Sacrifice (Catalyst Moon #5), page 9
Drake and Eris exchanged confused looks.
“That creature,” Atanar said, slower, “is a caradoc – I do not know the Aredian word. It is strange to find one this far south, for I have only ever seen them in Canderi territory.”
“What sort of connection does your clan have with them?” Eris asked.
Atanar pressed a hand to his heart. “It is difficult to explain. We share a bond with the animal, a kinship beyond word or deed. Some Canderi can even…” Sorrow etched across his features and he looked back in the direction of the caradoc. “Some Canderi form true partnerships with their kindred. They feel what their kindred feels; see what they see. It is a bond deeper than any other.”
Drake’s voice was soft. “Nat, did you have–”
“Yes,” Atanar broke in. “But Ruuk was slain when I was exiled.” He glanced at Eris. “Did you see danger on the road ahead?”
“No thralls or sentinels,” she replied. “But apparently I missed the other predators.”
“We’ll forgive you, this one time,” Drake said, winking at her.
Atanar smiled, too. “Then we should return to the others.”
Eris followed the two men back toward the other mages, but her mind was still with the caradoc. The memory of the creature’s growl resonated in her chest and almost made her forget her pained abdomen. How would it feel, she wondered, to embody such power? Her crow-shape, while exhilarating and useful, had too many limitations. But if she could shift into a creature closer to herself in size and structure—a creature that carried its young in a womb like hers, rather than lay eggs—she might mitigate some, if not all of the danger to her unborn son. Her heart beat faster at the thought, and she worked to sear the memory of the caradoc into her mind.
But even a new shape would not solve her problems. The incident just now showed that she wasn’t using her strengths in the most effective manner. She could not shift like she wanted to; she could not destroy the bastions or the sentinels, even with a mage army. Her strategy—her very goals—needed to evolve.
But if Fletcher’s wild mage allies were anything like him, they might not be as powerful as she hoped. Even combined with Seren’s Children, their forces would be scattered and weak when spread out looking for thralls. No, the mages needed more than magic and a common purpose; they needed organization, resources.
No doubt Drake, as a former leader of the Assembly, would have some insight. But Drake stared ahead, face expressionless in the way it often was since his brother Stonewall’s death. His steps were silent, but heavy, as if he carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. His green eyes were dull. Too well did she recognize the signs of a broken heart, so she touched his arm to offer silent support.
A wave of bitter sorrow crashed over Eris, but it receded immediately. He was still influencing her with his magic, but was getting better at controlling his abilities. But at what cost? Grief could be a poison; it would consume him if he’d let it. Eris still grieved for Gideon—every day, every moment—but the pain was a little easier to bear among her allies and friends. And she had her unborn son to care for; this little piece of Gideon that she could love, forever.
After Stonewall’s death, Drake was alone.
“How are you?” Eris asked him. “Do you need anything? More sleep, perhaps?” She tried to smile in the soft but wry way Kali would have done, but the expression felt awkward. “We’ve been on the move quite a lot these last few days, but I hope, once we reach the other wild mages, we’ll be able to rest.”
He shrugged. “I could sleep all day and still be exhausted.”
“I understand. Too well, unfortunately. Perhaps you need a distraction, then?”
Now he cast her a knowing look, a faint smile tugging his lips. “What’s on your mind, Ser Crow?”
She could not help her scoff of indignation. “Am I so transparent?”
“Yes, but you’re also right. I could use the distraction. So do your best.”
“I fear mages alone will not be enough to stop the thralls. We need greater numbers.” She considered how to explain her thoughts. “Stopping the thralls is a means to an end, but it cannot be our only means. We need more diverse allies, allies who are not mages, who have some foothold in the non-magical folks’ world.”
“Non-mages, she says,” he gasped, clutching at his heart. “Mara’s mercy, did you hit your head back there?”
Eris rolled her eyes. “Laugh if you want, but I’m right. Drake, we need the Assembly.”
All trace of mockery left his expression. “I’ve not spoken to any of the Assembly since last Heartfire. Why would they join us?”
