Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (43 page)

Behind him, he heard Cheta’s bark. Holding his position, he glanced over his shoulder.

Cheta faced in the opposite direction, four feet planted, nose pointing down the left side path, fur bristling.

Sadie yelled and pointed. “They’re coming from the other way.”

They’re going to surround us.
His heart leapt into his throat. Thaddis barely had time to pivot.
I need to get to Sadie!

Sadie stood by herself on the path a few feet past the stairs.

Meleda, already halfway up the stairs above her, turned to dash down them.

Behind and to Sadie’s left, Adama shifted to a fighting stance and braced herself, blade ready. “Seagem!” she cried. “Yadarius!”

The two women absorbed the impact of the enemy, blocking and slashing.

The force of the seadogs’ charge pushed Sadie back to Adama’s side.

The Seagem soldier, with her strong, stocky body, dug her feet in and held her ground.

The narrow path didn’t allow room for Thaddis to get past the women, and he didn’t dare reach out and pull Sadie behind him. Helpless, he watched his beloved battle for her life.

~ ~ ~

A half-naked pirate bearing down on Sadie flashed her an evil grin, obviously expecting an easy fight from a woman.

The stones in the hilt of her sword sparked blue, and Ganawan’s energy raced through Sadie’s body. Each move made the blade sing
.
She blocked his thrust, her swing a little wide from the desperate strength she’d put into the motion. To compensate, she had to sidestep, then jabbed, her blade barely catching his man’s bare side, scoring the skin.

The pirate lost his smile and glowered, menacing his sword in her direction.

The sudden nightmarish fight was nothing like Sadie expected. She didn’t have time to prepare or space to move. All she could do was react, fear and adrenaline fueling her blows. She held nothing back, for she battled to the death. The face of the man blurred as she focused on his sword, the shift and movement of his body.

A misstep and the pirate left himself open. She stabbed to the chest, right underneath the breastbone. Blood spurted, black and shiny on his skin.

The man’s eyes widened, and he crumpled forward, the force of his collapse on her blade dragging down her arms.

She smelled the reek of blood and body odor and flinched.

“Sadie,” Thaddis yelled. He helped her yank her blade from the body, and shoved her toward the stairs. “Get up there.” He raised his sword to meet the strike of the next pirate.

Sadie ran up about ten steps, then looked behind her. Heart pounding, she watched Thaddis moved with strength and an economy of movement that took down several men.

Behind him, Adama dispatched her opponent, but didn’t recover in time to raise her blade against the one who took his place. His sword caught her side. Blood spurted from the cut.

Horrified, Sadie screamed, “Adama!”

The pirate slashed the woman’s thigh, then drove the tip of his sword into her stomach.

“Sadie!” A man grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

Instinctively, she twisted away, lifted her free arm to punch him, realizing the stone she still clutched would make the blow more powerful. At the last second, Sadie recognized Philan.

“Go help Wenda,” he ordered, giving her a push that almost unbalanced her.

She trotted up the stairs, feeling sick to her stomach, although she kept stopping to check on Thaddis. He engaged the next enemy who leaped at him, pointed teeth gleaming, fighting with ferocious strikes to dispatch the pirate.

Philan caught up to her, waved at her to keep climbing, and moved past to reach Wenda’s side.

As soon as Thaddis killed his opponent, he leaped back, motioning to a Zacatlan soldier to take his place, and started up the staircase toward them.

Seeing him safe made Sadie hurry up the rest of the steps.
Time to shut off that laser beam.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Trine Nabric rode his brother Kokam’s horse across the grassy plain, lost in thought and troubled by his mission. Around him, dusky shadows deepened to purple. A hot wind battered at his back. Already the grass the gelding trotted over had faded and withered. In a few hours, all the greenery would be shriveled to brown stalks.

Nabric had obeyed previous orders he didn’t like, but his latest assignment bothered him more than anything else he’d ever had to do for Ontarem. He touched the pearl of power set into a circlet around his head. He strongly disagreed with the God’s order to kill the Che-da-wah, especially given the Deity’s great need for power to fuel this war—to
win
this war.

In the past, in the rare times Ontarem’s forces had captured the nomads alive, once the people been subverted to the God’s will, they’d provided a strong source of energy. Perhaps, because for generations the Che-da-wah had lived apart from the obligation to provide sustenance for Ontarem, while the citizens of Penutar experienced the power drain from the time they were born.

Nabric wondered if he should disobey—chose what was
best
for the God, rather than what He had commanded.
Should I order the Che-da-wah captured instead of killed? Try to prove to Ontarem that keeping the nomads alive would be more beneficial than slaying them?

But disobedience could anger the God, and the consequences of Ontarem’s wrath if directed at His Trine Priest could be dire.

The day is a sorry one when Ontarem’s own Trine doubts the omniscience of his God.

He set the conundrum aside, checking on his bodyguards, who flanked him on their own mounts. Only two men, instead of the normal ten, a testament to how much they’d already lost in this war. And, judging from how the two balanced on the backs of their horses like sacks of rocks…not even skilled enough to be one of Ontarem’s elite. Probably they had never been on a horse before. The animals were rare in Penutar because the pull of Ontarem’s energy adversely affected them. The special feed needed by the horses was too expensive for most of the inhabitants.

Nabric leaned down to pat the neck of his gray gelding. He wasn’t all that comfortable on horseback, and his thigh muscles ached. But he still appreciated being able to ride. There’d been no horses on the Triangle Islands.

The fact that he planned for his soldiers to target the Che-da-wah’s mounts bothered him as much as the God’s order to kill the nomads.
It’s wrong to kill such magnificent creatures.

Their deaths will serve the God.
The reminder failed to soothe him.

The sun, an orange half-ball on the horizon, slid downward. The light grayed, then snuffed out. Blackness descended, and stars popped into view, sprinkling across the night sky.

