Taste of Darkness (An Avry of Kazan Novel - Book 3) (27 page)

He returned and scrubbed.

“What happened to you before you got sick?” I handed the sergeant the drink.

He swept a hand out. “You mean before my whole squad started puking?”

“Yes, Sergeant...”

“Gylon.” He gulped the drink then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Nothing happened. We were out on patrol and didn’t encounter the enemy.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“We helped that guy out, remember, Sarge?” another man lying nearby asked.

“Oh, yeah. The man’s wagon wheel had broken and we helped fix it. No biggie,” Gylon said.

“Are you sure we fixed it?” A private pushed up on her elbow. “I don’t recall that.”

“That’s ’cause you took rear guard, Tyra, watching our backs,” yet another soldier added.

She frowned. “And I thought I saw...something before getting stung by a bee.”

A few of the others piped up. “I was stung.”

“Me, too.”

“Must have disturbed a nest.”

“Stung? Are you sure?” I asked Tyra.

Tyra pointed to her neck. I examined the area. A tiny red puncture marked her skin. Not a bee sting, but evidence that she’d been hit by a dart. I checked the others. All had puncture wounds. The squad had been ambushed and didn’t even know it.

“Where were you?” I asked.

“South,” Sergeant Gylon said. “Prince Ryne wanted us to sweep the area to ensure no one tried to get in behind Grzebien.”

My panic boiled up my throat. “How far?”

“Two days, but with everyone so sick, it took us twice as long to get here.”

The Skeleton King had been two days south of us four days ago. Bad, very bad.

Even worse, he had a powerful weapon. The new plague.

KERRICK

On his knees, Kerrick leaned against the back of the jailhouse. He held the hem of his shirt over his nose and mouth, taking deep breaths. The image of the cook butchering two men seared into his mind while the acid from his stomach burned up his throat. His body shook as he fought the desire to retch. The Skeleton King and his army ate their victims. Horror mixed with revulsion, and he lost the battle and dry heaved over the grass.

More howling pierced the air, along with a set of rapid drumbeats. The bonfire sizzled and Kerrick wondered if the two bowls of blood the king had collected from the victims had been tossed into the flames. Kerrick sank back onto his heels and covered his mouth again, blocking the foul odor of burned flesh.

When he’d regained his composure, he peered around the corner of the building. He eyed the spits of meat over the coals. How many people had they killed? Was Belen one of them?
Not going there.

He locked his emotions away. At this point, second-guessing would be a waste of time. Kerrick reviewed the facts. The victims had been taken from the jailhouse, so there must be more locked inside. And he had to rescue them. Tonight.

He crept around the side, searching for the window they’d used to rescue Avry a little over a year ago. Almost at ground level, it had been boarded up, which meant the iron bars hadn’t been replaced.
First thing to go right all night.

Now the hard part. Should he wait until the army settled down for the night or do it now while they were preoccupied? The prison cells had been built belowground. The prisoners would need help climbing out the window. Kerrick scanned the area. Ivy grew on the pasture fence and jailhouse walls. Another chant started. Would the Skeleton King return for more victims? He couldn’t bear for anyone else to die.

A plan formed. Kerrick pressed his palm to the ground. He concentrated on Flea and Huxley. They remained where he’d left them. Closing his eyes, Kerrick envisioned his location and his need, hoping one or both of them would pick up on his silent message.

Huxley pawed the ground and then started in Kerrick’s direction. Soon after, Flea followed. Good.

While he waited for them, Kerrick worked on the boards, prying them loose with his dagger every time the chanting and howling grew loud enough to cover the noise. He’d gotten a couple free when he sensed Huxley nearby. They had reached the edge of the forest behind the jailhouse. Kerrick joined them, turning back to normal.

“This is beyond creepy,” Flea said when he appeared. “What’s with the noise, the awful smell, and that howling?” he asked in an urgent whisper.

“Later. First we need to rescue—”

“Belen? Is he in there?” Flea pointed to the jailhouse.

“I hope. Do you remember how we rescued Avry last year?”

“Yes, but Loren—”

“I’ve a substitute for your leg holders.”

Flea glanced at Huxley. “Won’t he be too noticeable?”

“He’s staying here. Don’t worry. I’ve a plan.”

“And the distraction?”

“With all that noise, I’m hoping we don’t need one.”

