“Sulein, I can do nothing—”
The physician raised his fist, and Dain saw the Ring of Solder glowing on his finger.
Aghast, he pushed against Quar’s restraining arm. “No! Sulein, do not use it! In Thod’s name, don’t!”
But Sulein spoke a word that made the ground rumble. Dain’s ears hurt from the sound of it, and with a loud pop the physician disappeared. Consternation broke out among the Gantese. Even Quar seemed taken aback. His arm dropped, and Dain ran forward a couple of steps, only to stop in dismay. He couldn’t believe Sulein had panicked like that. Sulein, who had never before been seen to lose his nerve. Had the physician kept his head, Dain thought ruefully, perhaps they could have worked out an escape plan for everyone. At that moment, the air shimmered and seemed to break open. Screaming, Sulein appeared in midair, then plummeted to the ground. He thudded hard and lay there unmoving, almost at Alexeika’s feet.
Jabbering in Gantese, the guards surrounded him, shoving Alexeika aside with such force she stumbled and fell. She scrambled out of the way, then quickly regained her feet.
As some of the guards dragged Sulein’s body past Dain, he ran to the physician, who was dead. His dark beard and hair had both turned snowy white, and his skin was as cold as ice.
Dain stared at him, unable to believe he’d died in those few seconds. Where had he gone? What had he seen in the second world? What had killed him? Swiftly Dain gripped Sulein’s hands, feeling for the Ring.
It was gone.
“Get back!” Quar ordered, pulling Dain away.
Dain offered no resistance, and Sulein was removed, his head lolling, his arms dragging in the dust. Despair settled through Dain. He could not believe Sulein had been so foolish, so utterly stupid. He had thrown the Ring away, lost it forever in the second world. What evil lunacy had possessed him? Quar gave Dain a push, jolting him from his thoughts. “Up the steps,” he ordered. “Now.”
Dain had no choice but to obey. Numb, feeling dazed, he stumbled forward. Although he sensed Thum’s worry and Alexeika’s fear behind him, he didn’t glance back. He no longer had any assurances to share. They were all doomed. The palace was an edifice of torment. It had been built out of mortar mixed with blood and ground-up bones. Grotesque faces carved from stone leered over the doorways. Disembodied souls, gibbering and moaning, flew about like smoky wraiths and puddled together in shadowy corners. Sticking out from the walls of the dimly lit corridors at regularly spaced intervals were hands, turned palm upward. Fairlight flickered from the fingertips, and Dain dared not look closely enough to see if they were real eldin hands or just carved ones. Ushered along by Quar and additional guards, Dain was startled at first to see doors swing open at his approach without anyone having pushed them. As he walked past, eyes, and sometimes an entire face, would appear in the murky panels of the doors. He sensed the muted screams of whatever was trapped inside, and couldn’t keep himself from quickening his pace.
Despite the shadows, the interior of the palace was almost as hot as it was outdoors. As he strode along Dain pulled off his cloak and loosened the throat of his hauberk. He was so hungry and thirsty and his senses felt assaulted on all sides by the torment and misery that seemed to permeate every corner. At the end of the corridor stood a tall pedestal beneath a window through which sunlight streamed in. Dire curses carved in ancient runes marked each side of the pedestal, and a plain metal bowl stood on top of it. As he drew near, Dain realized the bowl was made of god-steel. He could sense it, as though the metal were alive and calling out to him.
And from behind him, he heard Truthseeker’s song, muffled by its heavy wrappings. Faltering, Dain glanced over his shoulder at the Believer who carried Truthseeker and Severgard so gingerly. The swords were temptingly close, yet he knew Quar would never let him reach one.
The fire-knight prodded his shoulder. “Go,” he said. “Cannot linger here.”
He seemed uneasy, and he avoided looking in the bowl’s direction. Dain’s apathy fell away. Narrowing his eyes, he stared at Quar. “Why do you keep god-steel indoors if you fear it?” he asked.
Smoke curled from beneath Quar’s helmet. “Go,” he said finally, refusing to answer Dain’s question. “Do not stop here.”
As Dain passed the bowl, he ran his fingertips across it. Snarling, Quar struck him so hard he staggered against the wall, but Dain did not care. That brief touch was enough to send tingling energy through him. Much of his fatigue dropped away. Even his thirst lessened, and full feeling returned to his puffy hands. Although he did not yet know how he could possibly escape this place, or even ride across the desert of Gant, he vowed that somehow he would try. He would not give up as long as he drew breath. Ahead, a door swung open, moaning on its hinges. An embossed face appeared in the panels, and opened its mouth in a soundless scream. Quar struck the wood with a bad-tempered fist, and the face disappeared.
“Inside!” he ordered.
