Exile (34 page)

“The rumors may be just that, rumors,” Myac replied in an attempt to convince himself despite an inexplicable sense of dread.

“Perhaps, but the suac was right about many things he told Yiloch. He knew that Yiloch would be betrayed by Caithin and by Lady Indigo. And by us,” he added after another pause. “It’s hard to doubt the army when everything else he prophesized has come to pass.”

Myac stood and started pacing the distance between the door and the fireplace. This new turn of events didn’t fit into his plans at all. Indeed, the timing couldn’t be less fortunate. He did a few passes then stopped and stared into the fireplace.

“It goes without saying that Caithin won’t be sending troops at the moment. If Yiloch were convicted and executed for his crime and you properly raised to the Lyran throne, there might be a chance, but with Yiloch missing and no one officially positioned in his place, there’s little chance of them even humoring the suggestion of an alliance against this supposed army.” Myac chewed at a fingernail, a bad habit he hadn’t indulged in years.

“You shouldn’t do that, it’s unbecoming,” Terral remarked.

Myac stopped to give his father a quick glare. He spat a chip of fingernail at Terral’s feet and resumed pacing. Terral sat on the couch and watched him.

What to do?

He could go after Indigo. If she found Yiloch, then he would be in a position to destroy them both. However, if Lyra fell to the invading army, assuming there really was an army, then Yiloch’s death would serve little purpose.

What to do?

“How is it that this Indigo is such a threat, and yet you failed to eliminate her when you were walking the same halls in the Healers Academy?”

Myac spun to face Terral, seizing ascard in a fit of anger and using it to pin the man to the couch. Gradually, he increased the pressure against his father’s chest, pressing the air from his lungs.

“Perhaps you forget who you’re speaking to,” Myac hissed, leaning over him.

“She charmed you, my son, didn’t she,” Terral wheezed, struggling for air.

“Maybe you can handle leadership after all, Lord Terral.” Myac released him and stepped back, surprised by this unusual show of audacity. “You’re more familiar with the art of war. You can contend with this rumored army. I will go after Indigo, deal with her, and hopefully find Emperor Yiloch in the process. If the army does come, I suggest you put Lord Captain Adran on the front lines. Many die in battle. I’m sure you can arrange for him to be one of those casualties.”

“I can handle a battle.”

“Yes. That I realize. You could always destroy things with some efficiency,” Myac replied with an edge of open resentment.

“Do we really need to revisit your mother’s death right now?”

“No.” Myac stared at the fire, barely feeling its warmth. Lyra was his home, but wrapped in this hateful Caithin disguise, he felt very much apart from it. “If any of them arrive here, welcome them. I will return soon and deal with it. For now, I need a horse.”

•

Adran tried to listen in, placing his ear to the door, but he heard nothing, so either they weren’t talking, or Lord Edan was an ascard user and had put sound barriers up. He was betting on the latter. There was something about the other man that made him uneasy. It was all too possible that this man could be Myac in the new disguise Indigo had mentioned. Then again, why would Lord Terral hold a secret audience with Myac? Perhaps he was just being paranoid, but the suac had warned that Yiloch would be betrayed by family. Terral was still the closest family he had left.

Not for the first time, he cursed his inability to use ascard. Ian was gone, and the time it would take for him to track down another ascard user with the appropriate skills would undoubtedly be more time than they needed to conclude their business.

I should have insisted on staying
. It was too late now to remedy that poor decision.

“Lord Captain Adran?”

Adran stepped away from the door. “Lady Auryl.”

She put a hand over her mouth to muffle a laugh at catching him in such an undignified position. When she had composed herself, she brought her delicate hands down to smooth her skirts and smiled graciously at him.

“Affairs of the empire going on without you, my lord?”

Adran made himself smile for her. He intended to shield her from the reality of the situation as much as possible, though her father was becoming difficult. Vyram was a shrewd man and he was growing impatient with their evasions and redirections.

“They often seem to,” he replied. “Where are you bound?”

She shrugged, sadness touching her eyes for a second before she managed to chase it away with a warm smile. “I was just walking. Care to join me?”

