crawled through the tunnel through the Tower. The same panic set in.
What could he do? How did he stop it the last time?
Anda said it must come from within.
Focus your mind.
Jakob knew of only one way to focus his mind, the same one he’d used ever since learning the sword with Endric. Would it work now?
He reached for the now ever-present pulsing of his mind, using it to sharpen his focus. Pulling at it, at the ahmaean around him, he forced its energy through him.
It was not enough.
He felt his concentration slipping, felt a blackness threatening to overcome him, and he finally remembered what had helped in the garden.
Jakob reached for Neamiin and pulled at its ahmaean, filling him as it radiated through him.
The tightness in his chest eased, and he took deep breaths.
“Remember what you did,” Anda said.
He knew what had helped. Neamiin. The key.
How is it I have this sword? How is it that I can use it this way?
More questions for Alyta. Shaking his head to clear it, he said, “I’m better, I think.”
“Good,” Brohmin said. “You’re the better swordsman of the two of us, and the only one armed. I think we ne
ed to hurry. I worry our time is shorter than I’d realized.”
He felt the pull on his ahmaean and knew that Brohmin was right. There was an urgency to it, one that pulsed within him.
Brohmin gave the heavy door a shove. It opened easily, and the three of them rushed into the room. Once inside, Jakob stopped suddenly.
Three huge groeliin surrounded a large metal table. Small black eyes focused on him as he entered, alert and full of malice, and he saw black ahmaean surrounding them. Dark markings completely covered their flesh, similar to the Deshmahne. They hissed at the newcomers as they entered, though did not move to attack.
Waves of hopelessness, similar to what the Deshmahne radiated, pressed upon him.
Full of the ahmaean borrowed from Neamiin, he ignored the sensation.
And turned to the table.
A woman with long, golden hair was strapped there. Her eyes narrowed as they entered. They were beautiful eyes, exotic, and set farther apart than they should be. Her body was stretched out upon the table, chains keeping her feet locked at one end, her arms chained over her head at the other.
She was a goddess.
He recognized her: Alyta.
A simple white robe was all that covered her, barely concealing her nakedness. Black etchings were seared into the pale white flesh of her arms and legs. He could almost smell the stink from the tattoos but thought that only his imagination. He was reminded of something similar he had seen. Like Salindra’s, but those upon Alyta were different. Where Salindra only had the markings upon her ankles, circling them, Alyta had them on each ankle and around each wrist, working their way up her arms and reminiscent of what he had seen around the Deshmahne.
The shapes were different too. Those on Salindra had been like three jagged teeth, biting at her ankle. What he saw on Alyta was a single encircled fang repeated around each ankle and wrist, like an interlocking chain.
Her ahmaean oozed from the brandings. That was how he had felt her pull.
Jakob tore his attention away from her and studied the groeliin stationed around her. They still hadn’t moved but watched them with an intensity to their gaze.
Two stood at the head of the table, one at each corner, and the third stood at the other end, at Alyta’s feet. They were different from any groeliin he had seen before, larger and their eyes more alert. The dark markings that marred their gray flesh seemed to twist and flow as he stared.
Jakob looked to Brohmin, uncertain. “What now?”
Brohmin turned to Alyta for advice.
“You must destroy them,” Alyta said.
Her voice was weak, yet musical. Jakob wondered what she sounded like before she had been captured.
Like my dreams, he suspected.
“They cannot move now,” she said. “They form my prison, trapping me and my ahmaean.”
Jakob saw what she meant. A pool of Alyta’s ahmaean flowed around the base of the table, as if held in by some invisible force. A small amount leaked out and stretched toward Jakob. It was this he had felt. These would be powerful groeliin, perhaps more powerful than any other groeliin he had encountered.
“Careful,” she warned. “When one is gone, the other two are free.”
Jakob grabbed his sword from its sheath and looked to Brohmin. The ahmaean of the sword quickly raced through him. Neamiin was awake. The slow pulsing in his head became a steady humming. The sense washed through him, invigorating him, and granted strength to his tired legs.
Brohmin nodded. “You must do this.”
A moment of uncertainty came to him. He wasn’t sure what he was but knew he needed Alyta for answers. Could he do this?
How could he not?
Drawing upon the ahmaean, he raced toward the groeliin at Alyta’s feet. It hissed at him, sharp teeth framing the horrible mouth, and he swung in a quick arc, beheading it. There was a thud as it fell, and he smelled the acid stench of its blood.
Suddenly, the other two groeliin moved.
They streaked toward Brohmin and Anda, ignoring Jakob for now.
Jakob jumped back to block them.
The groeliin moved quickly in their attack, little more than a blur. He had never seen groeliin move as these did. One raised a hairy arm to strike him from one side, while the other attacked from another angle.
Jakob swung with his sword, but the groeliin reacted, and he missed. He thought to step into a catah, but realized he would not be fast enough, and began to wonder if he could be fast enough. They moved faster than he could think, forcing him to spin from side to side, dizzyingly fast. Much longer, and he would fatigue simply from blocking their attack.