But as Dain stepped over the threshold, he stopped in his tracks with a gasp. The heat was overwhelming. An immense blaze roared inside a brick firepit in the room’s center. Brown lizards with iridescent throats lay basking atop the broad edge of the firepit wall. Now and then one of them blinked bulbous yellow eyes. Believers, both men and women, moaned and chanted in worship. Clad only in loincloths, their oiled bodies tattooed with intricate designs, they crawled to the firepit on hands and knees, threw offerings into the flames, and retreated to allow others to crawl forward. Thus did the group move in a continuous flux. Suddenly one of them leaped to his feet and flung himself into the flames. As he screamed and flailed in the fire—the stench of burning flesh and hair filling the air—the other worshipers lifted their arms and shouted in mindless ecstasy. Appalled, Dain wondered if this was what the Gantese meant by “eating fire.” He cast Quar a sharp look, but dared ask no questions.
Quar gestured, and with reluctance Dain edged his way past the worshipers. When a snake slithered across the floor toward him, he stopped warily, but Quar shoved him forward. At the same time, Quar spoke a sharp command and the serpent turned aside as though it understood him. Enormous tarantulas scuttled out of Dain’s way as he left the worshipers behind and crossed the remaining half of the room. Quar pointed at a dais at the opposite end, and Dain headed toward it. A long bench gilded in gold leaf and padded with scarlet cushions stood centered on the dais. Reclining there was a figure clad in robes of purple silk, a figure who was no more than leathery, deeply scarred skin stretched over a skeleton. He looked as though in the past he’d been burned alive. His lips and nostrils and ears had all been scorched away, leaving slits and orifices. Only his eyes remained human, eyes as intelligent and searching as any Dain had ever seen. He found his own gaze captured and held by those remarkable eyes, and before he realized it he was nearly kneeling to this creature. At the last second he stiffened his knees and refused to bend to the will exerted against his. The pressure eased and fell away. Drawing a deep breath, Dain stared hard at this creature and wondered if the fire-knights looked like this beneath their obsidian armor and helmets.
Quar clamped his gloved hand possessively on Dain’s shoulder. “Lord Zinxt, I bring Faldain of Nether to thee, as the Chief Believer has ordered.” “Thou has done well, Quar,” Lord Zinxt replied. His voice was as ashy, ruined, and hoarse as Quar’s. “The Chief Believer will be pleased.” Although they spoke in Gantese, Dain found himself suddenly able to understand them. He glanced at Zinxt in suspicion, suspecting he had made this possible. The Gantese lord dismissed Quar with a gesture, and Quar glanced at Dain before striding out. Four more fire-knights remained at Dain’s back; he dared do nothing.
“Indeed, yes, I have made it possible for Faldain to understand our words,” Zinxt said, reclaiming Dain’s attention. “Faldain’s eldin blood makes him quick to learn, quick to see what is before him.”
Frowning as he adjusted mentally to Zinxt’s strange way of speaking, Dain said nothing. He was too wary to accept the Gantese lord’s compliments. Behind Dain, another worshiper flung herself into the fire while her companions shrieked and wailed joyously.
Refusing to look, Dain steeled himself to be as ruthless as possible in order to escape this place.
“Faldain has eluded us a long while,” Zinxt continued. “But the Chief Believer’s patience is long. When it comes to obeying Ashnod’s will, the Chief Believer never stops until he succeeds. Now Faldain is here, and the final steps of the plan can be put in place.”
“What plan?” Dain asked sharply. “I’ve been told I’m to be sacrificed to Ashnod.
I promise you I’ll make him a poor dinner.”
“Do not mock the god!” Zinxt said angrily.
“Or what?” Dain retorted. “I’m doomed to die already. What can you threaten me with?”
For a moment there was silence, then Zinxt’s lipless mouth stretched in what was perhaps a smile. “Faldain fears the same things as any other nonbeliever. But when Faldain’s soul is eaten and he belongs wholly to us, then, little king, then Faldain will be useful indeed.”
Dain’s defiance dropped away. Trying hard to mask his horror, he stared at Zinxt, and felt suddenly numb. “My soul,” he repeated. “Eaten.” “Of course. Faldain will become Nonkind and blessed among us.”
“Cursed, you mean,” Dain whispered.
“It is not the terrible thing Faldain thinks,” Zinxt said with a shrug. “Faldain will have the honor of serving Ashnod. Faldain will be the last piece in a plan that has taken centuries to complete.”
Thinking of what the old eldin king had told him, Dain swallowed with difficulty. “What is Ashnod’s plan?”
“When Faldain belongs to Ashnod, we will return him to Nether to take his throne. With our help, Faldain will overthrow Muncel’s army. The rebel forces will come out of hiding to pay Faldain fealty, and we will destroy them.” Dain frowned, but Zinxt went on: “According to our agents, Faldain is on excellent terms with Verence of Mandria. He will be eager to sign a new treaty with Faldain. Because of this, Faldain will find it easy to lure him to Grov, where he will be crushed.”