Over the many weeks she had been there, Adran felt a growing sympathy for Auryl. She was a lovely creature and kind, if sometimes shallow in the pursuit of fashion and gossip, but that was a product of her mother’s training. Her willingness to try to love Yiloch was admirable, and the fact that she would likely never hold the leading place in his heart only made him feel more sorry for her. Although, with Indigo’s betrayal, Auryl at least had a chance at securing that position for herself, assuming Yiloch returned. With him missing, she seemed lost in the palace. She hadn’t been there long enough to make it her home and Adran longed to comfort her, but he felt lost himself without Yiloch there.

“I would love to join you,” he replied, offering her his arm.

Auryl took it and they walked away from the door. Adran longed to linger, but there was little likelihood the barrier would drop so long as anything of significance was being said.

“How are things with you and young Captain Leryc?”

Adran felt his face flushing. Leryc hadn’t spent a night in his own quarters since the evening he eagerly agreed to help Adran out after the beating Hax had given him in the sparring ring. That relationship was the one thing keeping him sane. “Very well, thank you.”

He turned their course to the throne room. It was empty right now and he led her up to the dais, gesturing for her to sit in the throne that would have been hers soon had Yiloch not vanished. Auryl hesitated, looking askance at him, but he nodded encouragement and she sat. Adran sat on the steps and gazed up through the created crystal ceiling. Yiloch, like his father before him, loved to sit and watch the sky through that faceted ceiling. It was one of many things the two men had in common.

CHAPTER THIRTY

Ksa-jnai, First Legend of Khajikan, sat silent on his mount at the top of the hill. His seventeen Bloodken, the leaders who bowed under his blade and whose souls now belonged to him by the Rights of the Conqueror, sat their mounts as silently behind him. There were no men in the world Ksa-jnai could trust more. If these men betrayed him, their souls would be forfeit and they would be cursed to spend the Afterworld in wretched suffering. They would never betray him.

Ksa-jnai became First Legend of Khajikan when he united all the clans of Khajikan under his rule. Within two years of his final conquest he realized that, while his people were strong, their land was weak. Khajikan didn’t have the resources to support the new growth and advancement of his people. On the advice of his Bloodnau, Ini-jnai, the First Maker, Ksa-jnai sent the sons of his seventeen Bloodken to seek new lands. One of those sons, Na-ksu, returned with word of a rich land to the west and north of The Scars. When Ini-jnai read the young man and confirmed his words, Ksa-jnai allowed the boy to kill his father and honored him as Na-jnai, the First Warrior. Then preparations began.

Na-jnai sat his mount to the left of Ksa-jnai now and Ini-jnai waited to the left of the First Warrior. Before them stretched a land that promised more and more riches the further north they traveled. A low range, thick with trees, waited ahead, but it appeared passable, unlike the mountains north of Khajikan that had forced them to cross The Scars into the desert lands they were now leaving behind.

That rushed trek through the desert had weakened them all, even with the First Maker’s protection. Now he needed to proceed at a more calculated pace to build up the strength of his army again and keep it strong. Ini-jnai’s reading of Na-jnai told of a powerful people, but those people were imbalanced by upheaval within. Ksa-jnai never failed in his conquests, and with each one his army grew stronger. This new enemy could not stop him now. Even the Afterworld would bow down to him now.

They had makers here though. He knew that for a certainty, for he had felt the touch of one a few days past. The foreign maker shouldn’t have been able to breach their barriers. That was Ini-jnai’s failing and anger with his Bloodnau still bubbled beneath the surface. The First Maker had every maker in the army bound to him and could use their powers as his own. There was no excuse for weakness. An effort to find the source of the touch had only given him a vague direction, so he turned a predatory smile in that direction, hoping to alarm the maker, or makers, behind that touch. The sudden retraction of that foreign power implied cowardice, so he had made no effort to find them. Ini-jnai was warned not to fail again.

Even his Bloodnau’s mistake wasn’t enough to dampen the swelling of pride as he surveyed the terrain. This land would serve as the new home for his people. His Bloodnau assured him they were only just beginning to witness the vibrant wealth of the region. Na-jnai led them true and deserved his gratitude.

“Na-jnai, in tribute to your service, I bleed before you,” Ksa-jnai declared.