Not that darkness mattered. To Nabric’s othersense sight, the presence of Ontarem’s soldiers seemed as clear as day, and he steered them toward the encampment. Soon, he spotted the orange flames of the campfires dotting the night and smelled roasting meat. His stomach cramped with hunger.

He ignored the first challenge of a sentry. Then, when the man moved to halt him with a pike pointed against the gelding, Nabric touched the pearl on his forehead.

The man’s eyes widened. He bowed. “Welcome, Trine Priest.”

“Where is Commander Sughar?”

“He’s in the command tent.” The sentry pointed to a large tent in the middle of the encampment. “He’s meeting with the captains of the halhores over supper.”

Nabric swung down from the horse, conscious of the stiffness in his legs. He hadn’t ridden on the islands. He handed the reins to the man. “Take care of my horse.”

His guards dismounted, giving over their reins to the sentry. One hurried to take a position of defense in front of him, and the other dropped behind. Although Nabric doubted he’d have any problem in a camp full of men loyal to Ontarem, he wasn’t willing to take the chance.

Nabric wove around the campfires, giving everyone and everything an informal, but thorough, inspection.

The soldiers sat in quiet circles around the warmth of the flames, eating their meal. A few glanced his way, but didn’t acknowledge him. Most ignored the passing of the three men, their faces stoic.

Something about the silence of the encampment made the hair rise on his neck. Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed if he’d not dwelt for so long with the boisterous islanders. Seems their way of life had become normal to him. The people of Penutar had never been very vocal, but in a mass of men like this—close comrades in arms—he expected some conversations, if not the games of chance and ribald jokes the seadogs would have indulged in under similar conditions.

With his othersense, he checked a nearby group. Their personal power looked dull and sluggish. The men seemed exhausted inside and out.

They’re away from their families, fighting a shadow enemy, living under primitive camp conditions…
But their subdued behavior was more than that. The soldiers’ hope was gone—depleted along with their energy.

Nabric slowed his walk, appalled by what he saw. Luckily each individual soldier’s tether to the God remained strong. Otherwise, they might refuse to fight. Or even worse, rebel against Ontarem. The thought made his blood chill.

He was about to disengage his othersense when out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a strange emptiness. Instead of the othersense connections stretching to Ontarem like straight spiderwebs, a gap lurked in several spots.

Nabric narrowed his eyes, looking with real sight and othersense at a group around a fire. They’d finished eating and sat, their hands idle. Only because he looked closer, could Nabric note that their expressions, although closed like everyone else’s, had a hint of aliveness lacking in their compatriots.
How had they slipped their leashes?

One glanced Nabric’s way, and, by the widening of his eyes, the man recognized him. The soldier flinched, fear racing across his face, and turned away.

Nabric swept the camp with his othersense and located two other pockets of men who lacked ties to Ontarem. He mentally marked their locations, before continuing on to the command tent.

Two guards stood outside the tent, pikes crossed. One started to challenge him before realizing who approached and catching himself. He fisted his free hand to his chest and snapped his pike back. “Welcome, Trine Nabric. Ontarem sent word to Priest Eoah of your arrival. Commander Suhgar awaits you.” He held open the tent flap.

Before he came within weapon range, Nabric checked to make sure Ontarem remained connected to the two guards. Satisfied to see the bond, he made a staying motion to his own bodyguards and stepped inside. The acrid scent of the firerock lanterns and too many unwashed men lingered in the close confines of the tent.

Ten officers, each in charge of five halhores of soldiers, crowded around a map table. Commander Sughar, a tall, spare man with a lined face and gray-streaked hair pointed out the strategy for the next day. Next to him stood a smaller man in a priest’s robe whom Nabric didn’t recognize. Hoah, he presumed. The priest had thin features and a hooked nose. His receding hair was cut short.

Sughar straightened. “Trine Nabric, we bid you welcome.”

Nabric wasted no time on civilities. He threw a quick othersense scan around the tent to make sure all twelve of those present remained tied to Ontarem. “You have men out there who are missing their…” he almost said “tether” but caught himself. He took a steadying breath, reminding himself to present an impassive façade, matter how disturbed he felt. “
Bond
with Ontarem.”

A brief flash of horror crossed Hoah’s face, before the normal impassive expression required of the priesthood slid back in place.

Sughar wrinkled his brow. “I’m not sure what you’re saying, Trine Priest,” he said cautiously.

“All of Ontarem’s people are born with a connection to our God—one that’s tangible to my sight. I’ve never seen any citizen of Penutar who lacked one.” He glanced at Hoah to see if by chance this was a new phenomenon.

The priest shook his head, indicating he hadn’t either.

“Spies?” one officer offered.

Nabric shook his head. “If it were one man, perhaps. A nomad passing himself off as Ontarem’s soldier could remain quiet. Blend in. But a group? They would have given themselves away. No, I think they are our people.” His voice hardened. “But I intend to find out what happened. No one can disengage from our God and be allowed to live.”

~ ~ ~

Bloody sword in hand, Thaddis rushed up the stairs, feeling the cramp of his legs, the burn of his lungs, the press of the Evil One’s energy on his pounding heart. He glanced behind, but no one followed him. The battlefield, if you could call it that, took the shape of a large T, with fighting happening on the staircase and along both directions of the path. In the center, the sailors and soldiers who’d dropped their weapons when escaping the ship bunched back to back, the rocks in their hands their only weapons.

He turned to climb, catching up with Meleda and Sadie and then with Philan and Wenda, and motioned them to fall in behind him. The light grew in intensity. Thaddis stayed alert, trying to move quickly and quietly. He strained to hear anything that lay ahead of him, but all he could sense was the drumbeat of Ontarem’s power battering at his mind and body.