Legacy of the Blood (The Threshold Trilogy) (35 page)

Adesina
and the others assented immediately.

There
is something more important for you to do, Ma’eve.

She
turned to her guardian and gave him a questioning look.

We
must find a way for you to master your
vyala
once more.

Violent
winds howled relentlessly across Zonne, and the sound echoed in the well-hidden
cave to the east of the Henka camp. The constant noise made Basha feel as
though she was going mad.

She
was in a foul temper, even without the cacophony. She had been holed up with
her two companions for three days now, and there was no end in sight.

How
she hated men.

They
never had anything intelligent to say—least of all these two with her. They had
the most infuriating habits. The festering stench of their overripe bodies
sickened her to the core. And worst of all, they had the tendency to undervalue
her.

Loathsome
creatures.

Normally,
Basha could overlook her extreme distaste for the gender. After all, they did
have their uses. However, she was not accustomed to being trapped in a small
enclosure with them.

The
Zonnese guide had tried to be social for the first few days of their journey,
but her consistently cold manner had soon taught him to keep to himself. He had
assured her that the storms would not be a problem, but he had failed to
mention that they would be spending day after day in a desert cave.

They
had stopped traveling a full day before the storms even arrived because the
next closest cave that could have sheltered them was at too great a distance.
The caves were known only to a handful of guides, and they were always kept
well stocked this time of the year. They had plenty of food and water to wait
out the storms…if Basha didn’t kill them first.

The
L’avan was somewhat better, and yet infinitely worse. He followed Basha’s every
command without question or hesitation. At first she had found this amusing. Now,
it filled her with unreasonable anger.

The
former king did nothing but follow commands.

His
body needed rest when exerted, but his mind did not appear to need sleep. He
simply sat through each night, staring at the ground. He never spoke, he never
changed expression. He was barely more than a living corpse.

Basha
had thought that it would be a great pleasure to exact revenge on Adesina, her
oldest enemy, but the reality of the situation was far from pleasing.

The
L’avan didn’t
know
what was happening. He didn’t know he was a slave to
his precious wife’s nemesis. He didn’t know that he had attacked her with his
own magic. He didn’t know that he traveled toward an end that would destroy
everything his people held dear.

He
simply followed orders.

There
was no guarantee that Adesina knew any of this either.

True,
she knew that Basha had enslaved her husband. That prissy wench
must
have seen her husband’s face when they last met.

Was
that knowledge enough to satisfy Basha’s need for revenge?

No,
she admitted to herself,
it
is not.

What
would grant her that sense of fulfillment?

Basha
cast her icy eyes across the darkened cave. A glow lamp sat in the center of
the room, but it barely gave enough light to keep from stumbling over crates.
The guide reclined in a corner, carefully carving a piece of stone into some
form of tribal art. The L’avan king sat with his back against the far wall, the
wolfish mask covering his empty face.

Certainly
there was nothing in the present that would shift Basha’s temper.

Her
slender fingers began to stroke the spine of the dusty tome at her side. The
binding was made from ancient leather, and it required gentle handling.
Repeating what had become a nightly ritual, Basha opened the large book and
carefully read the pieces of parchment that bore a translation of the faded
text.

The
parchment with filled with the spidery writing of the Shimat scholars. There
were several drawings that illustrated the text, and Basha studied each with
obsessive focus.

The
shape of the lone mountain seemed unique—Basha had never seen a peak quite like
it. The guide told her that the locals called it Daemon Mount, and they swore
that it rose from the very depths of Darkness.

Superstitious
drivel!

The
book wrote of a wall of fire that surrounded the entire mountain. Basha had
asked the guide if that was accurate, but he could not tell her. No Zonnese
ever went within a day of Daemon Mount, for fear of losing their soul.

Basha
snorted to herself in derision.

If
the ancient account could be relied upon, there was a stone bridge that would
lead them over the ring of flames.

From
there, the path would lead through the entrance of a cave and upwards towards
the peak, but there was another way. A secret way.

Basha
traced the faint illustration with the tip of her calloused finger.

The
author of this aged tome had gone to great lengths to discover and document the
secrets of Daemon Mount. What could have driven him to take such pains? Did he
seek power, just as Basha did now?

Given
what she had seen of these naïve Zonnese, the author had probably been on some
sort of fool-headed spiritual journey.

None
of that mattered now.

The
writer of the book was long dead, and his life’s work was now in the hands of
the Shimat—more importantly, in the hands of Basha.

Breyen
had asked her to be the leader of their clandestine group with a promise of
greater power and a speech about the great possibilities of the future. Basha
had no interest in Breyen’s aspirations, nor the ones of the splinter
organization—she had plenty of her own.

First,
she would complete her current task. If Breyen’s theories were correct, this
journey would be the key to immortal life and endless power for Basha. Not only
that, but she would also have the ultimate revenge on her lifelong foe. Adesina
would
know
that Basha was the source of the destruction of everything
she held dear.

A
gruesome smile spread across Basha’s thin lips.

After
that was complete, the real work would begin.

***

L’iam
was disoriented.

