The gates of Lantaid were purely ornamental: four coloured pillars on each side of the sand-gravel pathway. Further down the lane was a large water-sculpture: a central water fountain with wiggly arms out to other fountains. I couldn’t make out the exact shapes in the gathering darkness.
Tivac aimed his horse for a large building at the far end of the fountain. Just as the stables came into view, the storm crashed down. An aging stablemaster came out of his quarters at the front of the stables and ushered us inside. The stablemaster moved all three horses into their stalls before untacking them.
Rekala and Kestric burrowed into the straw at one end of the stable and fell asleep. Sarlice and I both yawned in response and then grinned at each other.
Tivac lead us through the stable and out the back door to what he called the Hall of Hallows. His explanation of its function went only partially through my mind. In short, the Hall of Hallows served as a sanctum for worship and a hall for public announcements and meetings.
Most of the wall sconces had been doused for the night so Tivac lit a lamp to lead us through an enormous chamber. I felt relieved that there was no welcoming party or formalities. All I wanted was a quick meal and a long, comfortable sleep.
My unspoken request was granted when Tivac opened the door to a brightly lit guest room. An elegant lady with long, grey hair stood in the centre of the room near a table of food. Tivac patted her hand as he entered.
‘Welcome to Lantaid,’ the lady said. ‘I am Glane.’
Sarlice and I both performed the fellowship greeting again. Glane smiled and returned the gesture. She pointed out our separate quarters at either end of the living space. I couldn’t bring myself to ask how they knew Sarlice and I weren’t partners, but I presumed the Rada-kin had something to do with it.
Tivac looked ready to sit down with us and ask more questions, but with all the grace of the experienced hostess, Glane shepherded him out, leaving us to our meal.
I put down my packs and bent to brush grass off my pants. Rainwater was dripping from my long-sleeved tie-neck shirt onto the brown slate floor so I carefully pulled it off and hung it over a rack by the fire. I was aware of Sarlice noticing the warm light shining on my damp, dark skin.
‘Do you mind?’ I asked Sarlice. ‘This isn’t exactly formal dinner attire.’
She laughed. ‘I should think you know me well enough by now not to ask that.’
I concentrated on her for a minute, trying to see if there was any way I could discern what she was really thinking. What had the emotions Kestric passed to me earlier really meant? Was Sarlice attracted to me or was she only fond of me in a brotherly way? My heart sank as I realised the thought of being with a younger man might be abhorrent to her. I berated myself for letting my thoughts turn to physical things when I had so recently been led astray. I turned my back on the Lythian ambassador, slouched and hooked one thumb into the Jarian belt I was wearing.
A glass-covered window revealed the storm outside where lightning streaked across the sky above a rain-lashed river. Despite my self-recrimination, I continued brooding over Sarlice, wishing there was some way I could tell if we had a romantic future together. I decided that even if I had to wait until all the drama with the Zeikas was over, it would be worth it.
Illustrating how tired and foolish I was, forbidden shapes appeared in the rushing river outside—I saw myself with no shirt on reach out to an unseen woman, pull her towards me and kiss her passionately. A well of warmth rose up from the soles of my feet and I stepped back, raising my hands in surprise, but the vision vanished.
When I turned back around, Sarlice was seated at the table looking at me curiously.
‘Are you coming to eat?’ she asked.
‘Aye.’
She waited for me to join her before saying a quick thanks to Krii for seeing us safely into Tanza.
It was the finest meal I’d had for a long time and I made a mental note to introduce myself to the cook. A roasted chicken dominated one end of the table, surrounded by clay pots of lukewarm potatoes, boiled vegetables and herb syrup. A covered dish in the centre revealed the full body of a Lowry fish stuffed with fresh nyno eggs and lemon slices.
I filled my belly fast, barely leaving room for spicy hot rolls of lamb, turnip and squash in plum gravy. It was a hearty meal with obvious thought given to the fact that we were wild Rada—who were thought to indulge the carnivorous nature of their animal selves more than city Rada. When all the eating was done and we were able to retire to our beds, I fell asleep dreaming of Sarlice.
Chapter Two—Our People
R
ekala pushed the door open and nudged me awake.
‘You are oversleeping, Talon.’
‘I could say the same to you on many occasions,’ I grumbled, not rousing from my pillow and blankets.
