The Destroyer Book 4 (17 page)

“I’ll deal with you later.” Shlara’s laugh ended suddenly as she seethed the words to Alexia, then spun around to the guards. Malek took a nearly imperceptible step backward when Shlara turned to him, his fear clear in the reflexive movement and his startled facial expression.

“Bring him to the courtyard.” She gestured to me and then walked out of the cell, confident they would obey. The guards rushed into the room after she exited and wrestled me into new manacles and shackles. I fought against them, as I had the other times they had tried to move me, but I was no match for six of my empowered kin. I was forced to my feet and dragged behind Shlara, Malek, and Alexia out of the dungeon.

The courtyard had changed since I rescued Iolarathe. The stables and feed house had been torn down. In their place, a wooden set of seats were arranged around the inner walls, similar to the kind the Elvens built for their musical or theatrical performances. I remembered the ruined city Iolarathe had taken me to, there had been a similar amphitheater there, constructed of stone.

This theater was quickly filling with humans.

The seats were already half-full, and a stream of bodies was snaking its way into the courtyard. I estimated they could cram ten thousand people into the makeshift stadium. In the center, where a stage should have been, a steel cross was driven into the ground, surrounded by cords of firewood.

Malek motioned to the guards and they dragged me toward the cross and set me down in the sand. Shlara was not here. Malek, Alexia, and the guards flanked me. And thousands of O’Baarni and humans surrounded us. I could not even fathom escape.

Alexia noticed me looking around and shot me a quick glare. The look communicated her frustration in an instant. I also sensed her fear. Not only was I trapped here, so was she. I had ruined both of our chances for freedom from Shlara. With or without me, she could have escaped in the confusion of trackers attempting to find me, but now that Shlara knew she had tried to aid me, Alexia was in danger.

I closed my eyes and sighed against the ocean’s roar of the gathering crowd. I could not waste my time worrying about what Shlara would do to my generals after I was dead. Gorbanni and Thayer were seated prominently in the front row, opposite the pyre. Their expressions were dark. This was necessary, but they would not enjoy it.

Malek glanced nervously over his shoulder toward the dungeon. I turned my head to see if he was looking at Shlara, but the moment I shifted my neck one of the guards slammed his fist into the side of my face. The blow was as strong and shocking as if a horse had kicked me in the skull. My ears rang and I tasted blood in my mouth.

“Face the fucking front!” he growled.

“Fuck you!” I spat blood and a molar out onto the sand.

“Stop!” Alexia’s command froze the guard with his fist pulled back. He nodded at her and then returned to a relaxed stance.

The crowd continued to fill the stands until every space was occupied and the courtyard writhed with shouting, squirming, hate-filled bodies. More spectators filed into the tops of the walls. There were more O’Baarni and humans beyond the walls, pressing and complaining, wanting to come in, eager to watch the just suffering.

Malek looked over his shoulder and nodded, and then he walked into the middle of the theater. He raised his arms and his creamy white sleeves fell down to reveal his muscular arms. For a second I felt a small flash of pride in my old friend that he was still maintaining his strength.

“Humans and O’Baarni.” Malek’s words were aided by magic from the Air and they boomed loudly in my ears. The dull roar of the crowd instantly dimmed and the thousands in the audience turned their attention to the man.

“For most of us, the war against our Elven oppressors has ended. We have been able to create a new life and enjoy freedoms our ancestors never knew.” He paused and an enormous tidal wave of cheers erupted from the crowd. He waited half a dozen seconds before indicating with his arms that he wished to continue.

“But while most of us have been free of the struggle against the Elvens, some of us have continued the fight, seeking out the last remnants of our enemies and eradicating them like the vermin that they are.” The crowd cheered again and I felt the air leave my lungs in a sigh. Malek’s speech sounded like one I would have made.

“After searching for years, we have finally apprehended the last living leader of the Elven people. She was responsible for unleashing three horrible dragons upon our warriors. She was responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of our kin. This Elven’s bloodthirst and hatred of our kind is unmatched even among her evil race. The crimes she has committed against our people, against our beloved Shlara, are shocking in both number and brutality. She is without remorse, and beyond redemption.”

He paused with his fist clenched and the silence that permeated the courtyard was almost as deafening as the roar that preceded it.

“Your leaders have captured this embodiment of evil, and now she will face the punishment she has earned. With her death, the lives of your kin, the brave men and women who fought and died for your freedom, the warriors she murdered, shall be avenged!”

He took a deep breath and screamed out the last words. They shattered my eardrums like the crash of a heavy weapon against my helmet.

“Do you wish to see her punished?” The crowd screamed in agreement and thousands of fists rose into the sky. Their cries seemed to pull the air out of the courtyard, or maybe it was just the thought of Iolarathe’s upcoming execution that made my head spin with despair.

Malek turned and walked back to where Alexia and the guards held me. Our eyes made contact and he made a quick glance back toward the tunnels where Shlara was hidden. During all my travels, the humans I had spoken with said that Shlara was dead. My friends must have propagated that lie, and I understood why. A beautiful martyr was a much more compelling figure to rally behind than the insane monster Shlara had become.

“Stand him up,” Malek instructed my guards and they hefted me upward to stand next to my old friend. We faced the metal cross and a massive sounding drum began to thud a slow marching rhythm. The crowd hushed again and the gathered audience turned their collective sight to the mouth of the dungeons.

