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Authors: Nikki McCormack

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BOOK: Exile
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Hax nodded and let Cadmar lead her from the room. The others watched them go, staying silent until Cadmar closed the door behind them. Ian walked over and placed a hand on Indigo’s shoulder, still looking at the closed door.

“Cadmar will take care of her. We have no skilled healers to help you, so you’ll have to rest and take care of yourself I’m afraid.”

She nodded.

Ian started toward the door. “I’ll get things organized so we can leave as soon as you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” she murmured. “Adran,” she started as the other man headed toward the door.

He stopped, but refused to look at her when he spoke. “Find Yiloch. Bring him back here safe. Then maybe I will forgive what you have done.”

“Yes.”

When they were gone, she lay back on the bed. With the extent of her exhaustion, merciful sleep came quickly.

 


 

“I think you were unfairly harsh with her,” Ian commented when they were several doorways down the hall from the room where Indigo was resting.

Adran glared at the creator. “Do you?” he asked, letting his tone convey how little he cared.

“Yes. If she’s been dealing with Myac, she can’t have had an easy time. He’s the only other adept I’ve run across with a connection as strong as hers is. He almost killed her once, as you may recall.”

Adran sighed. Perhaps Ian was right. Myac was cruel and clever, not to mention quite powerful. He had little doubt that the creator with his strange black hair and eyes was somehow behind the assassination of the king and his family. If he was in Demin, he was there for a reason and this chaos was making everyone involved in the overthrowing of Emperor Rylan suffer. The problem that remained was finding a way to prove Myac’s guilt and, thereby, prove Yiloch’s innocence, assuming they found Yiloch. It was a considerable problem, and not one he looked forward to tackling. Indigo might have information that could help them. If only they could get Yiloch and Ferin back quickly. It had taken substantial effort to keep everyone working together during Yiloch’s former absence. It would take a lot more now that they were missing an emperor rather than an exiled prince.

“Maybe you’re right,” Adran admitted.

“She loves him,” Ian stated with certainty. “She made a mistake and she regrets it. I don’t think you could do anything to punish her as much as she will punish herself with the guilt she feels.”

Adran had seen the anguish in her deep blue eyes. He even felt a touch of guilt himself for the satisfaction it brought him.

“When did you become so insightful?” He rested a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and squeezed. Ian grinned and the awkward expression brought out his youth, reminding Adran how young the skilled creator really was. “Be careful out there.”

“Don’t worry, Cousin, I’ll have Indigo and Cadmar to protect me.”

“They’d better do so,” Adran replied, stifling any further derogatory comments toward Indigo. Despite what she had done, he knew Ian was right. She loved Yiloch, and it was Yiloch’s love for her that drove some of his anger. Nothing noble. Just pure jealousy. If anyone could bring him back safely it was Indigo, and he didn’t doubt that she wanted to. To get Yiloch back, he was willing to live with a little jealousy.

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

 

 

 

 

The sun crept over the horizon, spreading its scalding light over the canyon-scarred lands of the Rhuakine. The extreme depths of the canyons stayed buried in shadow, defying the early light. Undaunted, it continued to reach westward, toward the eastern edge of Kudan. In some regions, this crisp morning light was the harbinger of day. For the Kudaness, day started long before the light came. When the first light kissed the northernmost village of the Denilik, it found the dark skinned inhabitants already busy with daily chores—tending scant crops, mending clothes, preparing meals, gathering water from a river that reduced to little more than a trickle in the heart of the dry season—anything to make life in the desert possible. They worked with single-minded intensity to finish their tasks before the full heat of the day settled in.

The day that dawned was clear and bright, but thunder rolled in the early hours, bearing down on the village. The rumble gave some warning. It wasn’t enough. Denilik warriors sprinted through the village, retrieving weapons and heading on toward the eastern border. The rumble preceded its source by several minutes, growing in volume and shaking the ground. It also shook the confidence of those waiting.