“Never!” Dain said. “I won’t do any of it.”
Zinxt tilted his head. “Does Faldain believe he has a choice? It is Ashnod’s will that Gant rule the world. Since the day when we were imprisoned here in this place of desolation and forced to eat sand and bitterness, we have vowed to destroy the order of things. We shall rule over all kingdoms. All people will bend their knees and hearts to the will of Ashnod. No other god will be worshiped. And Faldain will finish this plan when he brings the end of the world. He will provide Gant with its new beginning. So it was with Solder the First. So it is now with Faldain the Last.”
Dain set his jaw. “You’re wrong, Zinxt,” he said defiantly. “Gant will never spread its darkness across the world. Your plan will fail. You will remain here in this desert, where your kind belong.”
“Such defiance is as the wind,” Zinxt replied. “Once Faldain’s soul is eaten, he will not resist. He will be ours.”
“Soultakers cannot eat the souls of eldin,” Dain said rapidly. He glanced left and right, but the guards still stood between him and the door. Zinxt emitted a dreadful laugh. “False! Eldin souls are no different from others. It will not hurt unless Faldain fights, but the magemons will hold Faldain so that he does no harm to himself, and the soultaker will, I promise, be swift.”
Afraid, Dain steeled himself. “Bring on your foul creatures,” he said with all the defiance he could muster. “See how well they prevail.” “It was not foretold that Faldain would be a fool,” Zinxt said. “Have patience, little king. The magemons are still with the Chief Believer. He wants to see Faldain for himself before Faldain is . . . altered.”
Fresh perspiration beaded across Dain’s brow. He drew in a deep breath, taking little comfort from the delay. Father, give me courage to meet my death, he prayed, and let his hand stray casually to his dagger hilt. Zinxt beckoned to the guard who held the swords. “Show me what thou has brought.”
The guard unrolled the swords at the foot of the dais. Severgard’s black, rune-carved blade was glowing white in the presence of evil; its huge sapphire gleamed in the firelight. Beside it lay Truthseeker, ancient and deadly, its hilt emeralds glittering with fire of their own. Its song was loud in Dain’s mind.
Aching to leap for the weapon and fight his way out of here, he clenched his fists at his sides. He sensed that Zinxt was waiting for him to try something rash, waiting with a trap ready to spring closed around him. Although it cost him all the willpower he possessed, Dain waited.
“These swords are made from the foul metals,” Zinxt said, gazing down at them in patent displeasure. His gaze shifted to Dain. “One of them is Faldain’s. The other, whose?”
“Alexeika’s. The maiden who was brought to Sindeul with me.” “Alexeika.” Zinxt repeated her name as though savoring it on his tongue, then reached to the floor and picked up a snake. He allowed it to slither up his arm and curl itself around his neck. “Faldain and Alexeika . . . these names have been spelled out by the bone dice. Faldain and Alexeika are young indeed to carry swords of such antiquity.”
“We inherited them from our fathers.”
“False!” Zinxt said, pointing a long talon at Dain. “False. The kings of Nether do not carry god-steel.”
Dain stiffened. “What do you know about the kings of Nether? What we do and what we carry into battle is no concern of yours.”
Lord Zinxt’s eyes narrowed. He tipped back his head, then hissed a long stream of smoke from his mouth and threw the snake straight at Dain. As it flew through the air, the snake suddenly shimmered into another shape, something flaccid and gray and amorphous.
It was a soultaker, uncaged, and incredibly dangerous. Chilled to the marrow despite the hot room, Dain froze for a second. He had no idea these things could transform themselves like shapeshifters. As its putrid smell choked his nostrils, he realized it was going to land right on him if he didn’t force himself to move.
Dodging barely in time, so that the soultaker landed with a plop on the floor and came writhing toward him, Dain lunged for Truthseeker and closed his fingers around the hilt just as one of the guards grabbed him from behind. Yanked off balance, Dain swore and managed to keep his footing. As he righted himself, he swung Truthseeker up and around. Chanting ancient words to the weapon’s inner song, Dain slashed through obsidian armor and nearly cut the fire-knight in half. As the Believer staggered back, crumpling in a gush of blood, the others charged Dain.
Sidestepping the soultaker once more, he kicked it away from him with all his might and met the guards’ swords with Truthseeker, which sang loud and strong. Back and forth their blades flashed. In seconds, two guards were down. The others hesitated uncertainly, and did not charge him. As the soultaker came his way again, Dain turned and plunged Truthseeker through it.
Screaming, the thing burst into flames.
