Heirs of the Fallen: Book 03 - Shadow and Steel (14 page)

“And neither have you seen any children, have you? Strange, wouldn’t you say, since all the Fauthians are young and hale, the perfect age to rear families.”

Leitos frowned. In the last year, he had grown so accustomed to seeing only fellow Brothers, all older than him, that the lack of children in Armala had escaped him.

Belina said, “Adu’lin has likely hidden away the Alon’mahk’lar who serve him. As to the babes, they are born but never seen. We do not know where they go or how. As for the Fauthians, as far as we know, they cannot bear children.”

“Then how can they continue to exist?”

Instead of answering, Belina glanced at the spot where his fingers massaged his head. “You must forgive Nola. She is quick-tempered, untrusting, and given to crushing heads, instead of making friends.”

“She?” he said ruefully. “You threatened to cut my throat, and this Nola clubbed me. Are all Yatoan women so hungry for blood?”

“Not by choice,” Belina said, an abashed grin turning her lips. Her study returned to his face, and the grin became a scowl. “To stay alive under the heel of Fauthian dominance, we cannot suffer remorse, or show mercy to our enemies … or those who might become our foes.”

They sat in silence for a time, Leitos considering what she had told him, and Belina paring her fruit and chewing the slices as if angry at them. Awakening birds sang to the brightening dawn. The piglets wallowed in the mud, snorting and grunting.

While he saw no easy way out of his predicament, Leitos judged that Belina’s choice of the word
camp
had been accurate. Small, domed huts sprouted from the forest floor like mushrooms. Made from cut branches and layered leaves, the shelters were almost invisible, even close up. Leitos supposed they would keep off the rain well enough, but were in no way permanent. Even his cage had the look of something made in haste, meant only to keep a few feral piglets alive until the time came to eat them.

Roughly in the center of the encampment, a ring of stones contained a fire that gave off more smoke than flame. Above it hung a sooty earthenware kettle. Something bubbled within the kettle, but Leitos could not tell if the aroma filling his nose came from the contents or the rooting swine.

A rustling noise drew his eye to a man with dark, close-cropped hair emerging from one of the huts. Like Belina, he wore snug trousers, a tunic, and soft leather boots that laced to the knee, all dyed in mottled greens, and slashed with browns and grays. As with the huts, even standing in plain sight, the man blended well with his background.

“Damoc, our clan’s elder, will soon question you,” Belina said. Leitos sensed a tone of warning, which did not settle his apprehension a whit. “He has spent the night with his council, discussing your presence and purpose.”

“I have little to say that they do not already know,” Leitos said. “Unless, of course, you held back what I told you.”

“My father knows all that I do,” Belina answered. With that, she stood up and strode away.

“Your father?”

Belina’s departure captured the man’s attention, and his gaze moved to Leitos. His was a face of angles and edges, and his hazel eyes contrasted sharply with deeply tanned skin. Leitos saw no mercy in that stare, no compromise.

“I am Damoc, leader of my clan,” he said after coming close.

“Well met,” Leitos said, giving his own name with a respectful bow of his head. A life of submitting to his slavemasters had taught him that deference often smoothed paths.

Damoc stared silently, and Leitos felt like an insect under that stolid gaze. He wondered if Damoc would stomp on him, or let him go free.

“Why are you here?” Damoc finally asked.

Leitos gazed around, wondering if the man was mocking him. “I would not be, but for Belina and Nola.”

Damoc’s scowl deepened. “Why have you come to my
homelands
?” he growled.

“Not by choice, and not for your hospitality, I can assure you,” Leitos said, his deference already exhausted.

“Answer my questions, or I will feed your corpse to these shoats.”

“Very well,” Leitos began. “Kelrens came to the Singing Islands, where my brethren and I had hidden from the Faceless One’s forces.”

“Brothers of the Crimson Shield?”

That Elder Damoc knew of his order startled Leitos, but there was no point denying it. “Yes.”