“I can be persuasive.”
Ahead, Atanar snorted.
“I won’t argue that,” Drake replied. “But what makes you think our magical brethren will join them?”
“Because we have you.”
Realization dawned on his face and he stumbled over a bramble. “I think you have too much faith in me.”
She touched his arm. “I think you don’t have enough. Gid always spoke highly of you, and from what I have seen, he was right.”
They came to a fallen tree, and Drake helped her step over the log. “Maybe. But it might not matter, because I’m not sure where—or how—I could find my friends in the Assembly,” he said slowly. “We used to have a way of sending messages quickly and secretly, but I don’t know if it’s still in use.”
“But if you sent word, would they help you?” Eris pressed.
He did not answer, and she almost regretted the entire conversation. But at last he said, “I think Brice and Rilla would. But it will take time to get a message to them. Are you willing to delay this war?”
“It’s not war,” Eris replied, too sharply, and Atanar glanced back with raised brows. She ignored him. “There’s a village nearby with a fleet rider station. Will you send a message to your friends?”
Drake looked at his hands. “Aye. If you’ll write it for me.”
Eris nodded, but she could not stifle the pang in her heart at his stricken expression. When had she grown so attached to this wonderful lout? Pregnancy had made her soft. She could hear Gid’s gentle laugh in her mind, and his wry reply: It’s called friendship, love. Don’t fight it. Let it bloom.
* * *
Tal lost track of the hours as she waited with the other petitioners to gain an audience with the queen. All she knew was that the line moved slower than the sun that crept across the dome of the sky, and the pressure on her bladder was nothing compared to the ruthless chill dominating her body. Even her throat, dry and sore, couldn’t distract her from the urge for hematite. But the only hematite here was draped around the necks and wrists of the waiting citizens, so it may as well have been iron or saltwater for all the good it would have done, even if she could have choked it down. So she waited and shivered and tried not to look miserable.
By late that evening, hunger and thirst drove her to beg her neighbor for a bite of her supper. The neighbor, a younger woman with a fifth-tier mark, eyed Tal up and down before pointing to her feet. “Nice boots.”
Tal glanced down at the shoddy leather. She’d gotten these in Stonehaven, after the ones she’d arrived in proved unable to meet the challenges of the mines. Kam had claimed they had belonged to another Forsworn sentinel. They weren’t particularly good boots—or memories—but they were all she had.
But her stomach snarled and her throat was like parchment, so she swiftly removed a single boot and offered it to her neighbor, who scoffed. “What good is one?”
“You’ll get the other after you give me something to eat,” Tal replied.
Her neighbor’s gaze flicked to Tal’s scarred wrist. “I mislike your tone, dreg.”
Tal bit her tongue to keep back a sharp retort. “Forgive me, serla. I have little else to trade, and it seems we’ll be out here a long time. Surely, you understand my hesitation.”
The fifth-tier sighed but began doling out part of her dried venison. “Fine, fine. Just…mind your manners.”
The meat was dry and tasteless, and the swig of ale was like drinking from a cesspool, but it was better than nothing. As Tal removed her other boot, the line moved again and the folks nearby cheered. But she could see over most of the heads before her, and the palace gates were not that much closer. Later, when her thin socks did little to stave off the cold of the flagstones—it was like standing on a block of ice—Tal regretted her trade. But it was too late now. The line moved again. No one cheered this time.
Later still, when the pressure in her bladder became too much to bear, she glanced at her neighbor again. The fifth-tier had wrapped herself in a woolen blanket and dozed with her head leaning against the wall. Tal’s boots were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps the other woman had stowed them with the rest of her supplies, or just traded them away.
“Sorry to bother you, serla,” Tal said softly. “But I wonder if you might hold my place while I find a public latrine?”
The fifth-tier’s eyes didn’t open. “Hold it yourself, dreg.”
“Please, serla.”
The other woman patted a jug tied to her hip. “I came prepared. Why didn’t you?”
