Blood of the Guardian (21 page)

After he cleaned his plate, he leaned back; the cage jostled with each bump and stone. Thick fog covered his mind, and he wondered if his food had been poisoned like the drink in his room. His answer came as the heavy feeling of drugs clouded over his thoughts.

***

He woke, his head aching. The angle of the sun shone well past midday. He glanced over, expecting to see the ring of cages once again. But instead, they’d lined up his cage with the others from end to end.

“He’s awake,” a female voice said.

The four-armed woman stared at him. Arranged like a formal sitting room—apart from the bars on all four sides—her cage held a comfortable chair in one corner, and a colorful rug lay on the clean floor. She sat in her chair; her skirts were short, showing nearly the entirety of her legs. One set of her arms rested on the arms of the chair, the other pair arranged her graying hair.

“What are you supposed to be?” she asked. “A strong man? You
look
the part of a strong man, but you don’t act so very strong. And you’re not deformed.”

Nolan examined himself, sucking in a breath when he caught sight of his clothes. He’d been stripped and wore only a piece of cloth covering both sides of his private regions, much like the Talasian warriors. It was more revealing than the blanket. Who’d dressed him? And when?

He stood on unsteady feet as his head throbbed. He almost instinctively grabbed the bars of his cage but stopped his hand inches from touching it.

The woman whistled. “You are a big boy, aren’t you? I can see why they brought you here.
I
would pay to see you.”

“Leave him be, Morna,” a voice said.

Nolan turned and saw the Guardian standing in the neighboring cage.

“Hideous, isn’t he?” Morna said with a chuckle. “He always attracts a good crowd. No wonder Jezebelle put you next to him—to give them something pretty to look at next to the ugliness.”

The Guardian had bronze, straight hair that ran halfway down his back. His square jaw had no facial hair at all, like his fellow Guardian counterparts. And his white-orbed eyes continued to examine Nolan. Wearing the same skimpy loincloth, the Guardian’s golden armor was gone. He’d never seen a Guardian without their armor. It made Nolan’s defined muscles look small in comparison. The Guardian’s skin glowed, even in the light of the sun. Magnificent, not ugly at all.

Nolan stepped toward him, getting as close to the bars as he dared. Only two arm lengths separated their cages. Nolan met his eyes and said softly, “I see you, Guardian.”

The Guardian’s stony expression dropped, shock smacking him across the face. His arms dropped from the bars, and he took several steps back.

“All right, my creatures.” Jezebelle appeared in front of the cages, jumping on a tree stump and facing them. “We’ll have a good crowd tonight. Remember … behave. Do your part, and there might be something extra for you come morning.”

Jezebelle jumped from the stump and sauntered to Nolan’s cage, a confident strut in her step. She stopped in front of him, displaying pristine, white teeth.

“I’ll kill you for this,” Nolan said, his threat pathetic. They both knew he wasn’t going anywhere soon.

She laughed. “Will you, Emissary? What do you think of your cage? We were told it could hold even a Strength Rol’dan; I doubted it at first, but it seems to confine you quite well.”

Nolan leaned forward, hoping the wench would step close enough for him to reach through and snap her neck. But she kept her distance. Unfortunately, she was smarter than he’d expected.

Life exploded before him. A musician started playing a lyre. The man sang, but somehow two voices came from his throat at the same time. Another man juggled, tossing a dozen balls in the air. A woman juggled next to him, except she swung fiery torches. Nolan stared. If he wasn’t a part of the spectacle, he might have been impressed.

Jezebelle grinned. “The show is about to begin.”

The crowd came next. Couples dressed in fine garments. Merchants with families in tow. Men and women of all ages poured into the clearing, handing coins to a gypsy waiting at the entrance into the clearing. The spectators laughed and pointed at all the sights to see.

Nolan turned to where Jezebelle stood, except she’d already left. He caught sight of her braids and heard her laughter drifting over the growing crowd. Clenching his fists, his nails bit into his palms. He’d get out of this cage and make her regret it—as soon as he figured out how.