Damoc rubbed his chin. “It is unlikely that the sea-wolves would have sought out men who are known, even in Yato, as deadly adversaries … not without good cause. When they come to these hunting grounds, they gather scores at a time. Why do you think they would have wasted so much effort gathering a few Brothers?”

“I have no idea,” Leitos said.

“So how were you caught?” Damoc asked. The way he said it suggested that he did not believe they had been captured.

“We misjudged the slavers’ strength. Also, they had Hunters with them, changeling wolves.” Damoc’s lips curled in distaste, but he held silent, waiting for Leitos to continue. “Some of our number were taken….”

Leitos spoke on for long moments, detailing the entire account. When he finished, Elder Damoc’s features grew thoughtful.

“If all that you say is true, then why have you joined with the Fauthians, as much the enemies of humankind as the Faceless One?”

“We did not join them,” Leitos said, tired of explaining that point, but having no choice. “We only accepted their generosity. If they had not healed Ke’uld, a Brother who was near death, perhaps we would not have. Also, they offered to repair one of the Kelren ships for our return to Geldain.”

Where Damoc had shown no inclination toward humor, he laughed now. “Repair ships? Fauthians were men of the sea, generations gone, but no more. Now they shun deep waters.”

Leitos scowled. There was another creature that avoided deep water. “You speak as if they are Alon’mahk’lar.”

Damoc’s face twisted. “They are far worse. Demons and demon-born are what they are, by their inborn nature. The Fauthians willingly chose to side against humankind.”

Leitos’s eyes held Damoc’s. “Let me go, and I will tell my brethren who the Fauthians really are. If we find that you speak the truth, we will destroy them.”

“No,” Damoc intoned. “You have joined with our enemy, and so have become an enemy to all men.”

“Have you heard nothing I said?” Leitos gasped.

“Do you deny that you and your fellows have taken shelter in Armala?”

“No,” Leitos said, shaking his head, then rushed to explain. “Our only purpose is to destroy those who bend knee to the Faceless One!” He was uncomfortably aware that if that mission had ever been true, it no longer held sway amongst the majority of his fellows. Even now, he could imagine Sumahn and Daris taking their pleasure with the Fauthian women, while the rest supped on Fauthian food, and slept in Fauthian beds.

“I could almost believe you,” Damoc mused regretfully, “but to do so could prove to be my downfall, that of my clan, and all my people. I cannot take the chance that you are lying.” He took a deep breath and stood rigid. “You will burn before a gathering of my people. Such is the sentence for those who have sworn fealty to the Faceless One.”

“I did not swear to anyone,” Leitos shouted, hauling himself out of the muck. “You must believe me. We did not know. Damoc, free me!”

Damoc turned and strode away. He did not slow, or so much as hunch his shoulders against Leitos’s pleas.

Chapter 18

At dawn the night after he sent his son off, a bleary-eyed Adham peeked into Leitos’s room, thinking he must have returned by now. The bed still stood empty and unused. Hoping he had missed his son’s return, he joined Ba’Sel and Ulmek in the gathering hall.

“He’s probably sneaking about stealing things,” Ulmek said, and then filled his mouth with a gulp of fruit wine, indifferent to the greenish liquid that dribbled over his chin.

Ba’Sel drained his own goblet, swaying a bit in his seat. “The boy is probably enjoying the city. As I understand it, he has never seen a living city, other than Zuladah. Trust that hunger will bring him back—you know how boys love to eat.”

“He would not have left without telling me,” Adham countered, keeping to himself that he had sent Leitos in search of anything the Fauthians might be hiding.

Ba’Sel frowned doubtfully. “Surely you must know that young men often stretch the bounds put in place by their elders.”

“Sumahn and Daris ought to be proof enough of that,” Ulmek drawled. “If you need more, look to your own youth.”

“From the time I could raise a sword without slicing off my ears,” Adham snarled, “I set to slaughtering enemies, not lolling about and cavorting with strange flesh.”

“Strange of flesh these Fauthian women may be,” Ulmek said, turning an eye on a laughing pair of women passing by, “but Sumahn names them exotic … and skilled in matters of love. In that, I must agree.”

