Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (30 page)

She heard a sound, like a foot scraping over the ground, and whirled, setting her hand to the hilt of her sword.

A big man stepped out from behind a bush, holding a sword. He wore an eye patch over a scar that sliced across his face but didn’t obscure his stern features.
The sword thrust that wounded him must have also taken his eye.
He wore his gingery hair in a long braid.

Then a heavy-set woman with a long kitchen knife slid from behind a thick-trunked tree. More men and women circled them, some carrying swords, others hefting cudgels

Fear shafted through Sadie’s stomach.
We’re surrounded.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

A jolt of energy surged through Tharon’s body, followed by a quick instinct to protect Sadie. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her move to guard his back, her sword ready. Reassured by her reaction, he sized up the situation. Only a moment elapsed before Tharon saw that the people surrounding him were from Seagem, not the pirates. Another quick scan told him his capturers were mostly women, with a few men who had obvious old wounds. He thought if a fight ensued, and Sadie kept her head during a real attack, they could win through—but a battle would cost many of those standing here their lives.

I’ll not kill another person from Seagem. I’ll drop my sword and let them run me through first.

But what about Sadie? If I have to kill one to protect her…?

The people made no move to rush them, but they also didn’t relax their guard.

It’s up to me.
Tharon lowered his sword. “We’re from Zacatlan. We mean you no harm.”

The man with the eye patch squinted his piercing blue eye at them. Something about him seemed familiar, although as far as Tharon knew, he’d never met him. He stood as tall as Tharon with broad shoulders. His erect bearing and ready stance made him look like he’d been a soldier.

The man gestured with his sword. “You don’t look like one of the seascum. But how do we know you’re really from Zacatlan?”

Sadie followed his lead, lowering her sword and stepping to face the leader. “Because we came through the window in the temple. Guinheld holds it open for us.” Her tone radiated sincerity.

The soldier’s mouth slanted in a scowl.

“I’m Sadie Issacson, and this is Tharon.”

Tharon nodded in greeting.

The man grunted in reply. “You say the Goddess holds the window open?”

“She does,” Tharon said.

“We could look through?”

“You can.” He was relieved. This inquiry boded well for peace between them.

“Even better, you can
go
through,” Sadie said earnestly. “Many people from Seagem fled to Zacatlan during the invasion. Even some priests and priestesses.”

An intake of breath sounded from some of those surrounding them. A few relaxed their stances. Eye Patch barked an order.

His crew took defensive positions again.”

With his free hand, the soldier motioned a lad forward.

The gangly boy held his sword at the ready. Clearly he’d received weapons training.

“Mar, run to the temple and see if what they say is true. If it is, stand in front of the temple, take off your shirt and wave it over your head. We can see that from here. If not, cross your arms over your chest, and take your time getting back because I don’t want you to have to witness—” he gave a slight jerk of his sword hand “—what will happen to them if they’re lying.”

Sword in hand, the boy set off at a lope.

Sadie tilted her head to the side and gave the soldier her charming smile. “Tell me your name,” she coaxed.

“Philan.”

Philan…Philan
. Tharon racked his brain. That name sounded familiar.
Important.

Sadie tried to continue a conversation with the soldier, but he growled at her to be silent.

The minutes stretched out as they waited for a signal from the boy.

Tharon tried to calculate how long before the lad came in sight. On a day without crowds, a person took about twenty minutes to walk from the palace to the temple. If the boy ran all the way, he should make it in five. If he slowed to a walk, which he probably would when he came to the steep hill, add another five minutes. If he stopped to talk to Archpriest Devore or any of the others raising the statue of Yadarius, more time still.

The people surrounding them grew restless, but Philan never stopped glaring at them with his one eye. Tharon had a feeling the soldier would soon recognize him, and he needed to escape the man’s presence before he did.
I shouldn’t have brought Sadie. I put her at risk.
Just the thought of something happening to her twisted his guts.

Tharon tried to soften the people. “We have news of your princess. Daria escaped the manhunt after her. She’s alive and well.”

A spark leapt into Philan’s eye.

Others gasped and murmured among themselves.

Philan made a hushing motion. “Mayhap they speak falsely to make us let down our guard.”

Sadie wrinkled her nose at him. “Guinheld has given everyone the news. Would you doubt the Goddess?”

“I doubt strangers who walk armed through the streets of Seagem.”

“You’ll soon see that we’re right,” Sadie said with a sharp bob of her chin.

A distant shout made Tharon glance toward the hill to see the lad wildly waving. Relief almost made his knees sag, but he didn’t dare let down his guard.

A man cheered. One of the women let out a sob. She surged forward, only to be restrained by a man with one arm. All the people looked up at the temple with longing in their eyes.

Philan lowered his sword. He made a sweeping motion with his free hand, releasing his followers. Some broke into a run toward the temple. Others turned and sprinted to the palace. The sounds of happy shouts echoed through the garden.

Tharon looked after them, puzzled.

Philan gave him a thin smile that was just a little crooked from the scar across his face. “We have almost five hundred people here. If the window to Zacatlan is open and those of Seagem dwell there, then we all must go to the temple. Even our children…we have almost three hundred of them. Perhaps they’ll find family members.”

“The reavers didn’t take them?” Tharon’s heart thumped against his chest. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d
ordered
a house-by-house search to round up everyone.

Philan shrugged. “Many hid. Or in the case of the children, were hidden by their parents in cisterns, vegetable keeps, trash heaps, and a dozen such clever places easily missed during the chaos of invasion and only found later after a careful house-to-house search. Others of our citizens or our soldiers fought, were wounded, left for dead. One of the captains from Ocean’s Glory…the one who led the search…he took pity on us. Had his men look the other way when they discovered the children. Saw that the wounded were taken to the healers.”