At the firepit, the chanting and wailing fell abruptly silent. Lord Zinxt shouted something that made the air stink of ashes and smoke. Although Dain felt the power of the spell that was hurled his way, it did not ensnare him. Instead, all he felt was Truthseeker’s power throbbing in his hands. Dain ran for the door.
He feared that the worshipers might attack him in a mob, but they knelt where they were and stared at him with dazed eyes.
Before he reached the door, however, it swung open and Quar marched in, weapon in hand, with additional fire-knights at his back.
Retreating, Dain searched for another way out.
“Quar!” Lord Zinxt called. “Leave thy men at the door and come to me.”
The fire-knight swung away from Dain as Zinxt began incanting another spell. This one, however, was not directed at Dain but instead at Severgard, which still lay in front of the dais.
The magicked sword lifted into the air and hung there, wobbling and turning slowly.
“Quar, take it,” Zinxt commanded.
The fire-knight hesitated only fractionally before he sheathed his weapon and reached out to grip the sword of Alexeika’s ancestors. As soon as his gloved hands closed on the long hilt, he flinched with a bellow of pain. Understanding what Zinxt was trying to do, Dain ran straight at the fire-knight. He swung Truthseeker high, and aimed for Quar’s neck, determined to behead him as brutally and mercilessly as Sir Terent had been beheaded. But at the last second, Quar managed to lift Severgard enough to parry Dain’s blow. Quar’s movements were jerky and awkward, almost as though another will was directing his. Smoke boiled from beneath the edges of his helmet, and Dain could hear his ragged breathing, but despite his obvious pain, he fought. Magicked steel against god-steel. The two noble blades clanged loudly as Dain and Quar fought back and forth. Severgard slashed across Dain’s forearm, snapping the finely wrought links of chain mail and drawing blood. Hissing, the brown lizards around the firepit came to life and jumped down from their ledge. They crawled through the crowd of worshipers, and headed straight for Dain as though drawn by his blood scent.
Keeping a wary eye on the approaching creatures, Dain balanced his weight on his back leg a moment to catch his breath; then, as Quar lunged at him, Dain crouched low beneath Severgard’s thrust and hacked at Quar’s knees. He cut tendons, and although Quar leaped aside, he staggered as he landed, then sank down. Dain charged with all the strength he had left, raising Truthseeker high.
Gasping, Quar lifted Severgard as though intending to impale Dain, but when Dain spoke in the language of swords, Severgard twisted in Quar’s hands, its point swinging aside.
Down swept Truthseeker, and Quar’s head went tumbling across the floor among the brown lizards and tarantulas. As Quar’s body toppled, Dain scooped up Severgard in his left hand.
The weapon was throbbing and the hilt felt white-hot. Swiftly Dain slid the sword through his belt and swung around to face the charge of the remaining fire-knights.
By now, Zinxt was shouting words that made the air tremble. Flames and sparks burst in midair, yet Dain realized he was protected as long as he held Truthseeker. Chanting again the songs of battle and blade, Dain felt tireless as he killed another fire-knight, then charged the next.
This Believer, however, turned and fled from him. Zinxt shouted a spell that knocked the coward down. Leaping over the fire-knight, Dain ran for the door. The lizards scuttled after him, following the pale blood that still dripped from his arm. As Dain passed the firepit, flames seemed to explode in all directions. The worshipers went sprawling, and many of them were set on fire as the flames caught their hair and spread across their oiled bodies. Knocked off his feet by the explosion, Dain was too dazed at first to know what had happened. His ears rang, and his eyes were dazzled. Squinting, he shook his head and tried to regain his senses.
Something crawled over his leg, and Dain slapped it away with Truthseeker. His vision cleared, although his hearing still rang. He beat down the sparks smoldering in his clothing, scrambled to his feet, then staggered out the door. More fire-knights were running up the corridor toward him. Dismay sank through Dain. His rush of energy had spent itself, and exhaustion now trembled in his arms and legs. He was panting from exertion and drenched with sweat. The cut in his arm was no longer bleeding, but it hurt.
Instinct told him that if he tried to fight his way out, he might never reach the last knight ordered against him. He decided to try a different tactic. Impulsively, he ran to the pedestal and seized the bowl of god-steel. Cradling it against him, he retreated into Lord Zinxt’s chamber, kicking lizards and serpents aside and jumping over the burned and injured worshipers. Zinxt was standing atop his bench, his purple robes falling open to his waist and billowing around his thin form. Tiny flames burned in midair in a circle around him, and with his eyes shut and his talons raised he was weaving a spell that made Dain’s hair stand on end. The very air was crackling and popping. Without hesitation, Dain rushed up to Zinxt and stepped inside the circle of flames. An invisible force tried to push him back, and his mind was assaulted by numerous voices murmuring vile and terrible things in a maddening babble. But Dain slammed the bowl against Zinxt’s bare chest.