Na-jnai turned to him, his deep cobalt eyes filled with the vigor of youth. “Ksa-jnai, First Legend, I accept your blood and am honored to take it.”

Ksa-jnai sidled his mount closer to Na-jnai’s. The First Warrior drew his weapon and held it as Ksa-jnai struck a fingertip fast across the blade. The young man tipped his head back and opened his mouth. Holding the bleeding finger over the young man’s face, Ksa-jnai let three drops of his blood fall onto that hungry, pink tongue, then retracted the hand. Ini-jnai mended the wound with power, not allowing even one drop more of his precious blood to be wasted. Such a gift was a rare treasure, one Ksa-jnai had offered only four times since his rise to power. Na-jnai swallowed. His smile was euphoric. He would be stronger now before both the threats of this world and the demons of the Afterworld.

•

Yiloch stood in the sun
’
s fire. Layers of flesh seared and turned black, then sloughed off so the next layer down could begin the process anew. Each step was agony. His legs grew lighter as more flesh fell away, but the muscles no longer wanted to obey him. Skin, then muscle, scraped away from his feet as he dragged them through rocky sand on the power of will alone. The individual bones of his toes showed through now, stark white against the red and black flesh peeling back around them. That was as far as he could see, for his eyes had begun to overheat in their sockets.

Stumbling over his own mutilated feet, he fell to his knees in the rocky sand, awash with agony as it ground into exposed muscle. The bones of his fingers were beginning to fall away, the blackened flesh that held them together disintegrating before his eyes. His eyes were becoming fluid now, melting in the sockets. Something started to scrape the remaining flesh away from his forehead. Yiloch reached up with what remained of one hand and tried to push the offending thing away.

•

“Stop that.” A woman’s voice, speaking Kudaness in some dialect he knew, but couldn’t place in that moment, broke through the nightmarish images. Someone pushed his hand down and he had no strength to resist. “The pale one is very feverish.”

Yiloch tried to open his eyes, but his body wouldn’t respond to his demands. He lay trapped in darkness.

“Give him this.” A man’s voice now. “Here.”

Strong hands took hold of his head, lifting it a little and forcing his jaw open. Every point of contact hurt, making him groan. Terror flitted through him as he lay there, helpless. A foul tasting fluid ran into his mouth and he choked. The resultant coughing sent waves of pain through every part of him.

“Careful. You don’t want to drown him.” It was the man’s voice this time, coming from above Yiloch.

“Don’t I?” the woman snapped back, but a smaller trickle of the fluid came into his mouth this time and he swallowed convulsively.

The two started to talk again. Yiloch couldn’t follow the conversation, the darkness that was his world began to spin and his body grew heavier. Consciousness escaped his grasp.

•

“Still feverish, but some better.”

The female voice tugged him awake again. She was speaking in the Murak dialect he realized, finding it odd that he hadn’t noticed that before. He opened his eyes, pleased that they obeyed him this time. They were dry and sore. He was lying on the floor of a Kudaness hut, his head propped with pillows. A Kudaness woman tended him. No one else was in the hut, so it followed that she had been talking to herself. In the dim light, he could see that her black hair was braided and bound in an elaborate knot to show she was mated and a tattoo on one cheek declared her tribe.

She gave him a severe look. “You are a terrible patient. Always moaning and flailing about, fighting my ministrations. Drink.”

She held a water skin to his mouth and Yiloch pressed his lips together, not willing to choke down more of the foul liquid. He wasn’t going to let her put him to sleep again. Taking the skin away, she gave him a long, irritated stare. After several seconds of silence, she put the skin to her own lips and took a deep drink, then held it to his mouth again.

“Water,” she added when he still resisted.

He allowed some of the liquid to pass through his lips. Glorious water. The best he’d ever tasted. He drank greedily then until she cut him off. When he started to try sitting up she raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t intervene. She watched with a smug, knowing smirk. It took him only a moment to understand why she made no effort to stop him and he gave up when the hut began to swim in his vision. He closed his eyes to the sudden ache in his head and focused on breathing until the pain eased. When he opened his eyes again, the woman was sitting cross-legged by the blankets regarding him with a flicker of amusement in her eyes.