“Lots of hoping going on here, Kerrick.”

“We’ve had flimsier plans.”

Flea grinned. “True. Lead on before they stop.”

They returned to the window and finished pulling off the boards, exposing the stumps of the bars that had been left when they’d used Quain’s lightning juice to cut through them. Kerrick then concentrated on the ivy growing on the fence, encouraging it to weave into a ladder and elongate. It resisted, but he pushed through its reluctance. The effort sapped him and he needed a boost of energy from Flea. Once he recovered, Kerrick dropped the ivy ladder into the cell and then wiggled through the tight opening.

“Stay here,” he instructed Flea. “The prisoners can climb up the ladder. You need to help them out and direct them to Huxley.”

“Okay.”

Kerrick descended. At the bottom he stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the semidarkness. Even with the ivy hanging next to him, he felt the strong tug from the forest and combined with the energy he needed to maintain a normal appearance, he had to be careful not to drain all his strength.

Now accustomed to the dim light, he glanced around. No surprise this cell was empty. But men and women stared at him from its neighbors.

“Who—”

He put a finger to his lips. “I’m here to help you escape.” Kerrick kept his voice low. “It’s very important that you keep quiet and follow my instructions. All right?”

They nodded. Kerrick pulled out his lock picks and went to work. He unlocked the closest cell and showed them the ladder. While they took turns, he unlocked the other cells and searched for Belen. Three to five people shared each cell. No Belen. Grief and frustration mixed into a tight ball in the pit of his stomach.

He asked the others about Belen. “He’s a big guy, black hair, looks like a bear,” Kerrick whispered.

Most didn’t answer, but one woman said, “He’s down below. He fought the guards and gave them such a hard time, they locked him in the pit. Poor guy hasn’t had any food or water in days.”

After all the cells had been opened, Kerrick found the hatch to the pit. It’d been bolted to the floor and secured with a thick lock that shone—brand-new. He cursed under his breath. Inserting his tension wrench and diamond pick, Kerrick wished for Quain’s lightning juice. This wouldn’t be easy. He worked on the lock until his fingers cramped. His energy dipped.

“They’re all out,” Flea said. “Fifteen total.”

Kerrick strode to the window. “Lead them to Mom’s.”

“But—”

“Go.”

But instead of obeying him, Flea climbed through the window and dropped down beside him. “How can I help?”

“You can’t.” Biting down on his anger, Kerrick turned and resumed his efforts to pop the complex lock. Sweat soaked his shirt and stung his eyes. His fingers slipped on the pick and he clamped down on a growl of frustration.

Flea tapped him on the shoulder. “Company.”

The clang of a door echoed. Flea gripped the hilt of his sword, but Kerrick stopped him.

“A dagger’s better for an ambush.” Kerrick stood and drew his blade. He motioned for Flea to stand to the right of the main door, while he stepped to the left. He’d been wrong. Flea could help.

They waited. The jailhouse had two sets of heavy double doors from the processing area to the cells. Metal screeched as the second set was unlocked. A beam of lantern light sliced the darkness, then grew wider as the doors swung open.

Kerrick didn’t hesitate. “Now!” he shouted then grabbed the closest guard and spun him, ramming his head into the wall. The man crumpled in a heap.

He turned. Flea struggled with two men. Kerrick pulled one off the boy and slit the guard’s throat. Two more guards rushed into the fray, armed with swords and prepared for a fight. Kerrick discovered that bone armor was quite effective against his dagger. And their sharp rapiers snaked in past his defenses, finding flesh.

Kerrick drew his dadao sword. Even though he didn’t have much room to swing, he hoped the thick curved blade would intimidate them. Aside from a brief pause, it failed to impress them.

They pressed their advantage and Kerrick retreated. Soon his back hit bars. He was trapped and near the end of his energy. Flea made a strangled cry. Kerrick dropped his normal camouflage and increased his attacks, hoping to slip past them. Besides a grunt of surprise, the two men kept lunging with their thinner weapons. Fighting in tight quarters against two, Kerrick knew it was just a matter of time.

Another cry sounded and then the guard on the right jerked and toppled. His partner turned and Flea touched the man’s face. He froze and fell back.

Flea clutched his stomach, looking queasy.