“I…didn’t know I’d find myself here.”
“Then sodding leave and come back later.”
As if it was that easy. Tal could still see Kalinda’s tearful face, a mirror of Kam’s in her last moment. Keep my daughter safe where I have failed.
“I can’t do that,” Tal whispered.
“Then shut up and leave me alone.”
Tal had no response. She surveyed the line of waiting petitioners, most of whom ignored her. A few of those in earshot, though, eyed her spot a little too closely. No doubt her fifth-tier neighbor would take Tal’s and sell her own spot to another farther back.
Very well, then. Tal faced forward, took a deep breath, and focused. She was not without…methods for dealing with such a situation. Argent had insisted that all commanders-to-be undergo rigorous training, much of which included how to deal with deprivation – of all sorts. She could pass water little by little, over time, and although she would smell like a latrine, she wouldn’t be in such discomfort.
Her fifth-tier neighbor, though, would likely regret those snide words. Tal gave a grim chuckle at the thought and welcomed even the brief distraction.
* * *
But all of Tal’s training couldn’t banish the misery of that night. By dawn, she was a shivering, stinking mess, such that her neighbors gave her a wide berth despite how space was a commodity here. Every muscle ached from standing for so long. But by late morning she was within arm’s reach of the palace gates.
Three guards stood on duty. Sunlight caught in the whorls and spirals engraved into the gold-toned metal of their plate armor, while the slit in their helmets made shadows of their faces. When it was Tal’s turn to approach, she met those expressionless gazes with as much dignity as she could muster.
“Good day, serlas,” she began.
The nearest guard lifted a gauntleted hand to silence her. “Name and business here?”
“Talaséa Hammon, and I must speak to Her Majesty at once.”
The guard sighed heavily. “Yes, but why?”
Tal lifted her chin. “I know how to stop the thralls.”
She braced for laughter or disbelief, but the guard only waved towards the courtyard. “Ah. In that case, those with thrall business are to wait there.”
Heart light, Tal glanced at the courtyard, but her spirit fell at the sight of yet another crowd gathered in the corner, guarded by even more royal soldiers. And judging by the tents and sleeping pads, these folks had also been waiting a long time.
She looked back at the guards. “My information will not keep forever. If the queen wishes a swift end to this crisis, she must–”
“Her Majesty must do nothing for you.” One of the other guards shoved her across the threshold so hard that she stubbed her toe on the flagstones.
But she ignored the throbbing pain and turned back to the guards, already speaking to Tal’s former neighbor. “Serlas,” Tal interrupted. “I know how to stop the thralls. You must let me through!”
“If it’s so sodding important,” the first guard spat, “tell us how!”
“Mages have the ability to cure them,” Tal replied. “But only one mage knows how. She–”
“This dreg is addled,” the second guard broke in.
“She’s no ordinary dreg.” The first glanced at Tal’s wrist, where too-short sleeves exposed the distinctive brand that covered her old sentinel mark. “Argent’s people warned us a Forsworn was on the loose,” the guard said, then glanced at one of the others. “Send word to the sentinels.”
Although Tal’s throat had gone dry, she drew up her shoulders and forced all her commander’s training into her glare. “I may be Forsworn, but I still speak the truth. There will be more blood on the queen’s hands if she doesn’t listen.”
All three guards surged toward her, surrounding her with their drawn blades. “You overstep your bounds, Forsworn dreg,” the first guard hissed as they brought their sword to Tal’s throat. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll start taking fingers.”
Head buzzing with pain, hunger, and fury, Tal met his gaze. “You’ll try.”
“Is there a problem?”
The guards snapped to attention at the new voice. Tal glanced toward the courtyard’s interior to see a Circle priestess striding up, black and white cloak billowing around her legs. Her dark eyes fixed on Tal. This priestess was familiar, somehow, but Tal couldn’t place how she might know the younger woman.
