Chapter 17 – Aniira

 

A moment passed in anxious silence, and then all at once two guards pushed into the pavilion, leading a young woman between them. Or dragging her. She certainly wasn’t coming willingly.

I couldn’t help staring. The first girl I’d seen in this world and she had to be one of the most strikingly beautiful people I’d ever seen. Figured. I couldn’t tell how old she was, but she dressed like the warriors, a short green cloak over her shoulders and the hood pulled back from her crown of red-gold hair. Her dark eyes seethed. The guards could barely keep hold of her, and finally she managed to wrench free. She stalked straight up to Syarat.

Syarat sighed and lifted his hands. “Aniira.”

The guards grabbed her wrists again, and she twisted around and spat furiously at their feet. One of them must have tightened his grip on her wrist, because she winced and was still.

“Master Syarat, we found her skulking at the edge of camp again.”

Yatol moved a step toward them. He seemed dismayed, or angry, I’m not sure which. Either way, her presence upset him strangely. My heart sank clear to the soles of my feet. I wanted to crawl away and hide somewhere in the shadows, scrawny little me with my plain face. Like an idiot I’d assumed that just because I’d never seen another girl here, I must be the first one Yatol had seen too. As if lack of options might have made him interested. But who would ever give me a second look if they knew someone like her?

Much as I wanted to fall down a hole and disappear, I couldn’t move. Morbid curiosity kept me rooted where I stood.

“I will not,” she began, then furiously turned and pulled both her arms from the guards’ grip. Once free she went on in a rush, “I will not stay in Alcalon, not this time. You can’t make me, Master Syarat. Zhabyr can’t make me. He doesn’t need me there, but you need me here! Don’t you understand that yet? What more do I have to do to prove that to you?”

“Aniira,” Syarat said gently. “Your spirit is admirable, child, but this is not your role. I cannot permit you to stay in this camp when your duties lie elsewhere. It is not in my power to permit what the king would forbid.”

So she thought she could disguise herself like a warrior. Nice try, sugar queen. With that kind of face, no costume could hide what she was. I couldn’t restrain the slightest smirk. She gave an annoyed sigh and looked peevishly away from him, and as she did her eyes fell on me. I felt suddenly small, and my smug smile vanished. But I had my gaze fixed on her and couldn’t force it away. Her lips twitched and her face went white.

“How dare you tell me I won’t be permitted here, when you have a girl sitting right there, probably taking part in your very counsels! What right does she have…”

She would have gone on but her gaze shifted from me and fell on Yatol, and she grew very quiet. I thought she might be even angrier than before, though her face was perfectly still. All of a sudden she broke into a fit of laughter.

“You!” she said, pointing at him. “You of all people…”

“Come, child,” Enhyla beseeched her. “This is no ordinary circumstance. You cannot be angry at Yatol over this.”

“I don’t need this to be angry with him.”

“What wrong have I done you?” Yatol asked, his voice quiet but not strained. Just quiet. It seemed to infuriate her even more than if it had masked all the pain or hatred in the world.

“How dare you!” she cried, coming around the fire to stand in front of him.

He regarded her in silence, and I couldn’t tell from her face if she was closer to weeping, laughing, or screaming.

“You left me,” she whispered at last. “You left me!”

I frowned. Why did I have to be here to see this? I glanced at Kurtis, but he was too engrossed in the scene to notice. Hoping to slip out of the tent unnoticed I took one step back, but Yatol turned suddenly and fixed me with a pointed glance. I didn’t want to stay, and I was on the verge of tears of frustration, but I didn’t know why. I even felt angry with Yatol for stopping me. But I stayed, sitting down where I stood as if that could hide me from her. Yatol had already shifted his attention back to Aniira, studying her somberly.

“You still haven’t forgiven me for that?” he asked. “It wasn’t my choice. You can’t blame me.”

“Can’t blame you, can’t blame you. Everyone says it. But I do. Do you hear me, Yatol? I do blame you.”

