Archon (18 page)

Taemon forced his features to remain blank, but his mind went to Gevri, to the moment when he’d done the exact same thing to one of the soldiers’ guns. “It might have had something to do with you pointing it at me.”

The general nodded curtly. “A more common reaction than I would have anticipated.”

When the general left, Taemon could scarcely breathe.

There was no more time to waste. The general was too suspicious of him. He had to leave. He had to find Da and get out.

Out! Out! Out!
his pulse seemed to scream at him.

He started to unlock the door with psi but stopped himself when he realized it wouldn’t even be dark yet. He needed darkness on his side. He had little else.

He forced himself to rest on the bed and go over his plans. He would be starting off in a weakened condition, thanks to the general. And he’d have to use more psi than he would like just to
find
Da: telekinesis and clairvoyance to unlock the doors, more clairvoyance to locate the dungeon. All of that would take its toll and bring back his limp. What if he found Da only to realize he could no longer walk? What if Da was in a weakened state and needed him to be strong?

It was impossible. Even if he managed to escape his cell, even if he managed to find Da . . . There was simply no way that Taemon could pull off something like this — not now, anyway. Not when he could barely stand.

We’re coming,
a familiar voice said, speaking directly into his mind.
Don’t do anything till we get there. We’re going to help!

Stay where you are! It’s too dangerous!

Taemon tried to send a message back to Saunch, but the connection had been broken. Saunch wasn’t listening.

Taemon paced the confines of his room in jerky, agitated steps. What were they thinking, coming to help him? They barely knew him, and they could be risking their fool lives!

Mere minutes later, though, he heard tapping on his door and thought it best to let them in. Using psi to unlock the door left him a bit weaker, but he couldn’t very well let them get caught in the hall. Seven pajama-clad young archons spilled into his room and closed the door behind them.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taemon whispered.

“We heard you,” Saunch said. “Me and Neeza. We heard you thinking that you had to get out.”

Taemon marveled again at their abilities. “You heard right. But you shouldn’t be here. If General Sarin or Captain Dehue sees you, you’ll —”

“We want to go to Nathan’s City,” Cindahad broke in. Her large brown eyes stared up at him from her round, pale face. “We don’t want to stay here. What will happen if the general doesn’t want us anymore?”

Pik spoke up next, his voice a little wobbly as he adjusted his eyeglasses: “Please let us come.”

Taemon looked into seven pairs of eyes, all of them pleading. How could he possibly rescue Da and make it back to the city if he had seven kids trailing along after him? And what would await them if they made it? He couldn’t imagine convincing the entire powerless populace that these seven gifted archons posed no threat — especially since he wasn’t so sure of that himself.

“I can’t,” Taemon said. “I just can’t. You won’t be safe in Deliverance, either. Trust me.”

The archons said nothing, but Taemon could see how his words unsettled them. Without the hope of Nathan’s City to cling to, what was left for these seven outliers?

“You need to find your da, right?” Berliott said, standing tall and rigid in her pajamas like the soldier-in-training that she was. “We can help you. If you let us come, we’ll help.”

“I can’t ask you to risk your . . . your lives to help me,” Taemon said. Not when he wasn’t willing to risk his own — or his da’s — in return.

But Saunch shook his head. “We want to help — and we won’t take no for an answer.”

Taemon’s throat tightened with emotion. He opened his mouth to say something but couldn’t find any words.

“Stop gaping like a fish, and let’s get started,” Pik said. “We already know where your da is. Berliott found him with her remote viewing during dinner.”

“You found him?” Taemon was astounded.

Berliott nodded. “I remember what he looks like. That’s usually enough for me, as long as it’s not too far.”

“Impressive,” said Taemon.

Berliott led the way. Pik used remote viewing to check for guards or soldiers who would cause a problem, and Saunch used telepathy to relay messages back to Taemon, who was at the rear, struggling to keep up.

Cindahad kept an eye on Captain Dehue with remote viewing. “She’s sound asleep,” she assured Taemon.

They reached an old storehouse, which Berliott insisted had a dungeon below it. Pik checked for guards on the main floor inside. Wendomer used clairvoyance to describe the locks to Taemon, who used the tiniest taps of psi to unlock them, grimacing a bit when the numbness spread farther down his left leg.

All eight of them slipped inside, and Berliott, Pik, and Saunch went ahead.

Taemon had a chance to rest for a moment while he and the others held back until they got the signal from Saunch.

You okay?
He heard Neeza’s shy little voice in his head.

He turned to her and nodded, afraid to use any more psi than absolutely necessary. He’d have to be okay. This is what he’d come to the Republik for, and he couldn’t let himself collapse now.

All clear,
came Saunch’s go-ahead
. But the door to the dungeon is locked. We need you and Wendomer to open it.

Taemon, Wendomer, Neeza, Cindahad, and Mirtala stole quickly through the warehouse and caught up to the others. Saunch pointed to the lock that was holding them up, and Wendomer stepped forward to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she said, frowning.

“Try to describe it,” Taemon said.

“It’s not a normal lock with pins and a plug. It isn’t a dominion lock, either.” Her frown deepened. “There’s a box with numbered buttons on it.”

“Can you see what’s inside the box?” he asked.

“Lots of circuits and wires. But I can’t figure out the latch. Yens, how do we —?”

“Hurry,” Pik whispered. “Somebody’s coming!”

“This isn’t what I’m used to. I need a minute.”

Taemon stepped forward. “Let me try.”

“Are you sure? What about your injury?”

Taemon didn’t have time to wonder how they knew about his injury; he was beginning to realize that these kids had talents even
he
wasn’t fully aware of. He focused on the lock and sent his mind inside it.