Where
was he?

There
was something that he had been trying to do, but now he couldn’t remember.

Was
he looking for something? Or someone?

No,
that was not it. Someone was looking for
him
.

He
closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind. He was becoming more easily
confused these days, and he could not afford to let that happen. He had an
important task that he had to accomplish.

But
what was it?

The
image of his wife’s face floated through his thoughts, and L’iam jolted back to
himself.

Adesina.

Yes,
he remembered now. He had been captured by the Shimat, and he was being taken
into the desert.

He
did not know why he was in a desert, or what evil designs the Shimat had for
him. He only knew that he had to keep fighting his captors with every shred of
willpower he possessed.

More
fragments of memories came back to L’iam and he recalled what he had been
attempting to do.

He
needed to regain control of his body.

Ever
since he had learned of his capture, he had striven to force his mind back into
his body. Repeated efforts had strengthened the connection he was able to
establish. However, it seemed that the more his mind and body linked, the more
disoriented he became.

Why
was that? Did it have something to do with that foul potion he had been forced
to drink?

L’iam
shook his head.

It
didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was taking back control of his body
and finding a way to escape his Shimat captors.

He
had to do that at any cost.

He
had to…

L’iam
slowly opened his eyes and looked around in bewilderment.

Where
was he?

***

The
Master was unhappy.

Maizah
watched Kendan as he busied himself with mending a strap on his boots. His brow
was contracted and his eyes were locked on the piece of leather before him.
Yet, she could tell that his mind was far away.

He
was thinking of
her.

Maizah
knew little of the thing others called “love,” but she was well acquainted with
expressions of longing—every slave arrived with that look on their face, before
the weight of reality carried it away. It was the longing for something that
had been very dear, and was gone forever.

The
Master had that look now.

He
hid it well whenever he thought someone might observe it, but it became clear
when he believed he was alone.

Yet,
Maizah saw it.

She
saw everything, because no one seemed to consider her an observer. Before she
had come to this desert land, she had always kept her eyes to the ground. It
was not wise to see too much.

Now,
that had changed. Ever since she had saved Than’os’s life, something within her
had begun to transform. She felt different, and she saw herself differently.

Now,
her eyes were lifted, and she watched the world around her with fascination.

Mar’sal
was lonely for someone in his homeland. He kept a length of pink ribbon in his
pocket, and he held it in his hand whenever he was not doing something active.

Faryl
would make a discovery about magic, and Than’os would marvel at what she had
learned. Then, when she looked away, he would smile fondly—as if he were
letting her believe that he didn’t already know what she was telling him. Why
would he do something like that?

Ravi
never strayed far from Adesina, but lately he had been closer than before. It
was as if he was afraid she would suddenly disappear somewhere he could not
follow. And Adesina…

Adesina.

A
shadow of fear followed her, like a cloud over the sunshine of her incredible
abilities.

What
was making her so afraid?

No
one else seemed to be consciously aware of the change in their leader, but they
could all sense in the back of their minds that something wasn’t right.

Ravi
appeared to be aware, but he seemed uncertain how to guard her from this unseen
threat.

A
glowing magical bond had been growing between Adesina and Ravi for several days
now, and it grew brighter and stronger with each moment. Maizah did not know
when it began—not while they were in Sehar, that was certain—but she had first
noticed it when they landed in Zonne.

The
Tracker had never seen anything like it, and she did not know what it meant for
the future of their mission. Perhaps she should find a way to communicate what
she was seeing to the Master.

No.

Adesina
was quite capable of informing others of the bond, if she wished for it to be
known.

Maizah
was surprised with herself that she had considered taking matters into her own
hands. If the Masters knew of her thoughts, she would have been whipped for her
insubordination.

Well,
the
other
Masters would have. Not her current Master.

He
was strangely kind to her, and he rarely treated her like a slave at all. In
fact, she often felt that he viewed her more like a favored servant. Maizah had
never known such friendliness before.

Adesina
had mentioned that the group would be given a Henka guide when they left the
encampment after the storms ceased.

What
would that mean for Maizah?

They
already knew their destination, and they had no need for a Tracker anymore.
Would she be sent back to the other Masters?

No,
the Master had said that he was considered a traitor and could never return.
The only other way was to send a message with Maizah’s location and wait for
another Master to retrieve her—which was unlikely, due to the nature of the
mission.

What,
then?

Would
she wait here at the Henka village until they returned for her? Would she be
allowed to follow them, even if she had no other skills to offer? Or maybe…

Maybe
the Master would set her free.

Maizah’s
heart began to race at such an idea. She wasn’t sure if she was feeling fear or
excitement—probably both.

The
Master did not appear to be opposed to the idea of freeing slaves. After all,
he had set Faryl free. Would he be willing to grant her such a marvelous gift?

What
would she do if she had her freedom?

Her
mind spun with all of the possibilities.

Her
parents had been taken from Joura, and they had told her that they still had
family living there. Perhaps she would return to Joura and seek out her living
relatives. After all, it seemed important for others to be connected to family.
Shouldn’t she place the same value on those relations?