It was nothing like a swordfight, nothing like he had ever experienced. The groeliin attacked as in unison, arms of the same creature.
He could not defeat them.
With the moment of uncertainty came a feeling of hopelessness. It was different from how the Deshmahne influenced but somehow similar. He pressed the fears and dark thoughts away but still felt himself grow tired.
Then he caught sight of Anda.
They would destroy her if he failed.
Jakob pulled desperately on the pulsing in his head, pulled on the ahmaean from Neamiin, taking it inside him, holding it tightly, and pulled on the ahmaean of the Tower itself.
It triggered something in his mind, creating a shift, like a key revealing a hidden part of his mind. It was the same part he had felt in the garden facing the groeliin and the same as when he had battled the Deshmahne in the forest.
He pulled again on the ahmaean, drawing it into him.
Time slowed, as he had somehow known it would.
A dance, he decided, remembering how Endric always looked with the sword.
The movements of the groeliin were still fast, but not the blur they had been. He swung quickly, swinging and ducking in a deadly dance, trying to switch from defense to offense, but the groeliin only sped their attack.
He pulled at the ahmaean again, and a hard tearing sensation shot pain through his head. His vision wavered, and Jakob staggered, barely catching himself.
It seemed as if time stopped, the groeliin frozen with it. Muscles in their horrible arms twitched against what had been done. A dark light glowed from their eyes.
Their black ahmaean neared him, brushing against his, and he angrily swung his blade in a circle, beheading both groeliin in one motion.
Time jerked forward again, and their bodies dropped.
His heart was pounding, his body tired. His mind ached with the pain of what had happened, and he was unsure how he had managed what he had done. The sharp pain stabbed through his mind, clouding it.
Jakob ignored the pain as he staggered to Anda. She caught him as he fell, and he breathed out a sigh of relief. They had done it. They had saved Alyta. Now he would have answers.
Chapter Forty
When Jakob managed to stand, he noted the fallen groeliin near him. His body ached, and his mind pulsed, a steady throbbing pain that wasn’t eased by anything Anda did for him. He wiped his sword clean and sheathed it as Brohmin approached.
“Only you could have won here,” Brohmin told him. “Only the nemah.”
Jakob turned to look at Brohmin. “You”—he breathed heavily—“or Endric.”
“We would have been dead in a heartbeat.”
Jakob considered the compliment a moment. Months ago, such a comment would have been more than shocking. That had been before he’d rapidly advanced in sword skill, before he had met Endric. Now… now, he no longer knew what he should expect.
A weak cough caught his attention.
They ran to where Alyta lay on the table. The chains binding her were massive and pulled tight around her. Her ahmaean flowed from the wounds, pooling around the table and drifting slowly away without the groeliin to hold it in place. Brohmin grasped her feet, chanting silently to himself as he did something, and the flow from her wounds slowed.
“We were right to reward you,” Alyta whispered.
“If I could have been here sooner,” he said. Brohmin pointed toward Alyta’s ankles, then to her wrists, before looking to Jakob. “Can you do like you did with Anda?”
Jakob felt his heart sink. “I’m not really sure what I did,” he said. He remembered pulling at her ahmaean, returning it to her. Could he do the same with Alyta? If he didn’t, would it be his fault that she died?
“The key,” Alyta said, interrupting. She eyed the sheathed sword before glancing up to Jakob’s face. He could almost hear her voice whispering in his mind. Just memories of the dreams, he knew. “The trunk?”
Brohmin answered. “It is safe. Aruhn guards—”
A loud crash cut him off.
The door had flung open, and a figure stood in the doorway. Clad in a long black cloak with the hood pulled up over the face, only the eyes were visible within. They were like pools of fire, bright red and dancing as they looked upon everything.
Jakob knew the eyes. He knew the man.
The High Priest of the Deshmahne.
Raime.
He shivered and felt a moment of hopelessness wash over him but pushed it away as he had learned to do. It receded slowly, beating on his senses in a constant pressure, different but similar to how Alyta’s ahmaean pressed upon him.
The man strode into the room, the fire eyes taking everything in. “You!” Raime said, pointing at Brohmin. “You come to her?” His voice was rough, harsh, as if his throat scarred from the fire burning in his eyes.
He flowed across the room, his movement impossibly liquid, and around him swirled a dark oily ahmaean blending with the strange cloak he wore. The cloak was covered with markings, too small to make out, covering the entirety of it, and it, too, seemed as if it swirled with its own ahmaean. The flames of his eyes danced with an angry energy.
Jakob resisted the urge to hide.
Brohmin faced the High Priest. “It ends here, Raime.”
Raime laughed, the sound of a wolf baying at his prey. It filled Jakob’s ears and tore at his mind. “You? You think that you can stop me? The Hunter? You are nothing,” he sneered. “You were not even chosen according to custom!”
Brohmin smiled, surprising Jakob. “I was chosen. I passed the test.” Brohmin’s voice grew stronger as he spoke. “I was named Uniter and was rewarded for my service.”
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