Lunatic (11 page)

"It is," Johnis protested. They had taken the shortest route to the east side of Middle Lake, around the edge of the forest, winding their way through the trees like phantoms.

"It's almost noon," Silvie said. "You realize how far back we have to retrace before-"

"I know."

Each step toward the city was a step that would have to be retraced before they found precious healing water.

But this was a matter of principle.

So they stared down death.

"Look at this place, Johnis."

Most of the forest houses had been crushed. The place looked like a war zone, as if someone had uprooted most of the trees and flung them into homes and another had come along and rebuilt Scab huts in their place.

As they neared, the ever-watchful spire of the thrall glared at them from the horizon, looming over the trees like a sentinel god. Silvie shielded her eyes from the late-morning sun and studied the temple for a minute.

"Don't." Johnis took her hand and led her on, unwilling to dwell on the hellish monument to Teeleh. "We can't stop."

"We're wasting our time." Silvie started to say more, then closed her mouth and looked away.

They stole deeper into the trees, ignoring the steady onset of stiffness and pain brought on by the Horde disease.

Until they found water, they were as good as Scabs.

Elyon help them.

"Still have the book?" Silvie asked.

"Yes. Once we get Darsal we need to retrieve the others."

"Bathe first."

Right. Bathe.

Not go traipsing through the desert for beautiful women.

Johnis took her through some old hiking trails and over an outcropping of rock in a narrow ravine. The rotten-meat smell of the disease was already on the wind.

Inviting ...

What? Since when had the disease ever smelled inviting? He didn't think that. He never would, even if he became one.

They came up on a house from the south side, with a small yard and two or three Scab children playing in it. He pulled Silvie behind a tree, and they watched the youngsters for a minute.

"What are we doing?" she demanded. "The lake's right there. Let's get down there, collect Darsal, and get out of here."

"We need to fit in. Clothes. And morst. Wait here."

He gave her his sword and stole around to the north side of the house, keeping to the fence and below the tall grass. The kids were too busy playing to notice him, and he hoped he wouldn't encounter anyone in the house. His stomach turned over, but he forced back the jitters and made his way to the small porch area, ducked down behind a tall plant. So far, so good.

The sound of movement inside. His heart sped up. He'd have to wait. Not good-each passing moment the stiffness in his joints worsened and the subtle pain grew more pronounced.

He glanced at his hands and arms.

No cracks yet.

But how long? When had day one started for them-in the other world or here? Maybe Silvie had been right.

Maybe coming back for Darsal before finding a lake was so much foolishness.

At last the sounds beyond the wall stilled. Johnis tried the door. Open. He ducked behind a couch made of reeds and wood, down cushion and blanket thrown over it. Wiped his palms and darted across the open hallway into the room on the left and behind the door, waiting. Window on the far wall. Three small grass mats were on the ground-beds. A few toys strewn about. A large trunk holding their possessions.

The next room had to be the mother and father's, judging by the large bed made of bark.

A trunk rested on the far side of the bed. Of course. What woman in her right mind would put it near the window where some strange albino could take clothes out of it?

Silvie was waiting. He looked around, then crossed the room and lifted the lid. Horde clothes.

No time to be choosy. He grabbed two tunics, two pairs of pants, and a cloak similar to what the woman had been wearing. Different color, though. Rummaging, he found ajar of morst and stuffed it in his pocket.

He closed the trunk, heart pounding.

Thomas had trained them for this.

Well, probably not this.

Johnis wrapped the two sets of clothing and the morst into the cloak and tucked the whole thing under his own cloak, then slipped back toward the window. He climbed out and ducked down. Clothing in hand, he made his way back around the house and into the woods.

"Hurry up already."

Johnis spun around to see that Silvie had gone on her own mission and returned with a sack. She eyed him and dropped the bag. "Some passable food, drinking water, a couple small blades."

Johnis nodded, though he found himself oddly irritated at her for running off when he'd told her to wait. Still, she'd spared them valuable time.

"Good," he said. "We need to change. The cloak is yours." He untied the bundle and tossed her the smaller set of clothes and the cloak.

They quickly changed into the hooded cloaks, then put morst over their exposed skin and into their hair. Silvie pocketed the jar. "Avoid eye contact."

"Why?"

"Are your eyes white?"

She was being a bit sassy, wasn't she?

"Fine. Try to keep up."

arak stood outside the door leading to the war room for a minute, composing himself, unwilling to let his mind linger too long on Jordan's eyes. Finally he took a long breath and pushed open the door. The officers were already inside, waiting.

He scowled at Cassak when he entered the officer's war room. "You're useless."

"I told you that you didn't want to know," the captain replied. "You shouldn't have gone into that dungeon."

He had needed to see for himself Had to look his brother in the face and know what he'd sentenced them to. But nothing could have prepared him to see Rona so completely brutalized and his brother so violently angry. His anger and remorse had nearly ruled him.

It was well he left the cell, before Jordan's gaze could divide soul and spirit and plant seeds of treason in his heart.

Teeleh, what have I agreed to do to them?

"Fine. Is everyone here?" He scanned the room, knowing the answer. Two throaters-their chief, Warryn, included-were present. Warryn had a smirk on his face when Marak entered.

