Elyon Page 12

  Marak didn’t comment.

  “Well, get on with it,” Josef scoffed. “There is no reason to stop.”

  That drew Marak’s attention. “Blame the priest.”

  “It’s your scout, I might remind you,” Sucrow warned evenly. He scowled. This Josef would have to be done away with. The Master would not be pleased that such an unbeliever held his servants hostage. And Marak was in the way.

  “And it’s Josef ’s directions and your bloody ritual,” Marak snapped. He sent the scout off. “We’re wasting time.”

  Sucrow waited until Josef and Marak broke off. He called Warryn to him. “Wait until tomorrow,” he said. “Then invoke the Law of Naroush.”

  A knowing look crossed the chief serpent warrior’s face. The Law of Naroush was the cry for blood on behalf of a petitioner.

  Josef had started them on this path. Surely he would not mind using his own blood to petition Teeleh’s blessing.

  ONCE MORE JOHNIS SAT ASTRIDE A HORSE, THIS TIME NORTH-bound on the west side of Middle. Once more into the unknown. If he looked back, he couldn’t even see the city anymore; it was so consumed with the black cloud of Shataiki. The boiling cauldron was quiet. Johnis dropped back to Silvie.

  Shaeda’s cold talons dug into him. This many Shataiki so close made her nervous, despite her control over the swarm. She lingered in a hazy place between gloating and panicking. This, on top of Johnis’s own apprehension, didn’t help matters.

  “You fear them more than I do,” he whispered.

  “Silence,” she hissed. But her mind was open, thoughts set on her goal. They had conned the Shataiki amulet guardian and bound him. They would destroy the Horde and return victorious, and then she would be powerful enough to undermine Teeleh, to usurp his power and take it for her own.

  Johnis blinked. Where had that come from?

  “What was that all about?” Silvie’s face was impossible to read.

  “Sucrow being Sucrow.”

  Shaeda turned her focus to her missing mate, away from her plans for glory. She understood now. Silvie was to him as Rasmuth was to her.

  Johnis’s eyes flicked toward the enraged Derias. He’d taken Shaeda’s mate, but Shaeda wouldn’t explain everything about such.

  How aware of the Leedhan’s movements was Teeleh?

  Sucrow, of course. Teeleh could guess through his priest.

  So what would he do when . . .

  Shaeda took his mind from those troubling thoughts.

  Johnis fingered the amulet. So close, so close. And soon he would conquer the Horde and rule Middle with Silvie as his queen.

  They reached a series of canyons and spread out to cross what otherwise was too narrow a path for the horses to pass through. A loud, snarling roar went up, spooking the horses.

  “What’s that?” one of the warriors asked.

  Johnis’s head whipped around. Shaeda completely balked. His nostrils flared. “Derias,” he said, fingering the amulet around his neck. “He hasn’t forgiven us for his imprisonment.”

  A flickering of fear snaked through him.

  “We shall have accomplished our mission, yet upon its end what shall befall? The Guardian shall be full of wrath once he is released.”

  Johnis stiffened. “Shaeda, what do you mean?” he whispered.

  Silvie looked at him. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head. What would Derias do once the amulet’s powers were spent? They couldn’t hold him forever—even Shaeda knew that.

  “Have no fear,” Shaeda soothed, as much to herself as to him. “We will order his own termination ere this ends.”

  The ritual that unlocked the amulet’s power required Sucrow’s presence. He alone knew the incantation. Only a priest of Teeleh could deliver the offering and approach the high place.

  “Do you hear that?” Johnis whispered to Silvie. She eyed him. “Derias will kill us if we lose control of him before our mission is complete.”

  He grew uneasy. His entity was not telling him everything. Her dark presence came over him like a hot, thick blanket. He wasn’t supposed to tell Silvie of his private conversations with the Leedhan monarch.

  With Shaeda’s night vision he could see Silvie fingering her knife. “Yes.”

  “Whatever happens, we cannot let the priest have the amulet.”

  Silvie was quiet a moment. Then, “So what do you want to do?”

  “We need to plan.”

  THE SCOUTS REPORTED BACK TO MARAK CLOSE TO MIDnight. At least, that was his best estimation. The foursome traded off riding ahead and doubling back, a system that took them beyond the eclipse and beneath the stars.