The Gantese lord reeled back, screaming. The voices babbling filth fell abruptly silent, and the circle of flames vanished. Smoke rose from where the god-steel was blistering Zinxt’s scarred flesh. He writhed and screamed again, then jerked himself back with such force that he fell off the dais.
Dain straddled him, pinning him on his back with Truthseeker at his throat. Holding the bowl in the crook of his left arm, Dain felt its strength pour through his body, driving away his exhaustion and weakness and restoring his strength. He glared down at Zinxt, who was wide-eyed in fear. “Give the order,” Dain said. “Tell your guards to let me go.” Zinxt defiantly hissed smoke at him. “I cannot defy the Chief Believer’s commands.”
Dain pressed Truthseeker against his throat, intending to torture him until he complied, but suddenly all the air seemed to leave the room. Dain tried to breathe, and couldn’t. The bowl fell to the floor, spinning there with an awful clang. As his lungs jerked in panic, he turned around and saw a tall nightmarish figure standing behind him. Clad in a sleeveless tunic of thin stone disks, a necklace of skulls hanging around its neck, the newcomer had the shape of a man, yet his entire body was aflame. In one blazing hand this creature held a stone scepter topped by a ball of crystal in which floated tiny, distorted faces grimacing in perpetual torment. Two snarling slyths—each beast no wider than Dain’s hand—flanked it like sentinels.
The creature stopped blazing orange, its flames dying down to mere flickers. Air returned to the room, with a gust that blew Dain’s hair back from his face. He could breathe again, but now the air stank of sulfur and ashes. Inhaling only shallow breaths, Dain realized belatedly that he was being mesmerized by the creature’s fiery gaze. Somehow he managed to wrench his eyes away. “Let Zinxt go,” the monster commanded.
“Are you the Chief Believer?” Dain asked.
“Thou are mine, Faldain,” the monster replied. Its voice was like nothing he’d ever heard before. There was no song, no life in it. Every word it spoke seemed to weaken him, despite the god-steel in his hands. “Thy soul is mine. Once it is collected, I shall keep it here.” It tapped the crystal of its scepter. “Thy blood belongs to the Nonkind who serve Zinxt. Thy body will do the bidding of Ashnod, and lure the mortal kings of this world to their deaths.” “No,” Dain said. “I am sworn to be forever your enemy, yours and your god’s.
Faldain of Nether does not serve you.”
“Not even if I save the one thou loves?”
Dain jerked involuntarily, and Truthseeker nearly slipped from his hand. The Chief Believer extended the scepter in his direction, and the distorted faces inside the crystal were replaced by a likeness of Pheresa. Her reddish-gold hair framed her oval face; her eyes were shut as though she slept . . . or lay dead. Dain frowned, believing the latter possibility, but at that moment her brown eyes opened and looked straight at him.
“Dain.” Her lips formed his name in silence, but he seemed to hear her melodious voice in his mind.
“I can save her,” the Chief Believer said. Its voice was stony and lifeless.
“Serve as we bid thee, and she will be whole again.”
Dain’s heart swelled with hope, but he cut off the temptation as fast as he could. The Chief Believer’s offer was a trick, nothing more. “She’s dead already,” he said. “I saw the guardians among the prisoners today.
She could not live without them. She’s dead!”
“Fool!” the Chief Believer said, flames blazing higher. The heat it emitted made Dain back up a step. “She lives, and she can be at thy side.” “Nay!” Dain shouted. “Get back from me, you evil liar!” “Defy us, and she will die,” the Chief Believer said. “Defy us, and we will take you into the fire.”
On the floor at Dain’s feet, Zinxt reached out and gripped his ankle. His talons pierced Dain’s boot, holding him with unnatural strength when Dain tried to kick free. Hissing smoke, Zinxt stretched open his mouth very wide and belched forth a small soultaker. Gray and slick, its flesh pulsing in eager quivers, the disgusting thing landed on Dain’s foot and began inching up his leg. Shouting, Dain jerked in Zinxt’s hold, but when he could not get free, he plunged Truthseeker through Zinxt’s heart. Flames burst from his wound as Dain withdrew the sword. More flames blazed in Zinxt’s open mouth and nostrils. His eyes melted in the heat, and his body seemed to collapse in on itself like paper thrown onto a fire.
Retreating, and unable to shake off the soultaker, which was still climbing his leg, Dain reached into his purse and pulled out a handful of salt. He threw it on the soultaker, which shuddered all over, then went rigid and fell off. Dain stabbed it, and fire exploded it into bits. He whirled and swung Truthseeker at the Chief Believer, not sure how he could fight an entity made of flames. The creature parried with its scepter and deflected Truthseeker’s blow. Shocked to find the scepter capable of withstanding god-steel, Dain was caught off guard when the slyths sprang at him, attacking him from two sides. He managed to cut one in half, but the other knocked him down. It bit his shoulder, but its poisonous fangs closed only on Dain’s fur-lined surcoat and the mail hauberk beneath it. He rolled over and plunged Truthseeker through its chest. With a scream the slyth crashed to the ground.
