The Reckoning, page 4
“I am glad you are alive.”
He expelled a short, dry laugh and pulled from her grip. “Sure, you are.” His tone was hard, dry. “I suggest you saddle the horse while I dress.” He raised a brow. “If I still have clothes, that is.”
Tannith turned away as visions of sculpted, bronze muscle flittered through her consciousness. She had never seen a man naked before, never realized a man could be so artistically beautiful, albeit covered in blood. “I mended your clothes the best I could,” she said quietly, her head bowed, her hair falling forward to hide the flush heating her cheeks. He would know it was she who had undressed him. “Your tunic and breeches are in your pack.” She swung away and fled…
****
On his arrival at the fortress in Kerbac, Sernon ordered the northern tower restored and refurbished with furniture looted from wealthy merchants and the clergy. It was to this conical-spired tower Dannock-Shae was summoned.
Entering Sernon’s quarters by way of a white stone staircase and answering the sorcerer’s demand to close the door behind him, Dannock scanned the room with distaste.
Lead-light sashes decorated the deep bay windows, filtering the rays of the sun. Gold leaf had been applied to the legs of chairs and tables. Inlays of ivory and other precious materials were employed on desks, mantles, and wooden chests. The room was excessively ornate for his taste, which ran to more formal and functional pieces.
The necromancer rose leisurely from his chair and placed a leather-bound tome on a small table. He greeted Dannock with a solemn smile, yet his eyes remained impassive.
Dannock studied him uneasily. Once again, due to the incompetence of fools under his command, he had failed in his mission to secure the prison and capture the other members of the prince’s party. It was with some apprehension, he now awaited Sernon’s words.
“Well, Dannock, it seems your gods have conspired against you once again.”
Dannock’s tone was dry. “Indeed, it does, my lord.”
Sernon strode to an open window and stared out. “ ’Tis a pity matters have gone this way, for I will be eternally grateful to you for my resurrection.”
Dannock’s hand inched closer to the dagger hidden in a pocket in his voluminous robe.
“To that account, I have spared you your life,” said Sernon, keeping a level tone.
He released the breath he was holding, but still he eyed his master’s back with caution. He had witnessed the punishment earlier that day of the five men who had failed the sorcerer, and he had no desire to meet the same fate.
Sernon turned and pinned Dannock with his pale gaze. “However, I cannot allow failure to go unpunished, for mercy can be mistaken as softness. Softness, you understand, is a weakness. I must be portrayed as a strong leader with no leniency for those who fail me. I must make them fear me. For with fear comes power. And with power comes total acquisition.”
Dannock frowned, noting the glow of fervor in the Dark Lord’s eyes.
“Therefore, I have little choice…”
Dannock palmed the poniard in the folds of his black robes, ready for an assault.
“I would not, if I were you,” the sorcerer said, keeping to a bored tone. “You would be dead before you drew your next breath. Did you think I did not know about the little knife you carry in the hidden pocket in your robes? I can walk the pathways of any man’s mind. I know all.”
Dannock’s fingers uncurled from the dagger, and he allowed his hand to slowly return to his side. His fist clenched as he rested back nonchalantly against a heavy table in the center of the room. Rain pounded the roof of the keep. The weather suited his mood—foul. How could things have gotten so out of hand? His plans had been so well laid. Now he would probably die without them ever reaching fruition.
If only he had not been surrounded by imbeciles! He sighed wearily and ran a hand over his eyes. “What is it you wish, my lord?”
Sernon eyed him steadily for several heartbeats, then spoke. “You will ride with The Five on their mission and not return until Princess Tannith and the Wolfhead Prince are dead.” The sorcerer paused, then quietly spoke again. “You will not fail me.”
Dannock’s lips pulled tight, and his jaw hardened. He stood away from the table. He could barely speak from suppressed anger. “No, my lord. I will not fail.” He turned to leave, not waiting for the order to do so, then swung back. “Perhaps one matter.”
Sernon raised a pale brow.