Enhyla suddenly smiled. “Ah, is that what you’re so angry about? My child, that was four years ago at least.”

She looked archly at him, then back at Yatol, and suddenly she covered her face with her hands.

“You all think I’m a fool!”

Was she crying? Suddenly – I have no idea why – I almost felt sorry for her.

One of the other men threw down his spear. “This is absurd,” he said. “Master Syarat, do you mean to let her go on making a scene?”

“Peace, Tamon. There is enough hurt here without rubbing the wound raw again.”

“Aniira,” Yatol said, “What did you think would happen? I had a duty. So did you. If I hadn’t been the first called, it would have been you. We knew all along our paths would split, but it was pure chance that my time came first – before any of us thought. I didn’t want it to happen that way, but it did. You left Mene and Yamurin, and they don’t resent you. So why do you resent me?”

“Because yours was… I was afraid it would cost you your life,” she murmured.

He didn’t move, but bowed his head. She took her hand from her face and gazed at him. A deep anguish stole over her features. She turned away abruptly, pursing her lips and shaking her head as though trying to force away some thought.

“Then you chose to follow her?” she asked in a strangled voice.

“Aye,” Yatol answered. I almost couldn’t hear him.

I glanced from one to the other. They weren’t talking about me. At first I’d thought they were…but somehow now I could tell they weren’t. I had no idea who – or what – they meant. That made me nervous. Aniira’s gaze flickered back to me and she sighed.

“What do you think to do here?” Yatol asked at last.

She didn’t answer, but nodded toward me. “Is it true then? Isn’t it too late? It’s such madness!”

“What are you saying?” Syarat asked.

“How much will you sacrifice?” she asked. “What will you give? And for what? To save a broken city? To rescue a shattered people? You just didn’t see it, and now it’s too late. Nothing is left but to die gloriously.”

Tamon muttered a curse and turned away in exasperation. Aniira’s gaze followed him, then flitted from Yatol to Syarat. Both of them studied her in grave silence, and she sighed dejectedly.

“I came for a reason, but it doesn’t matter now. They didn’t want to let me go, but I insisted. And I was right! I told them I would get here before any runner could, and I did.” She turned to Syarat and said, “Zhabyr calls you back. That’s why I came. Not for my own pleasure. But I would rather stay than return to Alcalon with your answer. I tell you what he ordered me to, but – I don’t care if it’s treasonous – I don’t say that you should obey.”

She fell silent then, and for a full minute no one spoke.

“Why didn’t you say at the beginning that you had a message?” Tamon asked.

She cast him a spiteful glance. “Because I didn’t come to bear a message, but I bore the message because I was coming.”

“But you just said…”

“I said I didn’t come for my own pleasure,” she snapped. “What pleasure is it to come among you who hate me? I didn’t know he would be here,” and she nodded toward Yatol. “But he hates me too. I will go, see? You don’t have to chase me away. She is here and you have your salvation.”

“Aniira,” Yatol said. “Why are you so bitter?”

“Because it’s all I have left,” she said enigmatically, gazing at him with strange sad eyes.

She turned and would have left, but Syarat held out his hands to stop her. “You said King Zhabyr called us back. Was that all he asked you to tell us?”

“He said the city is all that matters now. We need all our strength at the walls, not far away at the borders. I don’t see that it matters. We are all going to die one way or another. But perhaps you have reason to hope. I’m sure I can’t judge. I hope it is true. For all our sakes I hope it is true. Please,” she said quietly, her glance flitting briefly toward Yatol, “please come back.”

And with that she turned and strode from the tent. She walked proudly, but I knew from the look on her face that she was broken. Yatol watched her go, then suddenly he laid aside his spear and started after her.

“Yatol, where are you going?” Tamon called.

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Yatol said over his shoulder.

He passed Tyhlaur outside the tent, and I saw them exchange a brief glance. Tyhlaur wandered in to join Kurtis and me.

“Who was that?” Kurtis asked.

“I’ve never met her. She and Yatol were both taught by the Guardians.”

“Guardians?”