  “Past the canyons is a stretch of open desert,” the lead scout told him, thumbing northwest. “If we turn west now, we’ll bypass the foothills, then make north again along the rim. That’ll take us to the peak.”

  “How long?” Marak snapped.

  Easy, brother, he imagined Jordan saying, half-amused that Marak had let a girl get to him, and half-frustrated with Marak’s tyrannical behavior since the fight with Darsal. What did that scout do to you?

  Nothing, you bonehead.

  But it didn’t matter. It just didn’t matter.

  He caught himself fingering Jordan’s Circle pendant.

  “A few hours, General,” the scout was saying. “The delay will be inconsequential. It would take longer to go through than around.”

  “You’re certain.”

  The scout hesitated. “General—”

  “We’re ready to get this done. Tell the captain to follow your lead.” The scout saluted him and galloped off.

  “You kept it.” Darsal’s voice surprised and agitated him. They had barely spoken since she’d destroyed Rona’s journal.

  Marak’s hand closed around the pendant. He put the necklace away. Thoughts of the pool mingled with those of the high place. He had the strange urge to break away from the others and ride until the horse dropped dead to the high place, to not wait for the priest or the others . . .

  Focus, man.

  “Sucrow has his hands in too deep,” he said, changing the subject. “And what do you care?” Of course, he knew the answer as quickly as he asked it.

  Darsal raised her torch higher and glimpsed in the direction of the enraged Shataiki queen. “I shouldn’t have done that, General.” General. In front of the men he was just “General.” Behind their backs he was her general. Her Marak.

  He snorted. “The albino admits she’s wrong.” Teeleh’s breath, she destroyed everything, and now she was trying to dig in again.

  She pursed her lips and waited for the apparent frustration to pass. “I was a fool.”

  He’d had some time to think about this. In some strange way the ripped journal knotted a loose thread, let him say good-bye. Tore the last of the barbs out of his heart.

  Her horse drew abreast of his. Their knees brushed briefly. Heat shot up his leg. Marak threw her a look, eyes narrow. Darsal seemed not to notice. The torchlight gave her skin a strange cast, made it glow orange red.

  His mind drifted again, just for a minute, just long enough to consider they could reach the high place so much faster with fewer men . . .

  “Green for Elyon’s lake,” she said under her breath, just loud enough for his ears alone. Her voice brought him out of the wanderings. “Black for the Black Forest and the Great Deception. Red for the blood mingled with water.”

  He softened. “Jordan told you that.”

  “He did.”

  “And the white center?”

  “Yet to come.” Darsal moved a step ahead of him, looked up at the Shataiki swarm. “Sooner or later.”

  “Albino.” The word came out more sharply than Marak had intended. He caught up to her. She glanced over, then turned her eyes forward again. Marak hesitated. He wanted to keep it. Now it really was all he had left.

  “Get out of my blind spot,” she corrected quietly. It was one of the first things he’d said to her when he’d taken her to his hom
e as a slave.

  Marak drew a breath, then offered it to her. “It means more to you than me.”

  She managed a half smile. “I think he’d want you to keep it.”

  “He gave it to you.”

  “But not to keep.” Darsal spurred her horse and rode well ahead of everyone but the scouts.

  Sucrow shouted after her. “Marak, get ahold of your bloody albino!”

  Marak pocketed his brother’s necklace before anyone could notice. “She’s on orders, Priest. Let her alone.”

  The priest fumed and threatened, but Marak’s attentions were lost. A sense of dread washed over him. With every step toward the high place, it increased. After an hour with no sight of Darsal and the gnawing still in his gut, Marak called Cassak to him.

  They studied each other, remnants of a friendship scarcely there. Cassak rubbed a spot on his neck, a strange habit he’d picked up over the last few days.

  “The Eramites relocated,” the captain reported. “They reached the base of the foothills, turned around, and went back south.”

  “Did something spook them?” Marak’s stomach knotted. Cassak had stolen from him once; what else might he do?