“A warding spell or troops. What is to stop those demons from turning on me while we search?”
The sorcerer waved his hand as if pushing away Dannock’s words. “The creatures search by scent. You are safe if you do not touch anything belonging to their prey. And you have all the protection you will need from outside danger.”
Dannock frowned.
Sernon’s lips twisted into a smile which did not reach his ice-cold eyes. “You now command The Five.”
****
Etan dragged the hood of his stolen woolen cloak up over his hair and lowered his face as two Urakian soldiers entered the tavern. He leaned forward and poured a mug of frothing Trevilian Ale from the earthen jug in the center of the table, lifted it to his lips, and regarded the man across from him.
“So, where are they?” Etan released an exasperated sigh. “It is five days passed the specified meeting time. We should tarry no longer. The fact is, the longer we stay, the more likely we are to be recognized.”
“I know that,” Ohma agreed, his face appearing more like weathered parchment than usual. He gestured to four Urakian soldiers pushing their way through the door to seat themselves across the room from them. “Those same soldiers were in here yesterday and the previous day. I fear they may be watching us.”
He nodded. “I doubt it is coincidence. And this is not like Tannith. I cannot shake the feeling there is something wrong. Perhaps, you could work a spell to see what stays them?”
Ohma shook his head. “Just like that.” The old mage snapped his gnarled fingers. “Next you will have me pulling a dragon from my hat to harass those Urakians across the room.” He released a sigh of exasperation. “These things take time, boy.”
Etan drained his tankard and, in a low voice, called for another jug. Never once did his gaze waver from the storm-colored eyes of the Druid Mage.
Ohma sighed in resignation. “I suppose I could try, if you keep watch.” He reached for the jug and poured a frothing pot of ale.”
He leaned over and peered into the brew. “What is that for?”
“You wanted me to search, did you not?”
“Aye, I did.”
“Then hush!” snapped Ohma. “Do you want to bring every Urakian in this tavern down on our heads? You do your job and let me do mine.”
Etan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, allowing Ohma to stare into the slowly disappearing froth on his ale. The old man began to chant softly in another language. His eyes appeared vacant, then rolled back to reveal only the whites. His breathing slowed, almost stopped, and his carriage stiffened. Long moments passed.
The time-candle on the table burned low, and Etan began to wonder if Ohma had inadvertently gone too far and passed over to the Otherside. Then, without warning, the old man uttered a strangled cry and jolted upright. He stretched his arms and quaffed a mouthful of ale. “I know where they are,” he pronounced.
“Where?” he asked softly. “And lower your voice.” He gestured toward the Urakians sitting six tables away.
“Your princess and the Wolfhead are in a lot of trouble,” he whispered and finished his drink.
****
Tannith and Kaden traveled on doggedly through the rain toward Jahl and their rendezvous with Ohma. Leaving the lake, they cut inland, through once fertile fields that now lay burnt or trampled by enemy horses. Continuing into forested hills, they followed a track, which hopefully would lead them to a back road and the village.
After ten days, Kaden could no longer hold himself upright in the saddle. Pain radiated through every fiber of his body. Pus oozed from ugly wounds on his left calf muscle. Unbearable pain stabbed at him with every step of Phoenix’s great hooves. Sweat drenched his forehead, and his body burned with enough heat to rival an ice mountain volcano. As the sun dropped low over the amethyst horizon that afternoon, he slumped backward into Tannith’s arms.
Trying not to panic, she held him tight and drew the stallion to a halt. With a strength she did not know she had, she slipped him carefully from the horse. She used her cloak and his and laid him upon them, then she set camp and waited.
By the fifteenth day of leaving the lake, Kaden’s condition had worsened. Tannith knew he was dying, yet her heart would not accept it, although she had borne witness to his rapid deterioration.