He shrugged. “Different Guardians for different tasks. The portal guardians are the newest order. There are guardians of lore, forests, cities… Healers are guardians of a special order. The king himself is a guardian. I don’t know what Aniira’s role was, though.”

“Yatol was a portal guardian,” Kurtis said.

Tyhlaur nodded. “Like our father. But Yatol was called too soon. Yatol’s master guardian had died only a month earlier, and there were no others.”

“How did he die?” I asked.

Tyhlaur shrugged. “Sickness. Old age. Poison. I don’t think they ever said.”

Yatol appeared in the entry of the pavilion, beckoning us. We followed him to a large tent near the perimeter of the camp, the pale leather panels glowing from the fire blazing inside. Yatol held back the flap for us to enter, but just on the threshold I halted. Aniira was inside, crouching next to the fire. She looked like she had been crying, but her eyes were dry now, and she only regarded me with sullen disinterest.

I shifted my gaze from her to Yatol, but he only studied me quizzically before motioning for me to go in. I obeyed, miserable, keeping my head bowed to avoid meeting her gaze. When we were all seated around the fire, Yatol folded his hands into the sleeves of his tunic and cleared his throat.

“If any of you do not want to be part of this mission, now is your chance,” he began, indicating the entry with a pointed glance. When no one moved he went on, “Damian and Charlon will likely be held in the Gorhiem Bolstoed, where they will be questioned regarding Pyelthan. Where it is. Who carries it. For some reason they’re obsessed with it. Everything seems to hinge on that coin.”

I shuddered, cold despite the swirling fire.

“I didn’t mention it to the captains or Master Syarat, but my guess is that the Ungulion force will delay until they have…made their interrogations.”

Broken them, my inner voice said, but I pushed the thought away.

“What is this place?” Kurtis asked. “The Gor–”

“Gorhiem Bolstoed,” Aniira said, flicking a glance in my direction. “It’s a tower, an ancient fortress in the Perstaun. The Ungulion captured it, and have occupied it this half a century. They take their captives there, as a holding prison.”

I scowled at the dirt. She talked about it like she was reading a report. Half-consciously I reached up to my cheek, rubbing the still-bruised spot where the Ungulion had struck me.

“Merelin, are you all right?” Kurtis asked. “You look kind of pale.”

I raised my gaze, not to him but to Yatol. For a moment it was like he was the only other person in the tent. I whispered, “I’m afraid to go back.”

“Go back?” Kurtis and Tyhlaur echoed in unison.

“Merelin, when were—”

Yatol speared him a warning glance and shook his head subtly. I could feel them all staring questions at me, but it was the last thing I wanted to talk about. Yatol reached over and clasped my hand, finding my gaze and holding it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Aniira watch the gesture with a faint frown. That was the only satisfaction I felt.

“We need a plan,” Yatol said presently, squeezing my hand gently before releasing it. “The tower is in the middle of the desert. I know one way to sneak in, but I don’t know if it would work for a party of us. In any event, it will be too dangerous for us all to approach together, openly, so we will need another strategy.”

“The Ungulion can’t see in the dark or anything, can they?” Kurtis asked.

“No more than you or I,” Tyhlaur said.

Yatol shifted, but if he had meant to add something, he apparently thought better of it.

Kurtis chewed on his lip. “Do they think Damian has Pyelthan?”

“Perhaps. But they will soon find out he doesn’t.”

“But they did know Merelin had it at one point.”

“Yes.”

Kurtis went on gnawing for another minute or so, while the rest of us sat and watched him. Finally he glanced up at me.

“Merelin, you know the story of the Trojan horse, right?”

“Of course.” He nodded, and I realized he wanted me to tell it for the others. “There’s a story in our ancient history, of a great battle in front of a city called Troy. The attackers couldn’t do anything to win. They fought for ten years, I think. Finally they put together a wooden horse—”

I paused, hearing the foreign word, horse. Kurtis had said it in English too. Maybe they had never seen a horse on Arah Byen. Weird.