‘There’s no such thing as oversleeping for tigers,’ she retorted.
‘Hmmpf.’
My back ached. It was unlike me to sleep in. After years of working for Bessed, with many a night spent outdoors, I was accustomed to rising with the dawn. I had also trained myself to awaken at the slightest sound out of place, but this room was quiet.
A small fire had burned itself out during the night and gave off a faint smoky odour. A rich green rug covered the flagstones on the floor and fresh clothes and a washbowl sat ready on a small, rubywood table.
Rekala stopped nudging me suddenly and sat bolt upright. The stink of fear rose from her like a cloud. I sensed the screaming of voices in the waves far away, calling desperately for help.
‘Anzaii, oh Anzaii where are you?’
‘Here I am.’ I replied, coming fully awake in my panic.
It was Uola the ram. Despite the fatigue of age, he had fought bravely in battle. Now he lay wounded by the ruins of a Jarian warcamp.
‘It cannot be!’ I cried out.
‘We tried reaching you,’ Uola sobbed, ‘but it was as if you were dead. Now it’s too late for your mission.’
‘It must have been just when I stepped through the barrier,’ I replied desperately, ‘blocking the waves.’
‘Bessed and Drea have been captured,’ Uola said. ‘Many of the warriors and leaders are slain. The surviving citizens of able body have been taken, as before.’
‘Zeikas…’ I snarled out loud and through the waves. ‘What about the children and their carers?’ I asked, desperate with worry. My heart filled with sick dread at the thought of what the Zeikas might have done to them after killing those who protected them.
‘We dug an escape tunnel underground after you left,’ Uola replied. Relief washed through me. ‘It led all the way to a grotto under the mountains that is said to join up with the Catacombs of Krii. They are safe, for now.’
‘What of Jaria?’ Rekala asked anxiously.
I sensed that Uola could no longer hold up his head. His muzzle rested in the mud, his body dragging his mind down towards oblivion. He allowed us to see his last memory of Jaria: the village was scorched black, with buildings and huts in a tumbled mess. Some had turned to ashes completely in the fires that ravaged my home town. The trees nearby were scorched and dead. My heart wept for Jaria’s losses.
‘Are there any other Jarians still free?’ I asked.
Uola’s mind was slipping from the waves and I feared it wouldn’t be long before he was unconscious or dead.
‘Some,’ Uola said with strain. ‘Most of the Rada-kin are slain, but some fled into the forest with Namal and a few other adults to lead the Zeikas away from the tunnel the children escaped into.’
‘How did it happen?’
‘Tyraks…’ the ram sent. ‘Hundreds of them.’
He offered his most recent memories to me, which I pulled desperately into my mind. I ‘saw’ the events of the battle not as a vision, but as I normally perceived someone else’s memories—the knowledge of how things had smelled, sounded, looked and felt as well as the meaning behind every detail.
To the old Rada-kin, it had been an ordinary day, with Jarians going about their business and visitors from other nations shopping or peddling their wares at the market. Uola was with Bessed strolling about the village, checking on the people’s wellbeing. It had been about two months since the Zeikas’ last attack and all of the citizens were still grieving, but village life had a way of staying on track. The people of Jaria pulled themselves together for the sake of others.
Bessed had increased the number of warriors on patrol around the village beyond the lookout towers, but nothing could have provided warning of an attack from above. One minute, Uola was gnawing a wooden post while Bessed chatted amiably with a farrier, the next, there were tyraks descending through the clouds spewing green fire across the village. The wooden buildings lit up immediately—including my own house—followed by the piles of wood, straw and barrels of goods around the village. Archers started firing from the battlements of Jaria’s fortress, but there simply were not enough of them to cause any real grief to the tyraks.
Mounted on the backs of the dragons were Zeikas, concentrating hard on controlling their conjurations. Realising they were unable to fight so many airborne foes, Bessed and Uola spread the word for everyone to take shelter in their designated places, some to the fortress, some into the forest, some into the tunnel.
The battle at the fortress went on for hours, with the Zeikas eventually surrounding it on their tyraks and flaming it from a hundred directions. The stones became so hot that some exploded. Even on the inside walls of the fortress, the heat was intense, causing flames to catch on the wall tapestries and reeds on the floor.
