by Claudia King
Groaning with the effort, she lunged forward and swung the stool over her head. It struck the wall where Thakayn had been a moment before, shattering apart. The hollow sound of wood rattling against stone filled the chamber as pieces of the stool hit the floor, leaving Adel with a single leg clutched in her hands. Her burnt palms screamed at her. The pain in her chest crushed the air from her lungs. She lurched sideways and swung again, crying out as the wood struck stone for a second time and reverberated through her wrists.
Thakayn had shoved the screen aside and was yelling for his warriors. He'd given up on any attempt at fighting her. She stumbled blindly through the doorway after him, fearing that the guards would be upon her at any moment. A desperate daze, stifling and painful, had enveloped her. She was simply a den mother trying to protect her pack now, and the only way she could do that was to stop the man who threatened them.
Two braziers had been lit outside in the hall connecting the rooms Adel and Netya had been put in. They had burned down over the course of the night, but their orange glow was still enough to illuminate the two warriors with spears in their hands and blades at their hips. Somewhere deep within her Adel's hope faded as she realised that she would never be able to overpower both of them at once, yet what other choice did she have but to try? If she submitted to them they would only throw her back into the room to suffer more of Thakayn's torments, and then he would do the same thing to Netya. It would be better for her to die trying to fight than to resign herself to that miserable end. With or without her wolf, the Moon People's warrior spirit was the only strength she had left.
As Thakayn hurried past the guards and pointed toward her she threw herself forward, swinging at the nearest man with her stool leg. But she was so slow. Her muscles were stiff with pain, her senses numb and overwhelmed. The warrior struck her arm with the haft of his spear before the blow could connect, then drove the butt into her chest. She doubled over in agony, her vision dimming as her cracked rib exploded with such intense pain that she wanted to vomit. Her knees hit the floor, then her palms. She tried to hold herself up, but it was no use. Her shoulders sagged and her body slumped sideways against the wall. When she closed her eyes she heard a ringing in her ears. She had failed. Her spirit was still willing, but her body could not endure any more.
“Don't kill her, you fool,” she heard Thakayn say. “She's half dead already.”
“What happened, Dawn King?” the other man asked.
“She's a savage, look at her! Put her back in the room and bind her again.”
“What about the other one?”
After a few moments of heavy breathing Thakayn's fearful tone reacquired a measure of composure. “Open the screen and bring her out here. I want her to see what the seeress has done to herself.”
Adel felt tears on her cheeks. Poor Netya. It would only frighten her to see her like this. In one last vain attempt to resist she tightened her grip on the stool leg as the guard tried to tug it out of her hand, but his hold was tighter than hers, and her burnt hand stung until she was forced to let go. At that point Adel longed for the relief of unconsciousness, yet something in her rebelled against it, keeping her mind in the waking world.
The other guard hauled the screen to Netya's room aside and called for her to come out. Instead Sayla emerged. In a moment of eerie clarity, Adel saw how much the young woman looked like her sister. Almost exactly as Netya had been the day she came to Alpha Khelt's pack.
“Well?” Thakayn demanded of her.
Sayla shook her head. “This woman is not who you think she is. She isn't cursed.”
“Why would you believe that? Has she bewitched you too?”
“She is my sister!”
In the moment of silence that followed Adel felt a dim hope peeking through her despair. Netya. Somehow, sweet Netya had been able to touch the heart of the bitter creature her sister had become. If Sayla could persuade Thakayn to let Netya go, then Adel could endure being his captive.
“You really want me to free her?” Thakayn asked.
“I do. She will come with me, and we will leave this place.”
Thakayn sighed and turned to the guard next to him. “The wretched girl is bewitched. Kill her.”
The warrior hesitated, but Sayla did not. Whether it was borne of love for Netya, hatred for Thakayn, or just a desperate instinct for survival, she leaped for the man before he could point his spear at her. Her legs wrapped around his midsection as she bore him to the ground, the blade of a flint knife flashing in the air as she stabbed it into his chest and neck over and over again.