She could not, would not, believe the gods had abandoned them in such a harsh manner. Were they not on a quest for Magus, the most powerful of all gods? How could their God allow this to happen? There must be a reason. She had to believe that, or all they had been through was for naught! There had to be something she could do. But what? She had lanced and re-stitched the wounds, searched the forest for herbs, formed a poultice, and strapped it to his leg. She even knelt and prayed to Magus for divine intervention, but her God left her plea unanswered.
Tannith crouched beside Kaden, poured water over a cloth, and sponged his damp brow. A groan rose to his lips as he labored for breath. Sorrow touched her then, so deep it was like a knife in her soul. Had she found this man only to lose him? She ran a knuckle down his cold cheek. His skin was pale as newly fallen snow. One moment he was ice cold, only to morph to skin so hot it rivalled a blazing inferno. He would thrash about and mumble unintelligible words. Maybe Dorrachian? Languages had never been her strong point.
This was her fault. She should have seen to his injuries along the trail, but he had been so obstinate. And knowing how proud and headstrong he could be, she had allowed him his way. He had said she had enough work and did not need to cater to him as well. So, she had shrugged and let him be. He was, after all, a grown man.
If only she had insisted.
Tears filled her eyes and trickled unbidden down her cheeks. She was a fool not to have taken what he offered, lingering over past grievances, being too proud and too afraid. Her values were steeped in the Old World Lore. Several hundred years of belief were ingrained into the Elisian people. But, by the Gods, had they not given her this strong, courageous man as her equal?
Was the prophecy doomed to fail?
Yes, he was hard on her at times and cruel with his words. Yet, deep down, she had come to realize he used this hardness to cover up his insecurities. He was not nearly as tough as he wanted her to believe.
Sorry—such a small word when faced with the grim reality of death. Why had she been so proud? Could she not have spoken those few small words to make her his? Days ago, she realized she had deliberately used the law of her people as an excuse to keep them apart, distancing herself from him until their quest was at an end. What had caused her fear? For deep down, it was a fear.
She had lost her mother when a child, and now her father could not be found. Was it this very thing she feared—losing Kaden? If she never had him, she could never lose him, but now she had to face reality. She loved him. Truly loved him, and now he would never hear her say those words.
Kaden’s arm lashed out, just missing her jaw. His head thrashed from side to side, and in his delirium, he threw off his blankets. Her name splintered from his lips. “Tannith! Come back!”
“I am here, my love. I am not going anywhere,” she whispered close to his ear, then reached over and retrieved his blankets from where he had thrown them, tucking them back around his body as he began to tremble.
With a damp cloth, she bathed his forehead, whispering soft words of comfort, but she knew they would be lost in the dream world in which he now resided.
Over the last five days, he had called out many names—that of his mother, father, sister, and others she had never heard before. There was one he called insistently—a woman’s name—Zoreena-Rah. Who was she? A former lover? A family member? If so, it was one of whom she was not aware. Yet, she surmised, she had not known him overly long. She just knew she loved him and did not want to lose him.
The names came less frequently now. His breathing irregular and soft, a mere whisper. He had lost weight. The flesh having fallen from his bones—his complexion taking on a pallor akin to wax. His leg wound had turned to a sickly shade of green with streaks of bright red and purple spidering out in various directions. She had seen wounds like this after the battle at Dragonbane Castle. They usually led to amputations.
She pulled the blanket up to Kaden’s chin and stood up to stoke the fire. The night had grown crisp, and there would be a frost by morning. She would have to gather more wood. She peered into the darkness at the edge of the campsite. The fire was the only thing protecting them from the timber wolves crying in the not so far distance.
She skirted the camp, gathering small logs and sticks, and returned to feed the fire. Flames licked at the new wood as she tossed on several more offerings, staring unseeing at the dancing flames flaring to life.
Pain throbbed at her temples, weariness threatened to engulf her, and her eyes ached with unshed tears. Unless help came and quickly, Kaden would die, and she would be forced to go on alone.
She swallowed hard, holding back a sob, and returned to his side to pull aside the blanket. Kneeling, she laid her cheek against his chest, allowing her tears to fall for the first time. She wept for the love they would never experience, the moments they would never share, the children she would never conceive.