Kerrick sheathed his sword and put a hand on Flea’s shoulder. “Keep it together, Flea. There might be more.”

Flea drew in a deep breath and straightened.

“Good. Watch for reinforcements.” He checked the guards’ pockets, searching for keys, and found a ring of them. Sorting through them, he isolated a large silver one that shone as if new. Kerrick returned to the pit’s lock and opened it.

Excited, he threw the bolt and opened the hatch. Two giant hands reached up and wrapped around his neck, yanking him into the blackness.

CHAPTER 17

Danny returned with Odd on his heels. I intercepted Odd at the door.

“What’s wrong?” Odd asked.

I explained.

His face paled. “Are you sure?”

I showed him Gylon’s tattoo. The sergeant cursed after learning of his new decoration, but hadn’t put all the pieces together yet. The Skeleton King’s troops had ambushed Gylon’s squad and infected them with the new plague.

“How close?” Odd asked.

“Two days south, but that was four days ago.”

Now it was Odd’s turn to curse. He bolted from the cavern to send a messenger to Ryne. Would it reach him in time?

Sergeant Gylon wanted to go with him. “I’m feeling better,” he protested when I refused to let him leave.

“That’s because of the fever powder. Rest now, you’ll need your strength for later.” Covering him with his blanket, I tucked him in. “Is your entire squad here? All ten?”

“Yeah.” Grief filled his eyes as he realized their fates matched his own.

I squeezed his hand. His squad was still in shock over getting the bad news that they had, at most, six days to live. Once the reality sunk in, it was going to be rough. Their reactions would run the gamut from denial, anger, and grief to pleading, bargaining, and bribing me to save their lives. Some would hit all the emotions, others only a few and one or two would not say a word, keeping it all bottled inside. I suspected Sergeant Gylon would remain stoic to help his squad.

Checking on the others, I asked them to show me their backs. Everyone had a Skeleton King tattoo.

“What does it mean?” Private Tyra asked.

The other members of their squad peered at me. It meant the Skeleton King might be right outside the infirmary, and he was the one infecting our soldiers with the new plague.

Instead of upsetting the squad further, I said, “It’s a taunt from the enemy.” Then I settled them for the night, dispensing fever powder.

When I finished, I scrubbed my hands and found Odd arguing with Lieutenant Macon.

“...should confirm their position before sending Prince Ryne a message,” Odd said.

“It’s been four days, they could be at our doorstep, I’ll need the extra manpower if they attack,” Macon said.

“Then we’ll do a short sweep,” Odd said. “Avry, what do you think? Did Gylon’s squad have any more information?”

“Send a message to Ryne right away. Tell him that the Skeleton King has access to the plague virus and his troops are south of the infirmary,” I said.

“How far?” Odd asked me.

“We can’t waste the time finding out. He needs to know they’re there. Last time I talked to him he was getting reports that the Skeleton King had invaded Sectven.”

“All right.” Odd rushed off to send a message.

“Do you think he’ll attack us?” Macon asked.

Answering Macon’s question, I said, “Yes.”

“What about a short sweep?” Odd asked me, returning.

“No.”

“Why not? We need more information.”

“Because they’re armed with darts filled with the new plague and have been busy using them. Do you want to join the others who are dying in the infirmary?”

“No.” Odd scratched his chin. “How did the Skeleton King get the plague virus?”

“From Tohon, but I’ve no idea if he stole it or if Cellina gave it to him. If she did, it means they’ve teamed up.” A horrible prospect.

“Why team up? With the ability to spread the plague to her enemies, she could infect the Skeleton King’s entire army.”

“Perhaps she’s too squeamish to engage in biological warfare. Maybe they worked out a treaty. Does it matter? He has it and it’s an effective way to win a war.”

“But it’s risky. Even though you said this new strain has to be injected, what’s to stop us from...” he gestured to the patients “...collecting their blood or spit or whatever and using it to infect his army?”

I stared at him in amazement.

He held out his hands as if in surrender. “What did I say?”

“Odd. You. Are. A. Genius!” I hugged him and kissed him on the cheek.

“I am?”

“Yes. Danny,” I yelled. “Grab a couple syringes and come with me.”

“Okay.” Danny rushed over to the supplies.

“What did I say?” Odd repeated.

“I’ll explain later.”

I hurried to the stage-three patients with Danny right behind me.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“They’re suffering from the new plague. The one that has to be injected.”