Then the horizon darkened with the mass of surging horseflesh. The horses were dark, compact, and strong like the men who rode them. The eyes of the men were dark and determined as they leaned low over their horses’ necks, short bladed spears held ready at their sides.

The Denilik faced that charging horde. There was no choice but to defend that which they had spent their whole lives building. Women and children retreated to their huts. There was nowhere else to go on such short notice. With the widely separated villages of the Kudaness tribes, there was no running to find help or sanctuary. The dark skinned Kudaness set themselves into fighting stances, ready to cripple the mounts or take down their riders, whatever opportunity provided. Most carried the wide curved blades favored by the Kudaness warriors while the front line carried longer, ornate spears that could more effectively bring down a horse. Weapons they hadn’t needed to use against outsiders in generations.

The horsemen showed no sign of slowing as they rushed the waiting line. Other than the pounding of hooves, they came on in silence. The Denilik warriors let out a battle cry to bolster their courage. The dark riders leaned forward, rising up in their stirrups to prepare for the attack. As the front line of riders reached the village, the Kudaness attacked with spear and sword, only to have their weapons knocked aside by some unseen force. The mounted warriors swung their bladed spears and cries of pain rose into the air as the weapons bit deep into flesh.

The riders continued forward, charging anyone, man, woman, or child, who got in their path. When all defenders lay dead in the sun and the village was overrun with the compact horses, the riders dismounted and entered the huts. They cut down the elderly, women, and children with a callous efficiency, adding to the blood that already ran thick on their blades. Within moments, the screaming stopped and silence fell. The riders searched every hut, gathering food and supplies, and regrouped in the center of the village. Here they took time to clean the swept blades of their spears and wipe blood from their faces.

When the last of the army gathered around the village, there were no Denilik left alive to slick their blades with blood. In the center of the village, one of the horse warriors watched while several others divided and packed pillaged supplies. His small eyes, almost black, observed the activity with satisfaction, not from greed so much as vindicated ambition. Like the men around him, he was stocky and strong with olive skin and near black hair. The armor he wore was a lightweight hide with thin plates of a red hardwood woven in layers over the chest, back, and thighs.

This man, like the others in all but the air of authority that surrounded him, leapt up on his mount with the ease of a cat. His dark eyes swept the area once more, seeing that the army was already set to move on. The day was young and the sun’s heat not yet prohibitive. They would continue, leaving silence in their wake. With a single command, he turned the storm and continued north.

 


 

Ferin was able to extend his ascard ability and find a village, but the walk across endless sand flats after a chill night took them well into midday before the terrain began to change and they saw the group of huts upon the horizon. Here, at least, there were signs of life. Sand now mixed with rounded pebbles and occasional plant life, most of it small, spindly shrubs sporting fierce thorns, became more and more prevalent. A sharp eye also caught movement now and again—ants, or other insects, a rare scorpion or lizard. The heat of the day could still be deadly, but the presence of other life made it somewhat less intimidating.

The village was Denilik, so they were still in that tribe’s lands and the villagers received them with more curiosity than suspicion, though they did send most of their women and younger children into the small huts, away from the potential corruption of the Lyran strangers. The men then gathered around them, allowing one of the elders to speak for the tribe. The announcement that they were heading to Lyra was met with much laughter and so many quick comments that Yiloch didn’t bother trying to catch them all.

“Is there a village nearby with horses?” he asked when the initial merriment had ebbed.

The elder shushed the chatter of the other men and raised one wrinkled, leathery hand to point north. “Some villages further north keep horses,” he said. “They will not let you take them, but you can look upon them.” He added the last with a grin, amused by his own cleverness.

Yiloch responded with a tight smile. “We shall see. Ilikah watch over you all,” he added with a slight nod, trying to remain respectful despite an urge to knock the elder’s smile from his lips with a well-deserved strike. They weren’t going to be of much help, so there was little point in lingering.

“And you, travelers,” the man returned politely enough.

The villagers watched them for a time as they continued on, women and children also venturing out to gawk before they all went back to their daily routines. Yiloch glanced at Ferin, grateful to have a man of his skills along as the sun blazed down upon them without making much impression.