Marak gave the man a long, cold stare that silenced the room. Warryn returned it, but broke off first. Marak leaned on one knee. He motioned his second. "Tell me something worth hearing. First, the escapees from the palace."

"Our scouts are all over the place," the second replied. "The gates are sealed off. We started with the city, then moved around the lake. They can't have gotten far. And we're searching the desert."

"Bring them alive."

Warryn's smug looked returned. His long mustache twitched. "If that's what you prefer."

Subhuman waste like him rounded up vermin indiscriminately, locked them up, often terrorized them, then slaughtered them like chattel. At least Marak had the decency to make death come quickly.

Except when his kid brother and sister-in-law were concerned.

"Bring them in for questioning, but behave yourselves. I need them to talk. I want to know how three albinos breached temple security. You've searched the palace and the thrall?"

Nods.

"What did you find?"

"No sign of forced entry, and no one saw them come in."

Sucrow was right. This didn't bode well. Marak listened to the rest of the report and soon grew weary of hearing the long version of We learned nothing in fourteen hours.

Finally, the excuses became simply nauseating. Marak shook his head and raised his hand, stopping his commander midspeech. "Just find me the albinos. I don't care how you do it or what did and didn't work. Bring them in and find out how they escaped us. And don't allow for any mistakes, or heads will roll. Cassak, Warryn-the rebel scouts?"

"Moving south," Cassak and Warryn spoke at the same time. The pair traded hard scowls.

"Moving-" Again, neither outspoke the other.

Marak pointed. "Cassak."

"But-" Warryn started to protest.

"Silence. Captain?"

"They're moving food and water, but their camp is still intact. And they seem considerably close to where we've placed the albinos."

Curious. Marak stopped listening, musing while his men considered the ramifications. Finally he dismissed them.

Warryn lingered. "General."

Marak fumed. His hand longed for his hilt, but he refrained. Sucrow didn't need much of an excuse.

"I'm not interested, Warryn."

"I'm only here to offer a word of advice."

"I take my own counsel."

Warryn's hand closed around Marak's arm. Marak half-drew his sword, but remembered Sucrow had his family. "Just don't be foolish."

"SHE ISN'T HERE." SILVIE FINISHED CARVING ANOTHER Book of History into a broad-leafed tree and knelt beside Johnis on a steep bank overlooking the muddy waters of Middle Lake.

She scratched her sides, then her arms, with a reddish piece of bark.

Broad leaves of burnt orange and gold partially obscured them from the road.

"She has to be here." Johnis fought the urge to scream for Darsal.

But he knew better.

Darsal would have been right where he'd carved into the bark at daybreak.

A day wasted.

Maybe Darsal had gone suicidal.

Or she'd been caught.

"We've been all the way around the lake. Either she didn't find your Book of History sign funny, or she was never here to be mad about it." Silvie straightened the oversized garments that swallowed her slender frame.

With braids in her short hair, she looked surprisingly Scab.

"It wasn't supposed to be funny," Johnis snapped, suddenly frustrated with her. "She's supposed to be here."

"Well, obviously something's happened."

"That isn't good enough." Heat rose in his chest. Johnis wanted to strangle one or both women. As soon as he found the missing one.

"Would you get a grip?" Silvie scowled. "You're acting like an idiot."

"I am not. The disease is getting to you."

"Getting to me, is it?" She quirked a brow. "Seen any more women in the lake this morning, Chosen One?" Her voice dripped sarcasm.

Johnis's mind drifted from Silvie's voice. Away from the little cluster of trees that sheltered them. Away from the bridge over Middle Lake and Sucrow's temple.

Into the desert, where a beautiful woman with her low, silky voice and her mesmerizing gaze awaited their help.

A fog billowed up in his mind, seeped deep inside of him. The woman's face appeared before him, the desert reflected in her eyes. She smiled at him with perfect lips.

Wake haste, my mighty Chosen One. Render me aid, in the wilderness where those of the Guard dwell ... "

"Elyon, you're beautiful," Johnis breathed.

"A little random," Silvie replied with a smile, snapping his focus back. "But thank you." Her cheeks flushed.

Heat flooded Johnis's face. He didn't dare tell her he hadn't meant to say that out loud, much less that he'd said it to a woman only he could see. Instead, he merely said, "Seemed the simplest way to end a fight."

"Aren't you a charmer?" Her voice went deadpan. She knew.

Perspiration slid down his spine. He fought the urge to scratch, forced himself to focus. Much longer and they wouldn't require deception. The fog dissipated.

No Darsal, no water, no Forest Guard.

Just this cursed disease nibbling away at their flesh.

Motion from the road.

Six Scabs on horseback headed toward them. Among them General Marak.

"Silvie."

She gripped his shoulder with a firm hand, breath against his neck.

"You! Get up here!"

For a moment neither moved, held fast by unseen chains. The general called them out again. Silvie's hand tightened into a fist at his back, a small growth on his shoulder blade.

Of course, at this distance Marak couldn't possibly know their identity. Although if there was a split among the Horde, looking like a Scab might not aid them, after all.

A third command, gruff and impatient. The general likely would not suffer a fourth. And at this point there was only one thing left to do: behave like a Scab.