“Yeah, we know that.”

“It’s the same one Prince Ryne had.”

“So?”

I stopped just inside the cavern. “So I survived the new plague.”

“Didn’t the Peace Lily save you?”

“After I died.”

“Uh, Avry, dying is the opposite of surviving.”

I waved his comment away. “Technically it was the combination of the serum and Kerrick’s magic touch that brought me back.”

“Still not following you,” Danny said.

“I might have built up a resistance to the plague. Like after you get the stuttering cough once, you never get it again? The Healer’s Guild had been doing research on the reasons for that before the plague.”

“Oh, yeah, you mentioned it in your journal. Do you think this is the same?”

“It might be. I’d assumed the reason I couldn’t heal Yuri of the plague was because of the Peace Lily serum in me, but what if it was something else? Isn’t it at least worth a try?”

“I guess. What do we have to do?”

“Help me draw my blood,” I said, gesturing to the syringes in his hand.

“Oh.”

Together we managed to get one vial full of my blood. I strode over to Sergeant Phelix, my sickest patient. I’d ask him for his permission, but he only had hours to live and was incoherent.

“But what if your blood kills him? Don’t you still have Peace Lily serum in you?” Danny asked.

“As long as we don’t touch him, he won’t become like Yuri.” I pushed Phelix’s sleeve up past his elbow, found the vein and injected my blood into him.

After a few moments, Danny asked, “How long until we know if it worked or not?”

“If he lives until tomorrow, we’ll know it worked.”

“I really hope he lives.”

“Me, too.” I checked on the others. They should last long enough for the results of my experiment. “Go to sleep, Danny, I’ll wake you if anything happens.”

He nodded, washed his hands, and left.

I kept vigil, sitting next to Phelix. My thoughts turned to the Skeleton King. Despite what I’d said earlier, it did matter how he’d gotten the plague. If he teamed up with Cellina, could Ryne’s army stop them? Between the sheer number of enemy attackers and the plague, we didn’t stand a chance.

My dire thoughts caused my temples to pound. I rested my aching head on the edge of Phelix’s cot. My stomach grumbled, complaining that I’d forgotten to eat. I’d been so excited about the possible cure—please work! If I believed in the creator, I’d be praying for success. Instead, I dozed.

“Do you really think this one is going to work?” Tohon asked. “The last experiment you tried didn’t go well for you, did it?”

We sat at the glass table in his forever garden again, drinking tea as if we were old friends.

“We’re more than friends, my dear. Our connection runs deep.” He leered.

Ignoring his comment, I said, “If Phelix dies, I’m not going to touch him and create another dead soldier.”

“Whyever not? He’s more useful that way. He can’t help anyone while rotting in the ground. You’re wasting resources.”

“Practical and horrific. Hard to believe you’re still single.”

“Cute. But I’m sure your Prince Ryne considered the very same thing before his sudden windfall of personnel.”

I’d like to argue with Tohon, but Ryne had brought Yuri to HQ and said Flea’s help was vital. I swirled the tea in my cup. The brown liquid spun, forming a dip in the center.

“What? No snarky reply? My, my, something must be bothering you, my dear. Perhaps I can help.”

I almost laughed. Almost. Many uncomplimentary words described Tohon, but the man was intelligent. “Maybe you can. Would Cellina make an alliance with the Skeleton King?”

“It depends on what he offers her. She has plenty of soldiers, but it is harder to fight on two fronts. Better to join forces until the bigger threat is taken care of. I’d use him until he no longer served my purposes.”

“You’d break a treaty?”

“Of course. I don’t want to share power, my dear.”

But would Cellina be that ruthless? This was the same woman who couldn’t kill Kerrick. She risked her life lying to Tohon so he’d believe Kerrick was dead. I didn’t know her that well, but from our encounters, the whole biological warfare and teaming up with the Skeleton King didn’t seem like Cellina’s style. If she wasn’t the one making alliances and spreading the plague, then who else had access to Tohon’s research and supplies? Sepp!

Except he worked for Cellina. Or did he? He was a powerful death magician with an ego to match. Perhaps he called the shots. That fit better with the plague attacks.

“It’s a pleasure to watch you puzzle things out, my dear.”

“But it doesn’t help our current situation.”