When her tears were spent and she could shed no more, she lifted her head to dry her face. Ohma sat across from her, warming his hands by the fire.
She rubbed her eyes. Then rubbed them again. “How…How did you get here?”
His lips curved into a grim smile, highlighting every crease in his weather-beaten face. “ ’Tis my spirit body you see, lass. My physical body dwells in a forest near Jahl with the rest of our company. When you did not arrive, Etan insisted I seek you out.” The Druid’s voice carried softly on the wind.
“Etan escaped. Is he well?”
“Aye.” The old man nodded. “The lad is fine. A few scratches, nothing more.” His gaze shifted to Kaden. “Not so for your young prince, I see.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “He is dying. I have tried every herb I know. I can do no more.” She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.
“You have not tried everything. There is still the Cross. It has power. What sort of power, I am not quite certain, but we can only try.”
Tannith removed the bag from around her neck and loosened the cord. A green light flashed from the opening, lighting up the heavy branches above their heads. “We have only two pieces. Do you think they will be enough?”
“We have nothing to lose.”
Tipping the bag, the two sections spilled onto Tannith’s palm. She tightened her fist over them, surprised to find they contained an inner warmth.
“Place the half-cross over Kaden’s heart and then your hand over the icon.” He waited until she fitted the pieces together and followed his instructions. “Now, close your eyes and concentrate. Focus with all your mind and all your heart. Feel the power of the Cross. Draw upon it, feed on it, and allow it to flow through you. Now send it out. Pour the power into his body. Fill him. Heal him.”
Perspiration trickled down Tannith’s back. “How?”
“Just do it. The power flows from the mind and the heart. Heart…hands, power…Heart, hands…power. Say the words!”
“Heart, hands…power. Heart, hands, power.”
“Say the words like you mean them!”
Drawing a deep breath, Tannith mustered all the love she felt for the warrior prince into three simple words and shouted them out, filling the night with her vibrant voice. “Heart, hands…power. Heart, hands…power!”
The icon grew hot in her palm, but not once did she falter in her words or pull away. She repeated the chant into the still darkness.
Almost childlike, Kaden blinked and yawned. She ceased her chant as his eyes focused on hers. “You are beautiful.” He raised his hand and stroked a loose tendril of hair back from her face. “Have I been somewhere? It feels like I have been somewhere.”
She captured his hand and brought it to her lips. “Welcome back.” With her other hand, she tenderly cupped his cheek. “I missed you. You have been gone from this world for some time.”
He ran a hand over his eyes. “What happened?” He pushed his night-dark hair back from his face and rose onto his elbow. “What did I miss?”
She leaned forward, cupped his face between her hands, and kissed him hard on the lips.
His eyes widened in surprise. “I have missed something.” He gave her a heavy-lidded look, which virtually took her breath away.
“You were dying.”
He broke contact with her gaze, and she released her breath.
“I remember feeling ill.” He ran his hand down his leg and frowned. “My thigh burned like hellfire from the Abyss. I must have blacked out.” He drew her into his embrace and rolled her over, his mouth coming down and his tongue battling hungrily with hers while his hands skimmed her back.
A cough sounded at their side.
Remembering Ohma’s presence, Tannith pulled away and straightened her tunic.
****
Kaden raised his head and twisted around, registering two things. Ohma sat across the fire, grinning at them, and his wounded leg no longer pained him. “How did you get here?” He rose to sit, bringing Tannith to his side, his arm resting comfortably around her waist.
Ohma smiled and threaded a gnarled hand through his beard. “ ’Tis a long story, lad.”
“Did you heal me?”
Ohma shook his head and gestured to Tannith. “For that feat of magick you must thank the princess, and her gift from Magus.”
“The Cross?”
Ohma nodded. “Yes, you will find you are completely recovered.” The old Mage’s mist-colored eyes twinkled in the firelight.