  “Nothing that we’ve seen. But we did find a few stripped skeletons, both horse and human.” Suspicion clouded the captain’s eyes. Marak could tell there was a lingering question his old friend wanted to ask but wouldn’t. Probably about Darsal’s running off. She’d likely left to let Marak think. As for Cassak, he had always used indirect methods to communicate and came to his point at his own leisure.

  But that Cassak Marak no longer knew.

  “Jackals?” he asked.

  Cassak’s expression turned dark. “Marak, I don’t think a jackal could do this.”

  His first impulse was to look skyward, but he resisted. Knew already. Instead Marak looked long at the priest, then in the direction Darsal had gone. Something was wrong. Darsal was missing, Cassak was behaving strangely, and Marak could not shake his foul mood. He felt like a Throater.

  “Find out.”

  Unease settled in. A slow draw toward the high place, a desire to hurry, seeped over him. He needed to get to the high place. He needed to keep an eye on the priest.

  “General.” Marak blinked. Cassak was still standing there, waiting.

  “Well, go,” Marak snapped.

  twenty- three

  The sky ahead was gradually turning from gray to purple, just barely hinting at the dawn of morning. Behind them, abysmal black dotted with red engulfed everything in its path. The Shataiki cauldron boiled hot, its queen raging from somewhere within the throng. Faster they flew, blotting out those last wisps of light from beyond. The mere sight made Shaeda’s—Johnis’s—skin crawl.

  The scouts led the expedition party out of the canyons and west across open desert. Not exactly according to plan, but not hindering either. This way they would have less climbing this afternoon.

  Shaeda’s anticipation mounted. She hadn’t punished his thoughts of keeping her powers, and he began to think she’d forgotten, not heard, or forgiven him.

  Yes, that was right.

  Wasn’t it?

  Her prompting led him to the front of the pack, along the left flank, away from the others. Of course he would go. Why would he not? Idly he fingered the amulet in their hands. He licked his lips. Oh, yes, the time was nigh. He had overpowered and enslaved this queen, and now he would do Shaeda’s will. Teeleh would be pleased, very pleased.

  “Joh . . . sef.” Silvie rode up beside him, her pale eyes narrow. “Where are you going?”

  Johnis’s mind snapped into focus. He glanced at her. Silvie had found a piece of flint and now sharpened her daggers to thin, lethal edges. She remained skeptical. “You’re too far ahead.”

  Irksome female. Why did she have to nag at him like that? Johnis’s brow furrowed. “The scout reported carrion. I was looking into it.”

  Silvie’s expression indicated she didn’t believe him. She scanned the desert floor. The Shataiki hive was overhead now, and once more they could see little. Johnis rode forward.

  “And you saw nothing?” she asked.

  “Still looking. My concern was feeding bats.”

  “Marak and the priest will be angry.”

  He studied Silvie. Shaeda’s talons stroked his neck, tickling his skin. He’d allowed her presence to dominate his since the slip. But she was getting stronger. With all his senses on such high alert and firing in his body, he felt like a madman. He saw her eyes, her beautiful, intoxicating eyes . . .

  Shaeda came over him. Her strength became his.

  Her will . . . her mind . . .

  Johnis’s back—Shaeda’s back—arched. Prepared to strike.

  “Johnis?” The brief silhouette rode toward them.

  Darsal approached, her torch high. Sweat glistened on her face, streaking morst and exposing smooth, dark skin.

  Johnis scowled. Shaeda bristled. His vision turned hazy. They were done with this albino. Shaeda wanted her blood.

  But Johnis restrained the impulse first. Not now, not when in a matter of hours it wouldn’t matter who killed the wench.

  “What do you want?” Silvie demanded.

  The albino’s gaze swept from Silvie to Johnis.

  “Help. We’re almost out of time. You really want to kill the Guard? Make an alliance with a Shataiki?”

  Silvie’s jaw hardened. “What do you know?”

  Johnis narrowed his eyes.

  “More than you think.” Darsal’s voice was strained. Desperate. Of course she was desperate. As soon as Sucrow performed the ceremony and Johnis gave the order, she was dead. Johnis would make sure of that.

  “Johnis, do you know what the Circle is?”

  He snorted, fingered his ring. “My name is Josef.”

