“I’m hot…and thirsty,” Steldor groaned, sweat dampening his brow.
At Galen’s glance, I went for water, leaving without pause to do so a second time, for Steldor gulped the first cupful down. He likewise drained the second, but Galen motioned to me to leave the mug empty. The sergeant was trying to pace him—he was obviously parched, and a rush to his system could have a negative effect—but Steldor’s eagerness for the drink was making it difficult.
There was a silence, and I gave the two men space, going to retrieve some wood in preparation for restarting the fire, but still I heard Steldor’s scratchy voice when next he spoke.
“It’s not good, is it?”
Galen’s reply was convincingly nonchalant. “I’ve seen worse.”
“Yes—on a dead man.”
Galen averted his eyes for a moment before giving reply. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, either.”
Steldor gave a wry laugh. “Would you mind telling me what I am allowed to do?”
Galen couldn’t suppress a smirk, though it was laced with sadness, as he recognized the beginning of one of their classic bickering contests.
“Sure—you can shut your trap.”
Steldor was smirking, too, then he grimaced, arching his back as unexpected pain shot through him, and new drops of sweat materialized on his forehead.
“Steldor—” Galen started, humor lost, reaching toward him with undetermined intent. Steldor smacked his hand away with as much vigor as he could muster.
“No,” he growled, gritting his teeth. “Ignore it. I don’t want to think about it.”
Galen nodded, though he looked uneasy. “Just tell me what to do,” he said in a small voice.
“Tell me to shut my trap again.”
Understanding his friend’s desire for normalcy, Galen did as he was told, and eventually the lighter, nostalgic atmosphere was restored. I listened as they traded stories, much as Miranna and I had done not long ago, except that for my sister and me, there was still the opportunity to create new ones. The moment his fever spiked again, Steldor would be lost to us, and it was no secret he might not return. These two young men, bonded like brothers, were remembering now, so Galen would not forget when they were separated permanently.
“Steldor?” Galen said urgently, and my eyes flew to the two of them. The sergeant was on his knees, leaning over Steldor, clutching a handful of his friend’s hair and shaking his head none too gently. Tripping over myself to reach them, I realized Steldor had slipped into unconsciousness, almost without warning. In response to Galen’s efforts, the King came awake once more, but he was mumbling, his words failing to flow together in a comprehensible fashion.
“Steldor!” Galen yelled, and I stood helplessly by as my husband struggled to focus, only to push at his friend, rejecting his nearness as the infection once more fed his fever.
Galen’s shout roused the captain, and he came to his feet as the sergeant’s chin dropped to his chest in anguished defeat. As Cannan drew near, Galen jumped up. He pivoted, slamming his open hand against the rock wall with a choking scream that comprised so many emotions I could only guess at them all—anger, helplessness, despair, fear, sorrow.
Cannan was there to catch him when Galen slid to the floor, going down to his knees to pull the sobbing young man against his chest in a fierce embrace. My throat tightened, and I could feel hot tears on my cheeks, but somehow Cannan did not let go of his feelings, did not succumb to the agony that was surely tearing him to pieces. Stoic as ever, he simply held Galen; even when the younger man’s crying had at long last died away, he stayed in place, not saying a word, continuing to console his second son within his strong arms. Feeling like an intruder, I went to fill a pail with water for use in cooking, trying to give Galen and Cannan as much privacy as I could in our cramped living space.
I returned to the fire pit, and Miranna came to assist me in preparing food. Not exactly certain of what I was doing, I began to concoct a venison stew, believing that it would at least be better than gruel. As I added ingredients, subdued voices reached my ears. Galen was sitting up, his face still tearstained, and the two men were talking by Steldor’s side. I didn’t try to listen. By the time I was finished, they had come to their feet, and Cannan was giving Galen one final pat on the back as the sergeant left to replace London on watch.
The day dragged on, and with it raged Steldor’s fever. I tended the fire and kept food ready, as the men would eat at odd times depending on when they came and went on guard duty. Temerson continued to care for Miranna, the two seeming content just to be with each other.
London and Cannan were once more dousing Steldor with cold water from gathered snow, drenching his hair and every inch of his exposed flesh, but still the fever would not abate. I was sure London would have taken him outside into the perpetual cold if it had been safe to move him, but the risk was too great that he would be reinjured in the process—if, I thought morosely, such a thing were even worth worrying about now.
London and Cannan tried frequently to make Steldor drink through his delirium, but success did not come often. Still, their efforts were essential; at the rate he was sweating, the more water they could force him to consume, the better. Night arrived a heavy burden, and I did not welcome the sleep that threatened to crush me.
“Someone’s coming!”
Galen was breathless as he hurtled through the cave entrance, jolting me awake with his words. Darkness was still upon us, and as I looked around in the glow from the fire, I saw that Temerson, like me, had sat bolt upright. London had jumped to his feet and was strapping on his weapons, and Cannan had left Steldor’s side to go to the sergeant. Miranna stirred, but Temerson laid a hand on her shoulder, soothing her back into her dreams.
“Cokyrian?” Cannan demanded, as I also scrambled to my feet.
