Maylin's Gate (Book 3) (39 page)

The scene hit him like a physical blow. How many miles would they travel. He didn’t have time for this. He shook his head. "You might be right."

General Demos knelt beside the fading embers and worked the straps on a leather pack. "Right?"

His shoulders sagged. "We can't wander the savanna without a guide. Meranthia can't wait."

General Demos stood and faced north. "I don't think we have a choice. Look." The general pointed northward.

He turned his gaze north toward the forest from where they'd come.

Mile after mile of dry unending grasslands stretched to forever.

A sharp knot twisted in his stomach. "That's not possible." He squinted and scanned the northern horizon. "We ran for a quarter hour. We should see the forest. It must be a couple of miles from here."

General Demos's tongue flickered.

He turned in a slow circle.

On all sides, grassland rose like a golden sea.

"What in Elan's name happened?"

"I can offer no explanation," General Demos said.

"Gather your things." He kicked dirt over the fading embers. "South. We'll walk south."

General Demos took the pack, stood, and faced south.

He secured his long bow to the backpack and flung it over his shoulder. A nervous flutter rolled through his stomach and left his chest tight with worry. Had Tarbin's murder left the world out of balance? "Let's go."

He walked south. Grass rustled his ankles and the first whispers of heat touched the savanna air.

General Demos settled in beside him. Together they moved into the unknown on a suicidal mission.

Hours passed beneath the savanna's relentless sun. Heat pressed on his shoulders and sweat soaked his tunic. They passed herds of gazelle, elephants, and a pride of cats dozing under the shade of an overhanging rock.

Sweat streaked his chest and back. The pack's weight ground into his shoulders. What he'd give for five minutes with Elan's magic, but it had eluded him today like every day since the river basin.

Ahead, the grassland stretched to the southern horizon. The landscape remained unchanged during their half-day's journey. But, the terrain before them shifted downward in a gradual slope for a half-mile longer.

"What's that?" General Demos said pointing south.

"What's what?"

General Demos strode forward. "I think it's a river. Come on."

He squinted into the distance, but shimmering waves of heat obscured his view.

General Demos glanced behind and waved him forward.

He walked ahead on aching feet and a sore back. The thought of cooling his body in a river added an extra bounce to his step. He trotted forward and caught up to General Demos.

The sound of rushing water came first. A ribbon of green water cut across the grassland.

He walked ahead, twenty-yards from the river's edge.

Sunlight glistened from the water's surface. A river that stretched fifty yards across. The current raced along at speeds surprising in a land so flat.

He paused a dozen yards from the bank. The scent of wet earth and fish provided a welcome change from the savanna's arid heat. "Wait here."

"Wait? I'm thirsty," General Demos said.

"Unless you want to end up in the belly of a river beast, I'd wait for at least a few minutes."

General Demos's gaze drifted along the riverbank. "I see nothing."

"Two minutes," he said. "That's all I'm asking."

The buzz of river flies and the swaying of grass beneath a warm savanna wind filled the silence.

"I've waited long —"

A violent splash came two-dozen yards upstream.

His mind flared with panic and he whirled toward the sound.

The mewling cry of a gazelle came from the high grass. A river beast with a long snout and a full set of teeth held the gazelle trapped in its jaw. The river monster shook its head from side to side revealing a squat twelve-foot body. A sickening snap came from the gazelle's neck. A moment later the gazelle went limp.

General Demos's tongue flickered.

The river beast tipped back its three-foot snout. The gazelle disappeared down the river monster's throat.

His legs turned to mush as he watched the carnage unfold.

The river beast slid backward into the water and disappeared like a wraith.

"Thank you," General Demos said.

He gazed along the riverbank and examined the water with a fresh set of eyes. "How many more do you think are lurking?"

"I've no idea." General Demos slid free a long sword. "But, a trooper doesn't fall without consequence."

He eased forward and slid through the high grass searching for any sign of the exotic river creature. "It looks clear." He paused at the river bank and turned his gaze downstream.

A quarter mile away, a second beast, three-feet longer than the first, snoozed on the river bank.

"I wish I could be half so relaxed," he said.

General Demos knelt and scooped up a handful of water. The general's tongue slid outward and touched the pooled water. "It's fresh and good to drink." General Demos knelt and drank.

He slid free the dagger sheathed in his belt and scanned the river's surface. Nothing. With an open palm he scooped handfuls of water into his sweat soaked hair. Relief came in an instant. Cool water drained through his scalp and down his chest and back. He took off the leather pack and dipped his head into the river pulling in a mouthful of refreshing water.

"It's good?" General Demos said.

He peered up with water dripping from his hair and grinned. "Very."

General Demos scanned the river both upstream and down.

He stood and flipped back his mop of dark hair. The water cooled his body and left him energized. "We have to cross."

General Demos nodded. "But, not here."

"Not here?" He glared. "Of course here."

"Have you forgotten? I can't swim."

He stood and gazed downstream then up. "It looks no different for miles in either direction. We might walk days before finding a suitable place to cross."

"Then you'll have to go on without me."

“Without you? Have you lost your mind?”

“I’ll sink like a stone in that water.”

“I’ll pull you,” he said. “Just hang onto my shoulders and kick.”