With her last burst of strength Adel grabbed the leg of the warrior next to her. He tried to run to his companion's aid, but he tripped, his spear rattling off the floorstones as he hit the ground hard. He was momentarily stunned, the other man was dead, and no one else stood between Thakayn and Sayla.
“You lied to me!” the girl wailed. “Everything you said was a lie!”
Thakayn tried to run, but Sayla was on her feet and rushing after him. As the warrior next to Adel tried to get to his knees the den mother threw herself on his back and grabbed a fistful of his hair, ramming his forehead into the floor as hard as she could. With a startled exclamation of pain, the man went limp.
Sayla was as quick as a shadow, and in the dim light of the braziers that was all she became. Adel looked up to see her grappling with Thakayn in the passageway that led back into the temple, his hand around her wrist as their silhouettes twisted in a frantic dance. She was quick, but he was strong. Adel tried to yell, to warn the girl that he had a knife of his own, but in her confusion the words came out in the tongue of the Moon People. All she could do was watch and crawl with pitiful slowness toward the pair as Thakayn's hand shot to his side and then drove upwards into Sayla's ribs with vicious force. The girl coughed, struggled for an instant, then her body seemed to crumple. Thakayn threw her against the wall where she tumbled to the ground like a broken stem of grass. Then he was gone, the darkness of the passageway swallowing him up as he fled.
Sayla coughed again and let out a shrill gasp. The pained sound was one Adel knew well, and it hurt her more keenly than any of her wounds. Curse Thakayn. Curse that man and all of his evil! As Adel crawled forward on her elbows she heard another set of footsteps hurrying past her. Netya had come out of the room and was running to her sister's side.
The weight of grief in Adel's chest threatened to drag her to the floor. She struggled onward, one elbow after the next. Her hands felt twisted and numb and stiff, like gnarled roots ruined by the fire she had thrust them into. She could hear Netya weeping, and only her desire to be there at her friend's side kept Adel from collapsing. At long last she reached the spot where Sayla had fallen. She tried to feel for where Thakayn's knife had gone in, but her burnt hands could barely sense anything through the numbing layer of pain that now covered them. It was no use anyway. Netya already had her palms pressed over the blood-soaked rent in the front of her sister's robes. Sayla's breathing was shallow, and a wet, rattling sound accompanied it.
“Please stay, Sayla,” Netya whimpered. “You cannot go now.”
Adel knew better than to say anything. The girl was dying. If these were the final few moments Netya and her sister had together, she was not going to interrupt them.
Sayla reached up with a trembling hand and touched Netya's face. For an awful moment it seemed as if she would be unable to say anything, for her chest rose and fell with several rapid jerks as stifled noises of pain left her throat. Then her breathing stilled, and in a barely audible whisper she said, “Today was the only good day... in... many days.”
Netya leaned forward over her, shaking with grief. Sayla's rattling breaths continued for a while longer, then they stopped. Somewhere in the back of Adel's mind she knew they could not afford to stay here and grieve. They might have mere moments before Thakayn sent more of his warriors down the passageway. Adel tried to move, but the stiffness in her body told her that she would not be able to leave even if
she wanted to. Her chest hurt as if she had been stabbed, and her hands were useless.
“Netya,” she gasped, trying not to breathe too deeply. “You must go.”
“No,” Netya sobbed into her sister's shoulder, still clutching the girl's body. “I won't leave you too.”
“Then he will do to you what he did to me. Then he will kill us.” Adel did not want to be cruel at a time like this, but it was the only way she could make Netya listen. “Damn you, girl, I will never forgive you if you stay. I'll haunt you in the spirit world forever.” She struck at Netya's shoulder with her wrist, groaning from the effort.
At last Netya turned to look at her, tears streaming from her eyes. “Oh, Adel.”
Adel shook her head. She had no time for Netya's pity. “Run. Find Kiren and go.”