“I couldn’t tell,” Galen replied. “It’s too dark. I barely saw him moving.”
“You weren’t seen?” It was London this time who spoke.
Galen shook his head. “But whoever it is, he’s headed this way, like he knows exactly where he’s going.”
“Stay here, both of you,” London instructed, accepting Galen’s assertion without comment. “If someone is coming, you’ll want to give him a healthy reception.”
London was on his way to retrieve additional weapons from near his pack, and for once, Cannan did not bristle at his commanding air. Then I saw that the captain’s eyes were on Steldor’s restive form and understood the reason he had no objection to his Elite Guard’s decision to be the one to leave.
“I’ll find out what I can,” London finished, walking back toward the other men with his bow in hand, slinging a quiver of arrows across his back.
He went out to find this potential enemy, dousing the torch near the cave entrance, leaving us with the light of the flickering fire and the torch that burned near Steldor to provide some comfort. I frantically tried to think how we would manage if we had to flee. Steldor would have to be carried, for which we would need two men, and Miranna and Temerson would have to be shepherded, likely by me. And what if London didn’t return? Who would be left to protect us as we moved? And to where could we move?
I understood from Cannan’s and Galen’s conduct that if we found it necessary to run, we would leave almost everything behind. They were readying nothing for travel and were talking in hushed voices to one another, though I did hear Galen assert several times that he had only seen one person. Overcoming just one person would not be difficult, nor would it compromise our position. Then again, there was always the risk that the person could be a scout for a larger group.
Despite all this, I could not afford to panic as Cannan came to urge Temerson to his feet, placing a sword in his hand just as Miranna came fully awake. He motioned to me, telling me to keep my sister quiet. The captain then went to the cave mouth to keep watch, leaving Galen to monitor Steldor.
Not a word wa
s spoken as we waited, the only sounds the trickling of the stream into the pool, our ragged breathing and an occasional moan from my husband, which I suspected Galen was prepared to stifle with his hand if necessary. Miranna had buried herself under my arm, whimpering every so often, and each time she did, Galen’s eyes would flash a warning in my direction, though there was little I could do to stop her.
Minutes crawled by, then a call reached our ears, like a bird but louder, but not the call of any bird with which I was familiar. Cannan stepped back into sight to shoot a puzzled look at Galen, whose return shrug confirmed that something strange was happening.
Galen stood and approached Cannan, and I wondered what they knew that I did not. What was it they suspected? A creature? Cokyrians signaling each other? Had the call perhaps come from London, and they were deciding whether or not to answer it? But no measures were taken. They continued to listen, until the call repeated itself, slightly different this time.
“That’s London,” Cannan muttered with certainty. “Wait,” he said sharply as Galen opened his mouth to reply.
I had the impression the captain was counting the seconds as they slipped by, then the original call sounded again, apparently precisely when he’d expected it.
“It’s one of our men,” he pronounced.
“It can’t be!” Galen exclaimed. “Temerson said they all died except for—”
“It’s one of our men. I don’t know who, but he’s one of us.”
Galen seemed to want a better answer. He did not have long to wait. Noises from outside a mere ten minutes later announced London’s return, and he and another stepped into the shadows of the entrance. The light that dimly illuminated our end of the cave eerily fell on London as they came toward us, then Halias stepped up beside him, looking as though he’d been through hell.
Jaws dropped as much at the state of him as at his unexpected coming, for he was gaunt and his blue eyes were strangely vacant. His clothing was a mess, rumpled and torn and dirty, and the left shoulder of his shirt was soaked with blood. The long blond hair he had always pulled back and casually tied at the base of his neck had been cut, hanging at irregular lengths along his jawline. I wondered if he had done it himself with the same mind-set that had possessed me, or if the Cokyrians had for some reason hacked it off. It didn’t really matter—what mattered was the glaring truth that a few meager days in the Overlord’s hands could so transform a person.
Miranna was shaking but had not raised her head. It was just as well, as I doubted she would have recognized her bodyguard in his present condition. I tried not to move or give her any indication that it was safe to emerge from my embrace, but then Temerson made eye contact with me, kneeling to take my place and pulling her into his arms instead.
“I’m fine,” Halias muttered, in response to our stupefied stares. “Did everyone else make it here safely?”
“Davan fell,” Cannan answered, avoiding any uncertainty on the issue, though his tone did contain the proper respect for the dead. “Steldor is wounded, but the rest of us made it unscathed.”
I had moved in front of the fire pit, close enough to see Halias’s forehead crease with concern as his gaze fell upon the King. He was experienced enough to know from a glance that Steldor’s injury was not minor.
“Will he recover?”
Cannan took a moment, his jaw tightening as he looked away.
“I don’t think so,” he said, candidly enough, though his voice was rough with emotion.
Halias nodded, his eyes meeting the captain’s, then the men moved to congregate around the fire, sitting on the rocks we were using as stools. I went to stir the venison stew that we had kept warm, for our new arrival was obviously in need of a lot of things, including food. Halias motioned to London, indicating his shoulder as he pulled off his shirt to reveal an ugly gash. London went for medical supplies, setting to work the moment he returned, cleansing the wound with alcohol in preparation for stitching. Trying my best not to pay attention to what London was doing, I ladled some stew into a bowl and brought it to Halias, who ate hungrily. Then the inevitable questioning began.