A pair of male gypsies approached, both carrying long spears. They eyed Nolan with amusement.

“Are you ready for this?” the one said to the other.

“Of course. Let’s have some fun.”

“Ew! Look at that, Mummy,” a child’s voice said. A family stared at the Guardian, disgust plastered on their faces.

A gypsy stood in front of the cage and said, “See the lizard man, dragged from the swamps of Boden. His flesh is hard as stone and as dry as the tips of the Tremain Mountains. One bite from his deadly fangs will leave one paralyzed while he consumes their flesh.”

The boy squealed and buried his face in his mother’s skirts.

Nolan snorted. He’d never heard such a load of horse droppings. It did, at least, explain why the “Lizard Man” sign hung on his cage. For some odd reason, the Guardian had chosen the form of a freak.

The family proceeded forward, stopping in front of Nolan’s cage. Nolan crossed his arms over his chest and turned away. If they thought he’d perform, they would be sorely disappointed.

“See the ancient warrior of Mina …” the gypsy said, his accent thick. He flung out an arm, presenting Nolan. “Found on the islands of Orama. Starving. Nearly dead. We saved him and brought him here. Some say the warriors of Mina are much like the feared Rol’dan, taking the secret powers for their own. Except, unlike the Rol’dan, they can obtain more than one power. And they are much larger than any normal man.”

Nolan groaned. Ridiculous! How did they come up with this tripe? For Brim’s sake, he didn’t have to put up with this. He uncrossed his arms and turned to the family, just as the other gypsy rammed the spear through the cage.

Pain tore into Nolan’s gut. He gasped, his eyes dropping to the impaling spear. The gypsy yanked it out, tearing it free. Nolan blinked, too stunned to speak.

The woman turned her face away, a cry escaping her lips.

“Do not fear, maiden,” the gypsy crooned. “Watch and see the magic of the Mina warrior.”

Nolan crumpled to his knees, gasping. He brought his hand to the wound and blood ran down his side, his leg, trailing to the floor of his cage and dripping through the slats. Even though his powers were nearly gone, his Healing responded; green light filled his eyes as his wound closed.

The family applauded, pleased with Nolan’s performance. They moved on to the next cage, where Morna danced using all four arms.

Nolan’s limbs trembled, his body spent. He’d healed the wound, but at what cost?

Other observers came, and the gypsies repeated the atrocity. First the story. Then the spear. Nolan tried to dodge, attempted to grab the wooden shaft, but he could hardly move. With each spear thrust, his body’s self-preservation used Healing. And with each wound, he weakened.

Body trembling, Nolan stayed on his knees the rest of the night. Nass slithered through his bars and across his cage, as if mocking him. Nolan hadn’t the strength to do anything about it. Instead, his mind drifted between consciousness and dark void, as he desperately clutched onto life.

Chapter Nineteen

NOLAN WOKE with a finger in his mouth.

He yanked back from the hand, gagging at the strange taste. The Guardian stood next to his cage, his arm laced through the bars. Light swirled up from a small slice in the Guardian’s finger, then it disappeared as the wound closed.

Night had fallen. The crowds dribbled away, leaving the clearing eerily quiet. The moon glowed only a sliver in the sky. It was a black night, one of the darkest Nolan had seen. The light around the Guardian glowed, though not as brightly as it should.

Nolan flinched at a sharp pain at his side. His head dropped, and the spear wound sealed closed with Healing.

“You were dying,” the Guardian said, his voice deep and rumbling. “You would not respond to my Healing, which is strange. Your body failed to heal on its own. I did what I could.”

The Guardian had shared his light. “H-how’d you do that?”

He shrugged one large shoulder. “I was uncertain if it would work, although I am glad it did.”

The Guardian stood in the grass just outside Nolan’s cage. He’d released himself from his own confinement somehow.