Dain jumped to his feet and grabbed the bowl he’d dropped earlier. The Chief Believer shouted words that appeared in midair, flaming and shooting sparks. But once again, the god-steel protected Dain from Gantese spells, and the fire-curses did not entrap him. Without looking back, he fled. A whip cracked across the shoulders of the man in front of Alexeika, making her flinch reflexively.
“Go!” the guards commanded.
Slowly the line of prisoners shuffled across the baked compound. Alexeika walked with her head down, trying to bring no attention to herself. Thum limped grimly beside her, his hazel eyes filled with both anger and despair. Alexeika knew he was fretting for his friend and master. She felt sick at heart herself, for the thought of Faldain being sacrificed to Ashnod was impossible to bear. Yet how could they escape? Now that they were separated, what hope had they?
Tears stung her eyes, and angrily she wiped them away. She would not give up as long as she drew breath. Whatever she could do to thwart or harm the evil ones here, she would do. As her father had faced overwhelming forces with courage, defying the darkness to the last, so would she do her best until the very end. Lifting her head and sniffing, Alexeika stopped her tears, then pulled off her cloak and tied it around her waist.
“Why keep that?” Thum whispered. “Throw it away. I have never known such heat.” She shook her head with a frown. Although she loosened the lacings of her red hauberk, she did not cast it off. She was roasting in her heavy winter clothing, but if she somehow found a way to escape, she would need its protection later. To the west of the palace sprawled a complex of barracks and stables. Here, the prisoners were separated into groups and led away to various tasks. Alexeika and Thum were among those assigned to the stables. The shadowy interior was cool after the intense heat outdoors. Mixed with the usual rustic smells of straw, fodder, animals, and droppings was a terrible stench, rank and hot, of something not of this world.
With flaring nostrils, Alexeika glanced around with interest. “Darsteeds,” she said.
Groaning, Thum limped over to the water trough. He fell to his knees, plunged his face into the greenish water, and drank deeply.
Shouting and cursing in Gantese, a guard yanked him away. Consumed with thirst, Alexeika headed for the trough, but the guard shoved Thum into her path. As she grabbed the squire to keep him from falling, Thum bent double and retched up the water, spewing it over his boots and leggings. Concerned, she held his shoulders until he was finished, then helped him straighten. Using a corner of his cloak, she wiped the clammy sweat from his face. He was bone-white and gasping. His hazel eyes looked at her in horror. “Don’t drink it,” he whispered, swallowing with a grimace. “It tastes like blood.”
She stared at the trough in disbelief.
“That food the fire-knight tried to give me earlier,” Thum went on painfully.
“It tasted foul and rotted. Horrible. We can’t eat or drink anything here.” “But we have to,” Alexeika said in alarm. “We can’t survive much longer without water.”
“Everything is tainted,” Thum said despairingly.
Grooms in livery, their narrow faces cruel and hostile, interrupted them then, barking orders in Gantese and putting shovels in their hands. Alexeika and Thum were sent to muck out stalls and spread clean bedding. She welcomed the work. It was easy, requiring no thought. She worked quickly and methodically, moving from one stall to the next. Now and then she paused to rest and lick the perspiration from her lips for the tiny amount of moisture it brought her. She was soaked to the skin beneath her hauberk, but she forced herself to ignore the discomfort. She’d survived worse. In the meantime, a plan of sorts was forming in her mind. She observed the layout of the stables, watched the grooms and other workers, made note of the slaves such as herself and what they were permitted to do. Gradually, as she reached the end of her assigned row of stalls late in the day, she found herself near the section of heavy brick pens where the darsteeds were kept. Bugling challenges, kicking and lunging at each other in an effort to fight, the darsteeds were perpetually restless. Some of them stood looking over the top of their brick pens, red-eyed and snorting flames.
Alexeika kept staring at the animals. They were larger than horses, and capable of covering long distances speedily without tiring. If she found a way to escape and stole a darsteed, she might have a chance.
The idea was so daring and far-fetched it seemed impossible. Yet it would not leave her. She wished she had Quar’s magical baton and could just leap home through space and time, but she did not. Therefore, she had to ride across the desolate plains and deserts of Gant until she reached the Charva River. But how could she steal a darsteed? How could she saddle it, or ride it? The creatures were wild and savage, only minimally trained to saddle and bridle. She knew they were controlled by their riders’ minds. Could she somehow control them?