“We found Temerson in the forest,” Cannan began, his voice as hard and cold as steel. “He told us what happened in Hytanica, how the Overlord took you, Destari and Casimir, killing the rest of our officers. How did you escape?”
“I’ll explain,” Halias said, his voice tight and his eyes downcast, and I sat near London, needing to know, yet afraid of what I might hear.
“He tortured us individually at first,” Halias said, raising his head and breaking the eerie silence with a statement devoid of cushioning. “I don’t know for how long. I could hear the others when he…” He cleared his throat. “He wanted to know where the royal family was, but his chosen method wasn’t delivering, so he brought us all together. He picked Casimir to torment in front of Destari and me.”
Halias was trembling, fury and horror clear on his face, and London’s hands froze over the wound he was supposed to be closing, pinching the needle much tighter than was necessary. Cannan watched Halias, silently commanding him to continue, and I wondered if he was fighting back the same sick feeling that twisted my stomach.
“We didn’t tell him anything,” Halias resumed, wincing as London remembered what he was doing and pushed the needle through. “And neither did Casimir. He would not have wanted us to give you up to save his life. We all swore an oath to die in defense of the King and Queen, and Casimir…he fulfilled that oath.” His eyes found Cannan’s as he added, “You would have been proud of him, sir.”
With a heavy breath, he pressed on. “The Overlord reverted to his first approach, but my cell door was not closed properly when I was returned to the dungeon, and I was able to break out. He thought I would not realize he had allowed me to escape, and that I would run to this hiding place. I took the bait, but not unwittingly, and led his trackers in circles until I could double back and kill them. There were only two—it was not hard. Only then did I come here.”
“Destari?” London asked, apprehension in his tone.
Halias shrugged, apologetic and somber, grimacing as the movement irritated his shoulder.
“There was no way for me to get him out—the Overlord made sure of that. He could still be imprisoned, undergoing torture. If there is a kind God, he is dead. No matter what, he has not revealed this location.”
The silence was dense. London had finished his work, and now his hands were white-knuckled fists at his sides. The fire was back in Cannan’s dark eyes, and Galen, fidgeting, finally stood, muttering that he would take guard, although I suspected his willingness to volunteer was motivated by the same desire to be alone that he had earlier exhibited.
“Galen, wait.” It was London who spoke, his jaw set. “Get anything you’ll need. We’re leaving, now.”
“What?” Galen said, stopping in his tracks. “What are you talking about?”
Everyone stared in confusion at the silver-haired deputy captain as he turned to Cannan.
“One good thing has come of this—Halias is in our midst, giving us another man. We’re not as crippled as we were.”
“What are you thinking?” the captain asked, brow furrowed.
“It occurred to me last night, but I knew we did not have enough men to act,” London explained, rising to his feet as his fervor grew. “The Overlord and Narian are in Hytanica, along with countless Cokyrian troops, leaving their home city less well guarded than is usually the case—more susceptible to infiltration than I gamble they realize.”
“You’re not suggesting we attempt a conquest, are you?” Galen interjected, his heavy sarcasm earning a scowl from my former bodyguard.
“Of course not. I’m suggesting—” London paused, his eyebrow arching “—we attempt an abduction.”
Cannan caught up before the rest of us.
“The High Priestess.”
It was brilliant, really. Halias and Cannan could protect us, while Galen and London journeyed
to Cokyri. Halias seemed certain that the High Priestess had not been present in our homeland, and we had London’s knowledge of the Cokyrian city. He also knew something about the layout of the High Priestess’s temple from his time as a prisoner there.
As London was insistent that no time be wasted, he and Galen readied themselves for departure. This made me uncomfortable. Wouldn’t it be better to allow Halias at least one night to recover? Wouldn’t it be better and easier to travel in daylight? But I couldn’t imagine these things had not occurred to London. Perhaps he had some vain hope that, if he moved fast enough, he could secure Destari’s release by the ransom we would pose to the Overlord.
Cannan took guard duty, appreciating Halias’s need for rest and probably also aware on some level that the time would come when he would no longer want to leave his son’s side. I caught Halias staring at Steldor, no doubt having the same thoughts, then London stepped up beside him, extending a clean shirt.
“I need to talk to you for a moment.”
He was already prepared for the journey, a lightweight pack slung over his back and multiple weapons tucked on his person. Halias stood, pulling on the shirt, and the two of them stepped farther away from Galen, which out of necessity brought them closer to me. Very few words passed between them, but each one hit me like a heavy blow.
“When Steldor dies, we’re going to lose the captain.”
Halias did not respond, his silence acknowledgment enough.
“I will try to be back before that time, but if I am not… You’ll have to watch him. I don’t trust he’ll remember the value of his own life.”
“Can I make use of the boy?” Halias asked, nodding toward Temerson.
“I think so,” London said, trying to shrug off some of the weight of his last statement. “He’s been coming around. I think he’s stronger than he appears. And Alera can be used for certain things. She’s more capable than you’d expect.”