  “Josef is bound to a Leedhan. You are Johnis. You are Johnis who forgave me. Remember that.”

  He saw only a swarm of bats and blood mingling in water.

  Shaeda showed her teeth.

  Darsal jabbed her finger in his face. “Your mother would not tolerate you killing hundreds of our own people because she was murdered. I didn’t know her long, but I know that much!”

  “You know nothing!” Johnis rose up in the saddle. “You don’t talk about her. You don’t even speak her name.”

  “The Circle is your mother. It is me. You and Silvie.”

  A surge of heat billowed deep in his gut and worked its way up through his chest and down his arms. “You have no business talking to me this way,” he growled. Darsal was in the way of the mission. She’d served her purpose.

  Shaeda wanted to kill the albino. Here. Now. Johnis craved Darsal’s blood.

  No!

  “You are a doomed slave, and I am the next ruler of Middle.”

  Darsal drew her horse close and put her hand on his leg. “You can defeat Sucrow without the amulet, without Shaeda. You’ve never needed magic or anything but the brain Elyon gave you.”

  She’d grabbed him like that before.

  That Darsal.

  He kicked, then swung his sword at her, broadside. She hit the ground and rolled sideways, limbs sprawled, groaning from her injuries. The horse squealed and barely avoided crushing her.

  “Go back to your precious Scab. You’re already dead.”

  Darsal struggled to rise. “Silvie, tell him! You know it’s absurd to think that siding with Sucrow or the bats is a good idea.”

  “Leave her out of this,” Johnis snapped. Shaeda was going to pounce. He was going to tear Darsal to shreds.

  “She’s already in it.” Darsal made it to her feet.

  “It is my kisses he prefers,” Shaeda said through Johnis’s mouth. Her laughter overtook him.

  “Excuse me?” Silvie snapped.

  Johnis fought for control. What was she doing, telling the girls that?

  But he had liked Shaeda’s kisses, hadn’t he?

  Shaeda chuckled.

  “She kissed you?” Darsal turn
ed on him, completely stunned. She grabbed Silvie’s reins. “Since when have you let anyone but Silvie kiss you?”

  “You’re just trying to divide us. I love Silvie, and that’s final.”

  “Final as using black magic to overpower the Shataiki and destroy everything we all bled and died and sacrificed for. Is it that final, Johnis?”

  He threw Silvie a look. She jumped off the horse and on top of Darsal, then pinned her, arm behind her back. Darsal wrestled free and struck Silvie broadside. She hit the ground, unconscious.

  Johnis snarled.

  “You’re as certain as my death that those bats are completely under your control? That they will not and cannot betray you?”

  “They are bound to the medallion. I could have a throng of them kill you now, right here.”

  “Tell me something, O mighty Chosen One. What makes you think that after you destroy the Circle and destroy everyone you hate, they’ll leave the Scabs alone? They’ll do what you command, Johnis, and more, just like last night. They defied the boundaries once; they’ll do it again. And you and Silvie will wind up bat food, like the rest of us.”

  Shaeda poured into him. He knew he was transforming. Again. He was becoming Leedhan.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “I pray to Elyon I am. Remember him? Teeleh hates him. Teeleh hates you too. Tried to kill you once. Open your eyes, Johnis. You’re going to destroy what you love the most.”

  She had a point, didn’t she? They were going to use Shaeda’s power to turn tables on the Leedhan, to somehow turn the bats on the Horde . . .

  “The albino poisons you,” Shaeda rebuked. The transformation completed. “She wishes your destruction. She will destroy our true mission . . .”

  “Johnis, you stubborn fool, listen to me!”

  Shaeda exploded. They sprang at Darsal and slammed her against the ground. Tore at the albino’s throat. Darsal thrashed from under Johnis, rammed into the horse. She knocked his pack off. Water and food splattered across the desert sand.

  “Johnis!” Darsal went into a crouch and sought a weapon. Her eyes found the horse.

  Shaeda—inside Johnis—pounced on the albino. Darsal barely dodged her, rolled. Johnis caught her by the shoulder. Darsal clawed at his hand and struck him hard in the face, wrenched loose. She tore the reins from one of the bridles and snapped them like a whip.