Once the priestess drew closer, Tal spotted the intricate tattoos on her hands, white ink standing out against dark-brown skin. Hope fluttered in Tal’s chest. This woman was a Cipher, one of the higher-ranking Circle clergy folk, and Tal knew of only one Cipher that might recognize her on sight. Looking closer, she noted the familiar set of the Cipher’s chin. Hers was a face that should have always been serene in the way of Circle folk, but this priestess had fire in her dark eyes. Tal had had dealings with this particular priestess back in Whitewater City. Surely the priestess would remember how hard Commander Talon had fought to get hematite for those under her command.
Tal and the guards dipped into low bows upon the Cipher’s approach. “Cipher Natanaree,” the first guard said, eyes downcast. “No, serla, there’s nothing wrong. We were just putting this dreg in her place.”
The priestess’s gaze landed on Tal’s scarred wrist before she glanced back at the guards. “And what is this person’s crime?”
“She’s Forsworn, serla, and she threatened the queen.”
“I did no such thing,” Tal replied.
The priestess’s eyes narrowed. “The brand on your wrist says otherwise.”
Tal flushed. “I made no threat against the queen. I’ve come to help her.”
“Oh?”
As quickly as she could, Tal explained that mages could cure thralls, finishing with, “And the only mage who can do so is locked in Silverwood Bastion.” To her dismay, tears pricked at her eyes; she fought them back. “She must be freed. Please, serla. I understand how this sounds, especially coming from me, but I–”
The Cipher held up a hand and Tal fell silent. The priestess said, “I remember you, Sentinel.”
Tal nodded. “I’d hoped so, serla.”
“You shouldn’t,” the Cipher replied, and pressed a hand above her heart. “For I remember Milo, too.”
Ice filled Tal’s guts and she could not form words for several long seconds, while the guards looked between the two women curiously.
“I saw what you did to him,” the Cipher continued, calm, but for the tremble in her hands. “He survived your treachery, although I cannot say if he still lives.”
How could she respond to the truth? Tal lowered her gaze. “I was a fool back then. I have made many mistakes and I have paid a price.” She gestured to her sorry, sodden form. “Yet the One has seen fit to bring me here, alive. And the mercy I beg is not for myself, but for another. Kalinda Halcyon can save us all.”
As she spoke, her own conviction solidified. She should have died in Stonehaven, if not from the lack of hematite coupled with the unforgiving hard labor, then from the swollen underground river that she herself had released from its dam. But Nox had not taken her soul just yet, which meant she had work to do.
The priestess studied her a moment more, then glanced at the guards. “Explain why you drew blades.”
The first guard bowed again and related the exchange with Tal only minutes ago. “We drew our swords out of precaution,” the guard finished. “Sentinels, even Forsworn ones, are like rabid dogs. You believe us, don’t you, serla?”
“Do not presume,” the Cipher replied. “Get back to your post. You,” she gestured to Tal, “come with me.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the palace gates, into the city.
All that waiting, only to leave! But while Queen Solasar was out of Tal’s reach, the Cipher was not. Tal hurried after and prayed she was making the right choice for once.
Although she was taller than the priestess, she had to rush to keep up. Her feet, numb and yet somehow also sore, stumbled over the chilly flagstones, and she grew winded faster than she should have. Spots clouded her vision and her head swam as the urge for hematite returned, ruthless.
As much to distract herself as to garner some sort of aid for her cause, Tal explained her whole story as quickly as she dared. However, Cipher Natanaree did not respond or even look back as she led Tal through the winding city streets until they reached a temple several blocks from the palace. This wasn’t the grand Temple of the One god, located at the heart of Lasath, but rather a humble place of worship, meant to accommodate those who were unable to reach the main temple. Bricks of slate gray shone, freshly scrubbed, and coins glittered in the small fountain just outside the front entrance.
The Cipher swept inside, Tal at her heels. The temple’s interior matched the outside: sparse and clean. Neat rows of benches and sitting cushions filled most of the space, and groups of Circle clergy and petitioners alike knelt before the altar. A pair of younger priests spotted the Cipher and hurried over, bowing low.