General Demos’s eyes narrowed. “Take a look at the current Ronan.”

He glanced at the swift moving current before returning his gaze to General Demos. “It might carry us a little ways downstream but we’ll make it across.”

“What if I panic?”

The river would sweep the general away, but he didn’t dare speak the words aloud. “I have rope. I’ll tie you to me.”

“I’ll kill us both,” General Demos said. “The baerinese are not built for the water. Swimming is a skill best avoided should I hope to live past this afternoon.”

He ran his fingers through his dark curls shaking away droplets of river water. “Well, I’m not leaving you here alone.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

Water, steady and strong, rushed past.

He wiped his hands on his already damp pants and a thought struck him. “I have an idea.”

“If it involves swimming —”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that.” His hands worked the buttons on the front of his pants.

General Demos’s brow raised. “Might I suggest another time to go skinny dipping?” The general’s gaze lingered on the river beast still sunning on the riverbank upstream.

“I’m not skinny dipping,” he said.

“Then what are you doing?”

“Do you trust me?”

General Demos stared ahead and blinked. “Trust you? Within reason I suppose, but I’m still not swimming across the river.”

He pulled off his pants and glanced at the river’s surface. “Cover me. I want to show you something.”

General Demos nodded and picked up a longbow. “What are you doing?”

He waded into the river with pants in hand. The cool water soothed the ache in his feet. He knelt in the shallow water near the shoreline and tied together each pant leg. “Now watch.” With the waist of his pants flared open, he thrust the pants toward the water and cinched closed the waist.

Pockets of air forced the pant legs to billow outward.

He slipped his head between the pant legs and floated. “See?” A wide smile crossed his face.

General Demos’s thin lips pressed together. “I’m not sure how long that will hold.”

“It doesn’t have to hold for long,” he said. “With your height, you might walk the whole way across.”

“You’re not going to give up are you?”

He shook his head. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

General Demos nodded. “Let’s hurry before I change my mind.”

He came ashore and rooted through his open pack until he found a coil of rope. “Tie this around your waist, and I can pull you across.”

General Demos secured the rope.

He did the same and gave the rope a sharp pull. Satisfied, he tossed the pants to General Demos. “When the water comes up to your chest, fill the pants with air like I showed you.”

Tongue flickering, General Demos offered a curt nod.

“And, try to relax,” he said. “I’ll have an easier time pulling you.” He waded into the shallow waters. “Let’s do this.”

General Demos followed and both men moved forward.

A quarter of the way across, the water had moved neck high and he lost his footing on the river bottom. The rapid current took hold and he floated downstream.

With a sharp tug, he jerked to a stop anchored by the general’s sure footing. “Keep going,” he shouted above the roar of the current.

White water swirled around General Demos’s chest. The general plodded ahead until they’d traveled a third of the distance across the river. The water rushed around General Demos just below the shoulders. “I can go no further.”

Doubt crept into his mind. The current tossed him like a paper kite caught in a summer storm. That he should pull both himself and General Demos across the river seemed foolish. Elan’s magic had bolstered his strength for too long.

General Demos smacked the water’s surface with the pants and they filled with air.

“When you’re ready, lay on your back and kick your feet like your life depends on it,” he said raising his voice over the rushing water.

General Demos affixed the pant legs and laid backwards.

He shot downstream like an arrow from a bow.

High grass on the river bank went by in a blur and he swam toward the opposite bank churning his arms and kicking his legs.

Forty yards stood between him and freedom. His breathing came in short hard pulls between strokes.

General Demos whizzed past him with feet beating the water.

A sharp pull ripped at his waist and the rope tightened. Panic yanked at his mind and his head buzzed with alarm.

Twenty-five yards.

A splash came from the far shore and his thoughts flashed to the river beast sunning on the bank.

He kicked harder and pulled mustering every ounce of strength his muscles would give. His thoughts went to Rika and the baby. Why had he left her? Why hadn't he insisted Rika come with him?

He blinked and gasped for breath. The shore loomed a dozen yards away. Could he touch? His feet flailed downward and met the sickening emptiness of open water. Could General Demos touch?

He gasped for air and glanced behind. "Gregor, stand. I can't —"

General Demos’s body floated limp and lifeless tugging the rope like a boat anchor.

His mind surged with fresh panic. Had the river beast caught General Demos?

The shoreline flew past but slower than before.

Ten yards.

His feet touched the muddy bottom and his heart surged. He grabbed the rope and pulled General Demos while backing toward the shore.

Behind him, the grass rustled and the air near his ear buzzed. A sharp sting pricked his neck and he stumbled.

More rustling. Closer now.

He reached for the pain flaring in his neck and his arms felt heavy. His fingertips went numb and the world slowed. Sounds and colors drifted together into an incoherent mass. Clear blue sky flashed overhead before the world went black.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Confession

Blue light shimmered against the orb room's crystal floor. At the room’s center, Danielle knelt before the three keyholes carved into the orb cradles.

She ran her fingertips over letters etched in the crystal. The letters matched the two keys resting inside her leather pouch.

Similar letters appeared above the other two keyholes. She glanced behind her and found Brees. "What do they say?"