Captain Suttan.
The man had seemed the very soul of obedience—completely loyal to King Thaddis. Tharon was grateful the captain was such a good actor. It probably helped that the king hadn’t lingered in Seagem, instead leading his men into the countryside in search of Princess Daria.

Children, shepherded by the occasional woman or man with hideous scars or missing limbs, poured out of the palace. A group of women carrying babies and toddlers rushed from the doors. A man with only one leg used crutches to swing himself outside, obviously determined to follow the crowd.

“Wait for a cart, Jamm!” Philan yelled. He shook his head. “Stubborn man.” He sheathed his sword and trotted over to the one-legged man, gesturing.

Tharon grabbed Sadie’s hand. “Come on.” He pulled her toward the palace.

They hurried around a corner and came to a door that blended into the wall. He knew the entrance led to a little-used corridor, which in turn led to the servants’ rooms. There were finger holes in a niche on the side of the door, a tricky lock. Indaran had sweet-talked the key code from the housekeeper and had shared it with his trusted foster brother. Tharon pressed the sequence, felt the lock begin to click under his fingertips. He wasn’t surprised to find the familiar pattern unchanged.

The door sprung aside a few inches, and Tharon slid it open, holding his hand against it while Sadie hurried through. He stepped inside, released the door, and it slid back into place.

The corridor stretched ahead, long and dim, sparsely lit by an occasional luster. It smelled of stone and dust.
There must not be enough people to keep it maintained.
Before, even the lowliest areas of the palace were kept pristine, and clusters of lusters had brightened the full length of the hallway.

Tharon listened for a moment, but no footsteps echoed down the passageways. He tilted his head for Sadie to follow him, and, sword in hand, he jogged ahead, keeping track of her by the sound of her footsteps behind him.

Several times other corridors bisected the one they’d entered. The route they were taking didn’t lead directly to the salle, but he suspected that without the royal family and the nobility living in the castle, those who now resided here used the main ways.

Finally, they came to a place where the hallway forked. Tharon took the left branch, knowing it would end opposite the practice room. Cabinets jutted from the stone walls. Near an exit to the garden, hoes, shovels, rakes, and other implements he didn’t know the purpose for hung on a rack. A wheelbarrow was parked in an alcove.

Tharon paused at a carved door.

Sadie reached his side.

“We’re close.” He touched her shoulder. “Hopefully, everyone will have left for Zacatlan.”

She nodded.

Tharon eased open the portal and motioned Sadie to follow. Swords ready, they stepped into a square atrium flooded with light from a skylight, and overgrown with weeds. The garden had served as a meditation space for fighters to calm and center themselves before their practice bouts or to release any built-up aggression after a workout. The dead pinnicke bushes in each corner had once released a calming scent.

He stepped inside and averted his eyes from a small statue of Yadarius broken into several pieces, but not before he’d seen the marble eyes staring at him in accusation.

“So sad,” Sadie commented.

Tharon took her hand and hurried them through the atrium and down a hallway where the splintered abalone wall panels showed the invaders had rampaged through this part of the palace.
What if they’ve smashed the mirrors and discovered the armory?
Caution overruled his urge to rush into the practice room and find out. He slowed, released Sadie’s hand, and set his ear to the wooden door. Not hearing anything, he eased it open, glanced around, and stepped inside.

Sadie followed him and quietly shut the door behind her.

A quick look showed shattered mirrors. Many had jagged glass remaining in the frames, although no shards littered the wooden floor. To his relief, the hidden room looked intact, the broken glass a spiderweb pattern across the surface.

Tharon strode over and set his hand to the secret latch. The panel gaped a few inches.

Behind him, the outer door crashed open, and Philan strode through, sword in hand. He ignored Sadie, who’d jumped back at his entrance, and lunged straight for Tharon. “Traitor! Vile murderer!” He raised his sword, and brought the blade down as if to cleave Tharon’s head in two.

The novice move left the man’s middle vulnerable. Instead of running him through, Tharon blocked the swing and edged back from Sadie, attempting to draw the soldier after him.

Philan followed, his face red and contorted with hatred, his one eye piercing through Tharon. His blows were wild and unbalanced due to his lack of depth perception, and Tharon could block them. But they pounded against him with the power of Philan’s fury.

Tharon did his best to defend himself without harming Philan. Even with the soldier’s out-of-control fighting, Tharon could see he had prowess. If the Seagem man settled down he would be a formidable opponent.

Tharon didn’t take his eyes off Philan to glance at Sadie, but he could sense her presence. “Sadie, get your sword!” he shouted. “Go back to the temple!” He knew he couldn’t allow himself to be killed, leaving her vulnerable. Just being here with him was enough to sign her death warrant—at least in Philan’s eyes.

He continued to back away from Sadie, desperately hoping she’d take the opportunity to escape to Zacatlan.
If she’s safe, I can let him kill me.
But now in the midst of fighting for his life, his longed-for death had lost its appeal.

“Fight, damn you.” Philan growled.

“I’ll not kill you, Philan,” Tharon said firmly.

“Why not? You killed everyone else I love.” The soldier executed a tricky maneuver, one Tharon recognized as a technique Weaponsmaster Micfal taught only his most advanced students. “I looked up to you,” the words sounded full of anguish.

In that moment, Tharon realized he was fighting Micfal’s grandson, whom he’d last seen as a hero-worshiping boy about the same age as Daria. In despair, Tharon knew he couldn’t kill the weaponmaster’s kin.
I’ll have to find a way to disarm the man.