“Well, it was a great wooden beast, with a big belly. A bunch of the soldiers hid inside the belly and they left the beast outside the city for the Trojans to find. The Trojans thought it was a gift of peace, I think, so they pulled it into the city and had a huge celebration. That night the soldiers climbed out of the beast and started fighting again from the inside of the city. They won the war.”

Yatol exchanged a surprised glance with Tyhlaur, who was grinning broadly at the story. I smiled a little, then turned back to Kurtis.

“But what does that have to do with us? We can’t make a wooden horse and drag it out into the desert.”

“No. But what’s the essence of the story?”

Yatol answered. “Those soldiers were essentially welcomed within the walls because of the appearance of a gift.”

Kurtis smiled, looking rather professorial. “Exactly.”

“You can’t mean we should offer them Pyelthan?” I gasped, heart sinking as I caught the drift of his plan.

“Not exactly. Yatol, are there any metal smiths here in the camp?” he asked, and Yatol nodded. “We could have him make a rough copy of the coin. At least the shape, so that from a moderate distance it would pass off as Pyelthan. Yatol, I’m thinking you and Tyhlaur would be the best candidates for this part of the plan. You have experience dealing with the Ungulion, and besides, Merelin’s still hurt. We can’t all go or they’ll know we’re up to something.”

I scowled and shifted my arm – aching again – in the sling. It made me feel useless. Yatol gestured for Kurtis to continue, looking somber and thoughtful, while Kurtis reminded me more of a kid at a fair. I’d never seen him so excited.

“So, here’s the plan. We all head as close to the tower as we can, while still staying out of sight. We’ll need disguises, I think. Then, close to evening, you and Tyhlaur take the copy-coin and go openly the rest of the way. Offer the Ungulion the coin in exchange for the hostages.”

“They’ll never agree to that,” Aniira broke in. “They don’t negotiate.”

“We don’t need them to. It doesn’t matter. The point is, they will probably take Yatol and Tyhlaur inside, thinking they can take the coin and get rid of all four prisoners at once. But as soon as Yatol and Tyhlaur escape—”

Tyhlaur choked back a burst of laughter. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not that hard,” Yatol said, quietly.

That silenced Tyhlaur.

“As I was saying, while you two are escaping and keeping the Ungulion distracted, we three will approach the tower in the dark. Are there any side entries you can use to let us in?”

“A grated drain on the left wall. Usually it is no more than four feet off the ground, but it varies a little with the sands. It also has the advantage of being under a slight battlement, so there’s less chance of the Ungulion sentries seeing you.”

“So, you let us in, then we go find Damian and Charles and get out while it is still dark.”

Yatol glanced across at Tyhlaur. “What do you think?”

“It’s as mad and unlikely as the rest of this,” he said. “I’m in.”

Yatol smiled. “Aniira? I don’t want to involve you if you don’t want to be involved, but we could use your skill.”

Her whole face lit up at the praise, and my inner voice grouched unhappily. Skills. She apparently had some useful talents, unlike me. They were just taking me along because they felt sorry for me.

“What do you do?” Kurtis asked, as if he’d read my mind.

“I’m a Shadow.”

“She’s a spy,” said Yatol.

Spy! Figured it would be something so glamorous.

“Who is there for you to spy on? Besides the Ungulion?”

Aniira flicked an enigmatic glance at Kurtis. “I don’t spy on people. Not exactly. I’m an informant for the King’s guard. We have plenty of enemies besides the Ungulion.”

“We may need you to act as a diversion,” Yatol told her. “If things go badly.”

How encouraging. But Aniira only nodded, fierce. I wanted to roll my eyes. Part of me was ashamed of my hostility toward her, but I couldn’t help it. To make things worse, I could sense the same sort of resentment coming from her. I gritted my teeth. Rescuing Damian and Mr. Dansy was going to be hard enough without extra drama. I’d have to just get over it.

“The plan is settled,” Yatol said, interrupting my thoughts. “We’ll head out as soon as we can get the copy made.”