From his fallen position outside, Uola saw Bessed and Drea emerge from the smoking fortress minutes before all the people inside would have choked to death. With their heads bowed and their arms uplifted they surrendered Jaria and were taken captive.
‘Where are Bessed and Drea now?’ I asked.
‘T… Telby. Bessed asked me to tell you that you are released from your quest to find allies for us.’
I shouldn’t have been surprised that my foster father was still thinking of me, right up till the moment of his capture. He had, of course, been warded by the Zeikas soon after and could no longer communicate with his injured Rada-kin.
I cursed out loud. The mercenaries I had dispatched from Ubu probably hadn’t even reached Jaria yet. The trade agreement wouldn’t do them any good now.
‘What am I to do now?’ I shouted. Everything I’d worked for was slipping through my fingers. My other reason for being here in Tanza—to find out if I was a Sleffion—seemed pointless now. If my gift wasn’t to serve Jaria, what was it for?
‘You serve Krii,’ Uola corrected me. ‘It may be time for you to realise that.’
With those final, serious words the ram’s presence faded and was gone. As I keened aloud in sorrow, Sarlice came running in, demanding to know what was wrong. Although I tried to fight them, sobs wracked my body.
‘Jaria is destroyed,’ I choked out. ‘We took too long!’
She stroked my back and Rekala put one large paw up on my knee, but neither gave me comfort. A fire sparked within in me that Rekala sensed and echoed. A long growl-whine escaped her throat. She and Sarlice drew back as I got to my feet.
Feeling the urge for violence boil up inside me, I pulled open the door slowly, aware of every texture in the wood—every fibre screamed at me ‘You failed!’ I slammed it back, blurred down into wolf form and ran through the stronghold, not caring about the people I startled.
I ran out into the bright, clean day and hated it. All around me were happy Kriites, going about their business. What did they care that their brothers and sisters in faith were being murdered and driven to slavery back in Jaria? The people of Lantaid went casually about their business: gardening, stripping hides, forging weapons, peddling goods at market.
‘I don’t belong here!’ I wave-shouted.
I headed out the main gate and across a nearby field. Once I was out of sight of all humanity I staggered into human form. Still running I lost my balance over a tumble of rocks and fell at the edge of the river. Sharp wet rocks grazed my face and hands. I pushed my face in deeper until the cold river submerged me and took away the pain.
My thoughts circled. What am I doing here? Did Krii truly send me? If not, was it just my imagination when I sensed his bidding? If so, why didn’t he care enough to protect Jaria?
Tiaro and Rekala tried to console me through the waves, but I pushed them out of my mind and locked myself in. It seemed like a good idea to just keep my head under the water until it killed me, but my body refused to go down so easily. It spasmed and pulled me sideways out of the water. Gasping with sorrow and breathlessness, I slowly rolled onto all fours.
My hands crunched into fists and, grasping as many rocks as I could, I hurled them into the river. If I could have screamed I would have, but no sound would come out of my throat. It was trapped inside me; a pain, like thirst, that could never be quenched. I crouched there for a long time throwing stones at the water and brooding.
Much later a shadow passed over me in the afternoon sunlight. I looked up and could just make out a flying shape in the clouds. Beyond the clouds the sky shimmered and undulated with a strange, unnatural glow as if a mantle had been spread right over it from horizon to horizon. So the barrier was visible up there, in places. The flying shape grew larger as it descended, reminding me of the hawk that had once nearly killed me. For some reason I wasn’t frightened, but I stood up when I realised the shape was heading straight for me.
I bit my tongue in shock as a skyearl of phenomenal size landed beside me with a thump. Its thickly padded paws left footprints the size of a barrel. Its neck arched backwards so that the lizard-shaped muzzle rested majestically on a muscular chest, which was thickly furred. Its head was the size of an entire horse and had a similar shape to a horse’s head as well. It was covered in rope-like fur that ranged from all shades of amethyst purple to sapphire blue and emerald green.
Its golden nose was tipped with three shiny domes, one for each century. They were his life gems, indicating both that he was alive and that he would die beside his Sleffion since he had already lived past one century. Large purple-ivory horns poked out of the ruff along his brawny neck. Two arm-length horns adorned the outline of each cheek bone, mere decorations when compared with the immense triplet of purple claws on his four lion-like feet.