Wendomer had described it well. It was unlike any lock Taemon had encountered, and just as he was starting to fear that it would take him far too long to figure out how to open it, he realized he knew just what to do.

“Mirtala, place your hand on these numbers here.” He guided Mirtala’s hand to where he needed it to go. “Now tell me what you see.”

She scrunched her eyes shut briefly, then popped them open. “I see a code! Four-seven-two-eight!”

Taemon tapped the four buttons. A little green light flashed, and the door clicked open.

“Nice work!” he said, grinning so that he wouldn’t grimace. His left foot was almost totally numb.

“Hurry!” Pik urged them again.

From the moment they got through the door, it was obvious that this part of the storehouse was much older. They walked down a damp, dark staircase, the air smelling mustier with each step. Taemon leaned heavily against the wall, praying he wouldn’t tumble down the slick stairs.

“We’re close,” Berliott whispered. “We should stay together now.”

At the end of the long stone steps, they came to a hallway paved with the same stone. It was empty, except for the grime and cobwebs that clogged the corners. Taemon felt bad for bringing the children to such a horrid place.

“There’s more than one cell,” Taemon muttered, his eyes adjusting to the dimness.

“There are eight altogether,” Pik said.

So the general had been lying. There was no need to kill Da to make room for Taemon in the dungeon. He wasn’t sure why, but the general’s lie surprised him.

“Shouldn’t there be a guard?” Taemon asked.

“I don’t think anyone’s strong enough to escape,” Wendomer said.

Taemon frowned, but Berliott spoke up before he could ask what Wendomer meant.

“Your da’s in the third cell on the right.” She pointed down the hall.

Suddenly, Cindahad tugged at Taemon’s sleeve. “The captain! She’s awake. She knows you’re gone!”

Taemon looked toward the cell that Berliott had indicated. He was so close!

“You all need to go — now!” he urged.

“But Yens, what about your leg?” Neeza asked.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, forcing himself to stand as straight as he could manage. “But if you all get caught, I’ll never forgive myself. Now
go
!”

The seven archons hugged him all at once, in one big scrum.

“Just remember,” Taemon said, “you’re all a lot more powerful than anyone realizes.”

Then, one by one, they turned and hurried back up the stairs, communicating the locations of the captain and the guards to one another, acting like a team — or a company of soldiers. Taemon watched them go up the stairs with a lump in his throat. “Skies help them.”

As he limped down the dark stone hallway, the only noise he heard was snoring from some of the cells — that and his own uneven footsteps. He glanced at the little barred window of each cell he passed, but it was too dark to see inside. When he got to the third cell on the right, Taemon stepped up to the door and looked through the little barred window.

“Da?” he whispered.

This door had a heavy padlock on it, but it was the old-fashioned kind that Taemon had no trouble opening. He did so quickly, barely noticing the pain that was beginning to spread from his wounded shoulder.

The door swung inward, and in the dim light Taemon saw a figure huddled in the corner, his wrists manacled and chained to the wall.

“Da!” Taemon whispered, rushing forward. He knelt awkwardly, his left leg clumsy beneath him.

“Da, it’s me, Taemon. I came for you.” He reached forward and gently touched Da’s shoulder.

Slowly, the figure raised his head.

Taemon gasped.

The face he saw was worn and had a heavy, dirty beard. He was barely recognizable. But Taemon would know that face anywhere.

Only it wasn’t Da.

It was Uncle Fierre.

Taemon’s mind spun. Where was Da? Was he in another cell? Why did they need Da
and
Uncle Fierre?

Gradually, though, logic kicked in. They
didn’t
need Da and Uncle Fierre. They only needed one Nathanite to train the archons. And that Nathanite had been Uncle Fierre.

Da had never been in the Republik. The “Darling Houser” his mam had spoken of was Uncle Fierre, not Da.

Taemon shook himself. Wherever Da was, he was beyond helping right now. But he’d found Uncle Fierre! He could save him at least.

“Taemon?” Uncle Fierre coughed, blinking in the dim light. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to get you,” Taemon said. He used psi to remove the manacles from Uncle Fierre’s wrists and felt his own body wither a bit more. “Come on, Uncle,” he murmured through his clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

Uncle Fierre was even weaker than Taemon, and the two of them struggled just to get up the stairs. Taemon sent his awareness beyond the door; soldiers were heading straight for them and would be there in less than a minute. He had just enough time to drag himself and Uncle Fierre around the corner to a bathroom.

Taemon collapsed against the wall, his chest heaving with exertion. They’d made it out of the dungeon at least, but now they were trapped in a bathroom.

Uncle Fierre tried to say something, but it came out garbled and he lapsed into a coughing fit. Taemon didn’t bother to shush him; the soldiers knew where they were.

The soldiers were outside now, taking their positions. He could hear their footsteps. He was so tired. So incredibly tired. How would he ever get out of this?

Skies, he was supposed to be the True Son, and he kept getting himself trapped in a corner. Where was the Heart of the Earth when he really needed her?

Are you there? Do you see what’s happening? Uncle Fierre’s sick and I can barely walk and I’ve used all the psi I can muster. What do I do? How do I get out of this place?

He thought he felt something. Maybe, just for a fleeting moment. Then it was gone. He couldn’t say what he’d felt.

Taemon expected the soldiers to come breaking down the door any second, but they didn’t. What were they waiting for? He heard a disturbance in the hallway outside his door. Clattering. Footsteps. Shouting. More footsteps.

Be ready.

The thought came to his mind not as words but as an impression of coiled readiness, of preparing to spring into action. Suddenly the noise in the hallway made sense.

Jix was in the building.

A loud roar that rattled the doors and windows confirmed the jaguar’s presence.

Be ready to run.

His mind filled with the impression of running, of legs eating up the ground beneath them. He could barely walk. How was he supposed to run?