My stomach churned with nausea and defeat. After countless years of wandering in search of Iolarathe, both our lives would now end only a week after finally being reunited. I pulled against my manacles again but they were crafted with the same kind of gray-black metal as my generals’ armor.

Eight O’Baarni soldiers walked into the clearing in the center of the barracks. They wore Shlara’s dragon army armor and carried spears and shields. Two of the armored warriors held chains that were attached to their prisoner. My stomach churned when I saw her bound and escorted by the armored humans.

Her fiery hair flowed wildly down past her waist like an untamed waterfall of blood. The sun reflected off the waves and the glow of her hair in the light made her alabaster skin look even more alien and beautiful. She was garbed in a light brown prisoner tunic and pants. The clothes were baggy and rough, but they could do little to conceal her natural beauty. She held her head up, her eyes downcast. Her face was immobile, refusing to grant her captors the satisfaction of knowing she was afraid.

Her procession stopped thirty feet in front of the metal cross that jutted out of the wood pile. The guards turned in unison and saluted the gathered audience. Then they faced Malek.

A murmur began in the crowd and reached a feverish pitch in the ten seconds it took for Malek to give the signal. I pulled against my metal bindings again but even if I could somehow free myself there was nothing I could do to save the woman I loved. I had finally been defeated. She turned to me and looked into my eyes, and again I saw the remorse and sadness I had glimpsed from her only once, when she had explained why she had killed my father and brother. I tried to convey my love, my regret, tried to communicate that I would somehow make this right and save our daughter, but there was not enough time.

“I’m sorry, Kaiyer,” Malek said softly before he nodded to the warriors.

Iolarathe didn’t struggle when they lifted her up to the cross.

I gasped and screamed. I thrashed against the manacles that bound my hands and they faded to nothing.

My eyes were closed, so I opened them while my mind did its usual juggling act between remembering the details of my dream and grounding myself back in the present. For a few seconds I struggled to open my eyelids, and then I realized that they were in fact open. The blackness surrounding me was deeper than a moonless night and even my enhanced vision could not see anything.

I was in the tunnels under Nadea’s keep. I recalled the events clearly leading up to my wounded descent into the black depths.

“Kaiyer,” a voice drifted from somewhere in the caves. It could have been Vernine’s voice, or maybe Fehalda’s. It did not matter. They would find me if I did not move.

I felt around the ground of the cave and found one of the three arrow shafts I had yanked out of my torso before blacking out. The bladed heads smelled of my blood and the powerful poison Fehalda’s archers were so fond of using. My body was no longer numb and I wondered how long I had been unconscious.

The Earth pulsed, pushed, and ran through my body constantly. But I pulled just a bit more and used some Wind to create a small flame in my hand. The walls of the cave were smoothed, perhaps by water, and a good twenty feet in diameter. At my feet were the other two arrows and the dried pool of my own blood.

I recalled falling into the caves and I realized that one of the reasons that the Elvens may not have found me yet was the sheer wall five feet behind me. I increased the flame in my hand a small amount and guessed that I must have dropped sixty feet to the ground. Perhaps I bled more once I landed or when I ripped the arrows out of my flesh. Climbing back up was not an option. They would come for me from that direction.

I needed to press onward, down into the caves, and hope that there would be another way to get out of the tunnels and to the surface.

But then what? I had run from the archers but not killed any of them. They would track me if I attempted to escape. They would follow me across this world until I was dead. I would need to rid myself of them in a way that would buy me time to return to Nia.

I took the arrows and moved away from the wall and down into the depths of the caves. The rock was ancient and crumbling. These tunnels must have been used by Nia’s troops for defense, but it looked as if they had been undisturbed for decades, the ground and walls were thick with settled dust and cobwebs, the air stale and long untouched by human breath.

I continued my slight descent. Every few minutes I heard a distant shout echoing behind me like a piece of lost wind. I could not tell if my pursuers were gaining ground on me, but assumed they were. The tunnels here were smooth. I saw nowhere I could hide and ambush the Elvens, nowhere to trap them.

Fortunately, I had my magic. I had my own source of light. I could survive down here for days, continuing to evade them. Eventually, they would find me. If I could get Vernine alone, I could reason with her. I could convince her to take me to the empress again and negotiate some arrangement with her. But Fehalda would not be convinced. She wanted me dead.

I thought of Isslata and sighed with remorse. I had easily chosen Nadea and my friends over my Elven lover, but I regretted the choice. I wished now that I had taken more time before acting, or agreed to work with the empress. If I had been less belligerent, perhaps I could have negotiated better terms and avoided killing Isslata. Nadea and Jessmei were now prisoners, all of my effort so far had done nothing more than cost lives.

If I had feelings for Isslata, I also had some for Vernine. I wondered if the pewter-haired woman relished the idea of hunting me down and avenging Isslata, or if she, like me, regretted our friend’s death and felt conflicted about killing me.

“Kaiyer,” the voice echoed down the tunnels again but it was still hard to gauge the distance I had on my pursuers. The voice was close.

The tunnel opened into a wide oval that forked in two directions. One continued downward at a steep slope; the other angled upward. I studied each path as I tried to decide which to take. If I went up, it might lead back to the surface, or at the very least, lead me closer to an exit. It might grow too steep, however, forcing me to come back here and lose distance on my pursuers. The same could be said of the lower route. It might dead end or take me so deep into the bowels of the planet that I would never find my way back to the surface. I thought of the wurms beneath Nia’s castle. What other foul creatures lurked in the depths of these mountains?