In her mind she heard old Uzfan’s scolding voice: “Nay, child, you have not the ability. Do not attempt it. Spellcasting is not your gift.” Uzfan had always said she was untrainable, and her abilities were indeed erratic. Since her escape from the Grethori, when she’d called forth krenjin and attracted hurlhounds to her by accident, she’d not dared to try again. Yet despite things going awry, she had escaped the Grethori. She had escaped the hurlhounds. She’d even killed their master. It was his hauberk that she now wore, his dagger she carried. What would it hurt to try to tame a darsteed with her mind?
One of the darsteeds was staring at her, its eyes red and intent, like a hunter focused on its prey. Alexeika stared back at it, then closed her eyes and centered her thoughts. You are mine, she thought, sending her will toward the creature. Serve me. You are mine.
For a moment there was nothing at all. Ignoring her frustration, she concentrated harder. You are mine.
The darsteed’s mind suddenly opened to her, and she was assaulted by primitive fury and killing lust. Food/food/food/food!
Rocked on her feet, Alexeika opened her eyes and broke free of that savage contact. Her mind felt on fire, and she was panting for breath. Glancing around to make sure she was unobserved, she put aside her shovel and hurried over to a metal box by the darsteed’s pen. From it she took a chunk of raw meat that stank and felt sticky with decay. Maggots were crawling in it, and in revulsion she flung it over the top of the wall. The darsteed’s head vanished, and she heard its jaws snap on the meat. Immediately the darsteed’s head appeared again. Its eyes fastened on her more avidly than before.
She stared back at it. You are mine. I feed you, and you are mine. She reached into the box for another hunk of meat, but someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around.
A groom glared at her, gesturing and shouting incomprehensibly. He slammed the box shut, and shoved Alexeika away so hard she nearly fell. Slapping and shoving her, he continued to berate her all the way over to a stack of filthy straw. Pointing and shouting, he indicated that she was to shift the entire stack outside, then handed her a wooden pail and shovel. Disposing of the refuse stack one bucketful at a time was total drudgery, but Alexeika hardly minded. She was too busy planning. The darsteed’s response had been encouraging, and she felt confident now that she could gain influence over it. All she needed was time and opportunity.
Dain squeezed himself into a shadowy niche behind a contorted statue of some demonic figure and crouched there, barely daring to breathe as another squadron of guards hurried by. They were sweeping the palace in search of him, but thus far he’d been able to elude his pursuers. After all, he was skilled in the art of hiding.
He knew, of course, that had he not kept his hand constantly on god-steel the Believers or their magemons could have found him instantly. He’d found other pieces of god-steel displayed here and there on pedestals throughout the palace, but all of them were damaged or merely a scrap or two of some item that he could not identify. He wondered why the Gantese kept such artifacts, when obviously they abhorred the metal and could not tolerate touching anything made from it. Still, it was not a mystery worth solving. All he cared about was that the god-steel helped him, and he was grateful for it. At one point he’d come to a water source, a large basin filled to the brim with stale, brackish water scummed over with algae. Its smell alone had been foul enough to counteract Dain’s terrible thirst. But on instinct he’d dipped the bowl into it. The water was purified instantly, enabling him to drink it without harm. He wished he could find food, but he dared not risk searching for any. His intent was to get out of the palace and somehow find Alexeika and Thum. As he crouched in this latest hiding place behind the statue, with the bowl safely tucked away inside his surcoat and Truthseeker lying across his knees, he sensed a stirring of something inside the stone figure, something malevolent and watchful.
Warily, Dain eased out from behind it as soon as the way was clear again. As he stood up cautiously in the passageway, the statue’s eyes came to life, shifting until they stared down at him.
Swiftly, not even giving himself time to wonder what might be going on, Dain pressed the tip of Truthseeker to its surface.
The statue’s demonic eyes flickered, then went dead and stony once more. Glancing right and left, he hurried silently along the passageway, seeking a way out. This palace would be impossible for any ordinary person to escape, for the trapped and tormented entities within the very floor and walls would surely betray him. But Truthseeker kept them silent.
He came to a door and hesitated there. As he listened, questing cautiously with his senses, he leaned against the door and slowly pushed it open. Courtiers, knights in red mail, and other Believers milled inside a long gallery. Dain retreated with a grimace of impatience, then looked around until he found a door concealed in the wall panels for servants to use. He opened it cautiously and slipped into a plain, narrow passageway, praying he would not encounter anyone.
He did, of course. Rounding a corner, he came abruptly face-to-face with a female in a sleeveless gown and soiled work apron. She was carrying ashes in a bucket, and her gaunt face creased in dismay equal to Dain’s own. Swiftly he lifted his finger to his lips, pleading silently for her not to betray him. Her eyes stared at him, darting from his face to his drawn sword to his face again. She trembled visibly, and although Dain held up his hand in reassurance, she didn’t seem to understand his gestures. He wished he knew some word of Gantese that would soothe her.