“I disagree. Knowing your enemy is very important. And I’m surprised your Prince Ryne hasn’t figured it out yet. Unless he has....”

Once again, Tohon took the cheap shot, dredging my subconscious to bring forth all my fears.

“You should trust your instincts, Avry. Except the one to sacrifice your life for another. That one you should ignore. But for all the others, there’s a reason you have those fears. Call it experience, observation, or just a gut feeling—you shouldn’t discount them.”

Advice from a psychotic megalomaniac. Wonderful.

“An
intelligent
psychotic megalomaniac. Big difference.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

“You do know how ridiculous that is? I’m in your mind and you’re in mine. You can do it, too, you just choose not to.”

“I’m not brave enough to taste your special kind of darkness.”

“What you see is what you get, my dear.” He stretched his arms wide. “Aside from underestimating you, I’ve no regrets and no guilt. All I’ve done has been with the purest intentions to unite the Fifteen Realms. I didn’t create the plague, just capitalized on its existence.”

It was pointless to argue with him. Instead, I tested his I’m-an-open-book claim. “Tell me what happened to Belen. Is he one of the dead soldiers?”

“Ah, Belen. I intercepted a message about him.”

“And?” Concentrating on his thoughts, I sought the truth.

“And he—”

“Avry, wake up,” Danny said. “Sergeant Phelix is still alive!”

Jolted from my dream, I sat up. So close. Another minute and I’d have found out what happened to Belen.

“Avry? Hello?” Danny waved his hands in front of my face. “Sergeant Phelix?”

“Sorry.” I turned my attention to Phelix, pressing my fingers to his throat. A faint pulse throbbed. But more important, my magic sensed his symptoms had lessened.

My sleep fog disappeared in a snap as I realized what it meant. I hopped to my feet and grabbed Danny’s arms.

We jumped up and down like fools, shouting, “It worked! It worked! It worked!” at the top of our lungs.

“What worked?” Loren asked. He stood in the entrance with Quain and Odd. Swords drawn, half-dressed and barefoot, the three appeared to have been roused from their beds.

“We found a cure for the plague,” I cried.

“
You
found a cure,” Danny said. “I just helped.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Odd.” I grinned at him.

“Me? What did I do?” he asked.

I explained about how Odd’s comment sparked the idea to use my blood as I picked up the clean syringe. Danny helped me fill it with my blood and I injected it into another patient.

When I finished my explanation, all three of them had huge silly smiles.

“Danny, can you get me two more syringes? I’ll finish with the stage-three patients and then move on to stage two.”

After I’d injected the remaining patients, I gave the syringes to Danny. “Ask Ginger to sterilize them, please. And bring me more.”

“Will do.” He snapped a salute and shot out the door.

“This calls for a celebration,” Quain said. “I’ve some whiskey I’ve been saving.”

“With breakfast?” Loren asked.

“
As
breakfast. This stuff’s so good, you don’t want to ruin it with anything else.”

“How about later? After I heal...” The room spun. I reached for the wall and missed.

Odd grabbed my elbow, steadying me. “When’s the last time you ate?” he asked.

“Uh...”

“That’s what I thought. Blood loss and no food is a dangerous combination.”

“Uh...”

He tsked. “And the injustice of it is that you would yell at us for not taking care of ourselves, yet you can abuse your body without anyone giving you grief.”

“Technically, you’re giving her grief right now,” Quain said.

“But it doesn’t work. She won’t listen to me.”

“Don’t feel bad, she doesn’t listen to
anyone,
” Loren said.

“Hey! I’m standing right here.”

“No, you’re swaying.” Odd tightened his grip. “Come on. Food first, then sleep, and then you can go back to work.” He guided me from the cavern.

“Good luck with that,” Quain muttered.

Our happy party settled around the fire. A few of my caregivers checked patients, but otherwise the main area was empty at this early hour. Odd insisted on fetching me a bowl of oatmeal and a handful of apple slices. It didn’t take me long to devour them. The others wished to spread the news of the cure, but I asked them to wait. It might not work for everyone and Phelix might have a relapse. Despite my initial excitement, there were too many unknowns at this time. Plus I didn’t need the news to reach our enemies.

“If you wanted to keep it a secret, maybe you shouldn’t have screamed ‘it worked’ at the top of your lungs,” Quain teased.