“Can you sense the next village yet?”

Ferin shook his head. “Not yet, but I’ll keep trying.”

“How is your energy holding up?”

Ferin smiled, weariness leveling the curve of his lips into more of a pained line. “I’ll manage, my lord.”

When the last village was no longer visible behind them, Yiloch stopped them and drew out the water skin and some food from the bundle Korik had given them.

“We should keep moving,” Ferin said, though he accepted the water skin and then the food with a nod of appreciation.

Yiloch chuckled. “We will, but you can’t maintain this level of exertion without sustenance.”

Ferin said nothing, focusing instead on chewing his scant ration. When Yiloch was satisfied that the other man had enough to keep him going for a while, he started to repack the bundle.

“Do you want me to carry that for a time?” Ferin reached for the bundle.

Yiloch smirked, shaking his head, and threw it over his shoulder. Without a word, he started walking. After a few strides, Ferin appeared at his side, eyes distant, attention focused on protecting them from the burning sun and searching ahead for the next village. While he found the offer to carry the sack amusing, it also worried him that his companion was fatigued enough not to realize how ludicrous the idea was. At the next village, he would try to get the use of shelter so Ferin could rest without needing to maintain the protections against the sun.

As the sun began its slow descent toward the western horizon, Yiloch spotted what appeared to be another village on the distant horizon. He started to ask Ferin if he sensed anything, then stopped. A wide swath of ground leading toward the village was churned like a storm-tossed sea, as though trampled by thousands of hooves.

“Ferin.”

The other man stopped and turned back to him with an expression of mild surprise, not having realized that he was walking alone. Yiloch squatted down to examine the sand around them.

“What is it?”

There was exhaustion in the slow drag of Ferin’s words and Yiloch looked up, squinting against the sun to search the other man’s face. The slack-jawed expressionless features confirmed the extent of the strain the adept was fighting to maintain his workings. He should have been paying closer attention. Letting Ferin drain himself dry would leave them vulnerable to many dangers, not the least of which was the risk of overexposure.

Yiloch pointed in the direction they were travelling. “There’s a village ahead. Don’t you sense anything?”

Ferin looked over his shoulder at the distant buildings. He closed his eyes, wavering a little, and Yiloch stood, placing a hand on his shoulder to steady him. After a minute or more, Ferin opened his eyes and shook his head.

“There’s no one there.”

Foreboding put Yiloch’s nerves on edge as they covered the rest of the distance to the waiting village. The swath of churned sand and rock swept in from the east, from the direction of the Rhuakine. Perhaps they were about to catch up with Suac Chozai’s prophesied invaders. If so, he needed some way to move faster, because they were heading north toward Lyra as the Suac had warned. He increased his pace, needing to see what the army left behind while dreading what he would find.

Scavengers were already busy working on bodies at the edge of the village. Yiloch guessed as many as fifty warriors lay in the sand, their weapons beside them, blood soaking into the moisture-starved earth. Ferin followed him across the line-up of bodies, many trampled by the charging horses where they had fallen. He looked nauseous. As an adept, he rarely got this close to the carnage of war. Yiloch led the way to the center of the village. There were very few bodies among the buildings, which meant the invaders either had taken the women and children, or killed them in their homes. The latter seemed more probable. They wouldn’t want more mouths to feed when crossing the desert.

“Rest here a moment,” Yiloch told Ferin.

When the adept nodded, sinking down to sit on an unsullied bit of ground, Yiloch wandered to a hut on the furthest edge of the village. The hut was ransacked, all of the occupant’s belongings thrown about. The bodies of a woman and two young boys lay on the floor. One boy had been beheaded, his head laying several feet away next to one of the piles of blankets they used for beds. Yiloch dragged the bodies and bloodied carpets into a hut further away then used some clothing to soak up the rest of the blood on the floor before laying out blankets. With that grim task completed, he returned to Ferin who was half-asleep sitting cross-legged on the ground. He helped him to his feet and led him back to the hut.

BOOK: Exile
2.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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