She seemed frozen. Finally Dain walked toward her as slowly and gently as he could. He had no doubt that in her eyes he looked foreign and terrifying, garbed in fur and chain mail, his pale eyes wild with strain, a bare sword gripped in his hands. As he brushed past her in the narrow passageway, she uttered a muffled shriek and dropped the bucket of ashes.
But as Dain went on without doing her harm, the terror abated in her eyes. She frowned, blinking at him, and slowly lifted her dirty hands to her mouth. He dared give her a tiny smile before he turned and hurried on. She sounded no alarm, and Dain’s stride lightened. If even one Gantese could comprehend kindness and mercy, then there was hope for this tainted and blighted land. Eventually he made his way outdoors. The sun had gone down, leaving the world shrouded in a murky twilight. The air stank of Nonkind and ashes. In the distance beyond the palace walls he could hear the noise of carts and pedestrians. Somewhere a bell rang out in queer, off-key notes that made him wince. Worshipers, chanting and carrying torches, filed through the palace gates and crossed the spacious compound.
Dain crouched behind a stone pillar in the shadows and watched the worshipers impatiently. He had to find his friends in this enormous compound, and the quicker the better. Unwilling to waste time searching in the wrong places, Dain dared allow his senses to quest for them.
At once he picked up Thum’s emotions, close by. Pain and fever caused by his wound, mingled with despair and grief, poured into Dain before he closed the contact. Realizing Thum was in a bad way, Dain frowned. It was unlike his friend to lose heart like this.
Moving from shadow to shadow, taking his time and staying careful despite his impatience, Dain made his way to the stables. Row after row of horses were munching contentedly on their bags of fodder. An occasional groom walked up and down the rows, inspecting the animals. On the far side of the large building stood a number of circular darsteed pens.
The sound of voices alerted him that someone was approaching. He flitted deeper into the shadows and hid behind a pile of fodder that smelled sour and moldy. The search party did not enter the stables, but instead marched on into the darkness.
When the grooms ended the inspection of their charges and the torches were extinguished, Dain crept outside and around the end of the stables, seeking the slaves’ housing. In a space between the stables and the knight barracks, he found a filthy pesthole crammed with prisoners and slaves. They had nothing to sleep on save the ground, no means by which to keep their areas clean. He smelled the food that had been served to them, but it stank as though half-spoiled.
Most of the wretches were lying down now as the starlight glittered overhead. Dain noticed that a fat white moon was rising above the horizon. Moving cautiously forward, he picked his way about, trying not to step on anyone. Some of the slaves were free; others wore chains and shackles that rattled with their every movement.
He searched slowly, now and then bending over a recumbent form to press his hand to a ragged shoulder. He dared say nothing, dared not utter names. Instead, he relied on touch and his keen sense of smell.
At last he caught Thum’s scent. Relieved, he knelt beside his friend and gripped his shoulder to be sure. Thum moaned at his touch and stirred. Dain pressed him down.
“Hush,” he whispered, afraid of who or what might overhear. “Say nothing. Hush.” Thum rolled over, then struggled to sit upright. “Thod be praised! You’re—” Exasperated by such foolishness, Dain clamped his hand across Thum’s mouth. Thum grew still and touched Dain’s wrist. Only then did Dain take his hand away. In silence Thum gripped his fingers hard, awash with emotions. Quietly, Dain slung his arm around Thum’s shoulders and held him.
Nearby, another shadow slowly sat up and stared at him. Recognizing Alexeika, Dain mentally applauded her good sense in keeping quiet. She reached across Thum and gripped Dain’s sleeve, and only the hard pressure of her fingers betrayed her emotions. When she pointed at the stables, Dain nodded. “One at a time,” he whispered softly. He got to his feet, then retreated slowly and carefully back the way he’d come.
Not until Dain had left the slave area and circled around the end of the stables did Thum follow. Limping heavily, he came stumbling around the corner and nearly blundered into Dain, who gripped him in support.
“Easy!” Dain whispered.
Thum was shuddering from that simple exertion. He sank to the ground despite Dain’s attempts to support him, and sat there breathing raggedly. Dain was concerned, but Alexeika arrived before he had a chance to discover what ailed his loyal squire.
She knelt at once next to Dain. “The sentries have counted us once, but I think they will come back in a few hours to check again,” she whispered. “I have a plan—” “Good,” Dain said, interrupting. “The compound gates opened tonight to let worshipers inside. If they leave, we should try to get out with them.” “I think I can steal a darsteed,” she said. “We can’t cross the desert to the Charva on foot. Even a horse or two won’t be able to outrun pursuit for long.” Dain frowned in the darkness, for the idea of trying to control one of the monstrous beasts unnerved him. Still, although her suggestion was daring and risky, it was bold enough to have a chance of success. If he could manage to control one of the beasts.