Of all the Brothers, Ulmek was the last one Adham would have expected to fall under Fauthian sway.

“Do not fret, Adham,” Ba’Sel said, smiling and glassy-eyed. “Leitos has shown great promise. You should trust in him and his wisdom.” He winked. “Besides, it could be that he has chosen to make a man of himself among our hosts.”

Adham abandoned the two to their wine, and went to find Adu’lin. If not for desperation, he would not have lowered himself to speak with that yellow snake of a man. Adham did not trust the Fauthian or his people. In truth, he did not believe they were people at all, but something very much akin to Alon’mahk’lar. Who knew what the Fallen were capable of creating?

He found Adu’lin speaking quietly to a group of his folk, who sat on benches fashioned after nude children—human children, Adham noted uncomfortably. Behind them stood a fountain fashioned into a wrinkled crone of hammered bronze, with a crown of ruby horns, and pendulous breasts that streamed water from jade nipples; below the waist, she became a stone serpent of thick coils that trailed into a pool tiled in eye-wrenching patterns.

Tearing his gaze from the fountain, Adham demanded, “Have you seen my son?”

“Which one of you would that be?” Adu’lin asked, smirking. “Forgive me, but you all look so much alike to us.”

Adham tried to ignore the Fauthians’ sniggering, but the cracking knuckles of his tightening hand gave evidence of his irritation. “He is the youngest of our party,” Adham grated. “His name is Leitos. He was not abed this morning, and may not have been all night.”

Adu’lin favored him with an unreadable expression, though a flicker of some emotion—
surprise, alarm, wrath?
—lit his stare. “As I warned you and the others, this city is ancient and far larger than my people can fully inhabit. As such, much of Armala is dangerous for its sad state of neglect. If your son has gone nosing about where he ought not—which Ba’Sel assured me none of his men would do—then it is possible some ill has befallen him.”

In a voice low and dangerous, Adham said, “Listen well, you goat-buggering serpent, if you know where my son is, tell me. If not, then get off your scrawny backside, and start searching this befouled city for him.” He reached for his sword to emphasize his point, belatedly remembering that it was not there. He had his dagger tucked under this robes, but thought better about drawing it.

Each Fauthian watched his hand clutch the empty air at his hip, and their amber eyes narrowed to slits. A smug look passed over Adu’lin’s thin face. “We are all friends here. Surely there is no need for hostility?”

“Forgive me,” Adham forced himself to say, suddenly feeling imperiled. “Concern for my son has soured my manners. I would like to search for my son, but I do not know the city, or where to start. I … I need your help.”

“Of course,” Adu’lin said, placid and accommodating once more. “But as you would only hinder us, I must ask you to return to your quarters. Trust that we will find your son … if he is in the city.”

“Where else would he be?”

Adu’lin shrugged. “We place guards on the walls to keep the Yatoans out, not to keep our people in. But then,
we
know better than to venture outside the city. It is conceivable that your son might have disregarded my warnings, and left Armala. I hope that is not so … as should you.”

After leaving Adu’lin, Adham returned to his quarters and paced, wall to wall. Every hour on the hour, he went to Leitos’s room, hoping he had returned. The chamber remained empty.

Now, with the sun westering toward its nightly slumber, and still no word from Adu’lin’s search party, his worry became stark fear. Adham cursed himself for not insisting on joining the Fauthians, and he cursed Ba’Sel and the others for their careless indifference about … well,
everything
. No one asked after the Fauthians’ disregard for repairing a Kelren ship, no one spoke of training, no one seemed interested in returning to Geldain to fight the Faceless One and his minions.

Something was foul in Armala, and Adham needed answers—he intended to get them, with or without the help of the Brothers of the Crimson Shield.

Chapter 19

“You cannot put him to death,” Belina warned, looking at her father over the fire’s glowing embers. An opening in the hut’s roof created a gentle draft, drawing out the smoke, even as it ushered in fresh air under the edges of the domed shelter.