Netya hesitated, then kissed her. She kissed her sister's forehead too, then rose unsteadily to her feet. Adel slumped to the floor beside Sayla. At least she had given Netya a chance. She reached out to touch the dead girl's hand, mouthing a barely audible prayer. Sayla's spirit deserved safe passage to the world beyond. If their lives were the price for Netya's freedom, then at least both of them would have died for something good.
—49—
The Conclave's End
The silence of the empty passageway had been unnerving, but when he heard the sound of faint sobbing up ahead Jarek could not keep pace with the others any longer. Snatching the torch from Radeen-Na, he ran ahead. The priest of the Brother called angrily after him. He ran on, but there was not far to go. Near the end of the passage he found Netya standing over two fallen figures, one still and covered in blood, the other wet and bedraggled. It was Rat and Adel, though when Jarek looked upon his love he did not recognise her for a moment. The beautiful black hair on one side of her head had been burnt away, leaving the side of her neck and part of her scalp blistered. He fell to his knees beside her, dropping the torch upon the stone floor.
He felt unable to say anything. He'd come too late, and his love had suffered for it. He took Adel in his arms, but she cried out in pain. Every part of him wanted to embrace and comfort her, yet she was too badly hurt. Being unable to hold her was maddening. Instead he reached for her hands, and once again she drew away with a wince. He saw that they too had been burned, and the sleeves of her robe were charred around the wrists.
She could not open her palms to touch him, but her eyes strained with yearning as she looked up into his face. “Take Netya,” she gasped. “Take her and Kiren away.”
“I will take you too,” Jarek said, finding his voice at last. “Can you stand?”
“It doesn't matter. I can't run.”
Jarek's throat tightened with emotion. Even now Adel could only think about protecting others. He leaned forward and kissed her. It was a desperate kiss, one that might have been meant as a goodbye, or a comfort, or a plea for her not to give up. It was the kiss he'd been unable to give her when they'd been dragged apart.
For a brief moment Adel kissed him back, pouring all of her own desperate longing into the exchange, then she pushed him away. “Leave me.”
Behind him Jarek heard the sound of metal rasping upon leather as Radeen-Na drew his blade. Netya took a step back. Kiren moved to put herself between them.
“What is this?” Radeen-Na demanded. His voice held a grim, thunderous note.
With great effort Adel pulled herself into a sitting position against the wall. Jarek helped her, easing her up gently by the arm.
“This is the work of your new Dawn King,” she said. Her breathing was laboured and shallow, and Jarek worried that her injuries were even worse than they appeared.
Ryndel and the other guardsman began to move forward, but Radeen-Na held out his hand to stop them. He looked at Rat, then to the pair of fallen warriors near the braziers.
“Are they all dead?”
“One of the men may still live,” Adel said weakly. “Thakayn told them to kill Sayla. When she fought back, he used his own knife to slay the girl.”
Netya covered her mouth with a hand and sank down next to Rat's body. Jarek did not know why, but she seemed grief-stricken by the girl's death. An indignant anger rose within him as he watched Netya cradle the fallen woman. None of them had believed that Thakayn would stoop to such immediate and merciless brutality. At that moment a disturbing worry that had been circling Jarek's thoughts for days finally snapped into certainty. If Thakayn could do this, then he could have killed Atalyn as well.
As if in tune with Jarek's thoughts, Adel said, “He burned and beat me. He thought violence would let him steal my magic, the same way he killed Atalyn and stole his status.”
“That was not Thakayn,” Radeen-Na said.
“He admitted it to me,” Adel snapped, then winced and doubled forward in pain.
Jarek wanted to stay by her side, yet knowing what Thakayn had done—that he had even admitted it to Adel—made his blood simmer.
“You and Eral must take away your support for Thakayn,” he said, looking up at Radeen-Na. The priest of the Brother did not often pay Jarek's counsel much heed, but the expression on his face held a fierce conviction that no warrior could ignore.
“It is too late,” Radeen-Na growled, turning to slam his fist against the wall. “It is already done!”
“There has been no ceremony! The spirits do not recognise Thakayn as the Dawn King, nor should they. Can you go on serving a man capable of this?!”