“I have never seen the likes of you before.” The Guardian cocked his head, his white eyes examining him. “I sense the Shay powers inside you, but I can feel the power of the Guardian as well.” He placed his large palm on his own chest. “And you can see me. How do you know what I am?”

“I can see the true forms of all Guardians,” Nolan said. “Greer. Sanawen. Malik.”

The Guardian’s posture stiffened. “Greer? He lives?”

“Yes. And if you get me out of here, I’ll take you to them. They are at the castle in Faylinn.”

The Guardian shook his broad head. “No. I must stay.”

“Why?” Nolan asked. “The new king is a friend to Guardians. You’d be welcomed.”

“The king might welcome me; Greer would not.”

Nolan scratched the back of his neck. Why wouldn’t Greer welcome him? He’d
want
to know of another living Guardian, wouldn’t he?

Nolan reached for the bars, then hesitated, remembering not to touch them. “Can you get me out of here?”

“I cannot. It is Guardian steel. Neither you nor I can move those bars.”

“Where in Brim’s light did she get a Guardian steel cage?”

He dropped his gaze, examining his feet. Suddenly, the Guardian resembled a child caught stealing pastries before dinner.

“You?” Nolan asked, scowling. “Why in the Darkness did you give her a cage?”

“I … well … ” He released a breath of air. “She spoke of wanting to contain one with Strength. As far as I knew, only the Rol’dan had Strength. I have seen many of those men do terrible things. I would not pity them caged.”

Nolan’s mouth dropped open. This Guardian was far different than the others he’d met. Greer would never talk of caging a human.

“Greer is nobler than I,” he said, answering Nolan’s thoughts. “However, our vows are against
killing
mankind. It says nothing about caging them, especially if they deserve it.”

Nolan snorted. “Why have such a cage to begin with?”

The Guardian raised his glowing eyes to meet his. “We originally created it for Alcandor.”

Nolan stood and staggered. Alcandor had been locked … in here? He shook his head. How odd that, after locking Alcandor away, Nolan would end up in the same cage that once held the fallen Guardian. With more impulse than thought, Nolan reached for the bars, desperation urging him to escape. Immediately, the bars glowed, pulling on his Shays. The meager power Nolan held wilted. He staggered, his knees buckling; he fell to his hands.

“Hold still,” the Guardian said. He produced a small dagger and passed it into the bars of the cage. Before Nolan could stop him, the Guardian brought the blade to his fingertip and pulled. He grunted softly as the stripe of white shone on his finger, and silver blood traced its way down. He shoved his finger into Nolan’s mouth.

Nolan flinched, gagging, but stopped as Brim’s light leaked inside him. The Guardian’s blood didn’t taste like any blood he’d tasted before—or like anything else for that matter. He leaned into the Guardian’s hand, feeling the tremors in his body relaxing. Then, abruptly, the Guardian yanked his hand away. “I’m sorry. That is all I can share for now.”

The light around the Guardian had dimmed even more; his eyes were less luminous.

“I’m sorry,” Nolan said, his voice coming out in a rasp.

The Guardian gave a tired smile. “I am glad I am able to help you. But if you could refrain from using your powers tonight, or touching the bars, it would be helpful. The sun will be out soon, and you can replenish yourself then.”

Nolan shook his head. “No. The sun does nothing for me. I need the stones.”

“The stones?”

“The stones of Brim.”

Nolan shared how they’d found the first, and how it called to him. He shared how he’d gotten his powers, and the story of his death and transformation. The Guardian didn’t speak through it all, his face unreadable.

“So the stones are recovered?” the Guardian finally asked.

“Yes. And I need to stand in their light soon. I can’t live without them.”

“I will find them for you if I can,” the Guardian said. “First, I need to return this dagger before Jezebelle realizes it is missing. Morning is soon upon us. I will return once it is dark; we can speak more then.” His angular face studied him. “There is another performance tonight.”

Nolan frowned, puzzled. Then realization, and dread, fell over him. “Which means they will do it again.”