Radeen-Na stared at him for a long moment. His eyes strayed to Rat, then the fallen men. He took Ryndel's arm and pushed him forward. “Check them, then find a healer.” He paced back and forth, then said, “We will demand to know why Thakayn did this. The seeress may be lying.”
“She is not!”
“Bring me with you,” Adel said. “I will demand the truth from him myself.”
Jarek felt her trying to get up, but the effort made her groan in pain, and she slumped back against the wall.
“Stay here,” he said. “Someone will come to tend you.”
Adel's brow furrowed with pain. She looked at Radeen-Na, then back to Netya and Kiren, who were crouched with their arms around one another next to Rat. With a weary nod, Adel whispered, “I will stay with my pack.”
Jarek touched her cheek on the side that was not burned and kissed her. “This is something for the conclave to settle.”
Adel let her eyes close and nodded. “In the Sun People's way.”
Jarek forced himself to let go of her and stood to address Radeen-Na. “We must summon Hasham and Eral.”
“Stay here,” Radeen-Na told the guards. “Allow no one into this passage, even if they come at the Dawn King's command.”
“What about the healer?” Ryndel asked.
“Fetch one quickly,” Jarek said. He gave Adel a concerned look, but she shook her head.
“I will live. Tend the man whose head I hit against the floor first.”
Radeen-Na sheathed his blade and turned away, striking a quick pace back toward the temple proper. Jarek bent to give Adel one last kiss on the cheek, told her he would return soon, then hurried after the other high priest.
The upper parts of the temple had grown quiet, but the lower tiers still hummed with activity as preparations for Thakayn's ceremony continued. Radeen-Na sent servants to find Hasham and Eral, then returned to join Jarek. He paced up and down outside the passageway that now held two dead bodies and one wounded woman. Jarek feared that two guards might not be enough to protect them if Thakayn returned with more warriors, but they had seen no sign of him so far. The sooner they confronted their new Dawn King the better.
He did not know what was going to happen any more. Moments ago he'd been convinced that he would soon be ousted from the temple conclave, but that had been before he'd realised just how egregiously Thakayn was willing to abuse his power. The other high priests could not possibly support him after this. Would their combined will be enough to force Thakayn to step down? It was impossible to know. Nothing l
ike this had ever been done before. He feared for his own life, he feared for Adel's, and he feared for the future of the Sun People. This night had irrevocably changed their destinies, and it was not over yet.
Hasham and Eral arrived without delay. Jarek dismissed the servant accompanying them, and once they were alone he told the other high priests what had happened.
“So, Radeen-Na realises what a thick-headed fool he's been all this time?” Hasham said, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of his voice. “A pity he didn't realise before pledging his support to the wrong man.”
“I'd no sooner support you, Hasham!” the priest of the Brother retorted. “You will come with us and you will demand that Thakayn explain himself.”
“I did not think he would do something like this,” Eral said.
Hasham abandoned his provocative tone as his attitude turned serious. “If Thakayn is unfit to lead us then I will have to take his place. I am the only other priest who commands the support of the conclave.”
Radeen-Na glowered at him, cords of sinew bulging on his neck. Jarek feared that the animosity between them might be about to undo any hope of solidarity, but when Radeen-Na spoke it was in a steady, if grating tone.
“If that happens, Hasham,” he began, “then you will never touch Lydane again. Swear to me, on the Father, that you will stay away from the woman who bears my child.”
Hasham seemed confused by the implication. “Why would I touch your woman? Do you really think so little of me, Radeen-Na?”
“I know you meant to take her as a wife! The Rat girl told me this very morning! That was why I gave my support to Thakayn, because you went behind my back!”
“The Rat girl,” Hasham said slowly, taking a moment to let the realisation sink in. “You do know that she was Thakayn's servant, do you not?”
Jarek shook his head in disbelief. “That snake.”
Radeen-Na appeared stunned. His lips thinned in anger, then his hand closed around the handle of his blade. “Thakayn had her lie to me.”