Solace Arisen (5 page)

“
Her
?” Nan growled the word.

“Through the Blue Eye I saw you kill the poison draeden. I saw its spirit enter Hell. It is why I hoped so much that you could use the relic.”

“I killed it for certain?”

“For certain. I knew from the start, from when Prince Fassal mentioned why you earned the Valor in Service medal. When I saw your sword, it confirmed it.”

Nan sank into the chair. “But I can’t use the Blue Eye.”

“Prince Lerouge took her into Hell with the Blue Eye,” the superior said. “It was why you had to bring her to me...to retrieve her. She survived there longer than I would have thought possible. Her body, like none other, is hardened to the shock of having had its soul in Hell.”

“Lerouge nearly killed her with that thing,” he said.

“Prince Lerouge defeated you once, too,” Arvana said quietly.

“You propose I stroll into Gheria with
her
?” He addressed the superior only.

“Your grandmother promised a great help. She said you would know what it is...something you read in her journals.”

“My grandmother?”

“She is in Hell. She lingers in the light of your sword. It is truly blessed.”

“Surely there is someone else to take the Blue Eye and better counsel than that of a dead, mad woman.” Crossing his arms, he asked, “And if I refuse this lunacy?”

“Your sword still goes north, albeit in less skillful hands,” the superior replied. “You know too much. You must stay with the brothers until either the war ends or a draeden comes. Those of faith are always among their first targets.”

“You give me no choice.”

Arvana opened her hands in her lap. “I wish there was time to find another champion. I never wanted to take the Blue Eye, but have accepted it.” It didn’t seem the right time to tell him that she’d pledged to Lina that she’d help him. The last thing he’d appreciate now was any obligation she felt toward him. “What else is there to do? The fire draeden will be upon us. What if The Scyon breeds more draeden? A wasting draeden? And time runs short. Can you tell me who could be trusted with it? In the wrong hands—”

One of his nearly invisible brows arched as he turned to her. “Yours are the right ones?”

“No mortal since the Judges has used the Blue Eye more than I have.” Arvana garnered her conviction. “You hesitate because I am the last person with whom you would wish to undertake anything. I swear I will never mention our past. This is about far more than us.”

He scoffed. “I refuse because it’s a ludicrous idea. If I were a general, had an army like Lukis and Paulus, perhaps I could breach the walls of the Forbidden Fortress. Oh, then there is the fact that I have a price on my head. To avoid the main roads, we’ll have to take the Verdea Crossing, go through Cumberland to Sarapost. It is full of unmarked hants and bandits. And entering the Gherian Forbidden Fortress with only one sword and a woman—”

The sound of the superior edging her chair from the table interrupted him. “I understand you’ve decided, Lord Degarius. I’ll call the brothers to escort you to your cell.”

Nan jumped to his feet. “No monk touches my sword. I said you gave me no choice. Give me a good bowman. My shoulder is too stiff to draw.”

The superior rose, bowed to Nan, took the locket, and shuffled around the desk. “Rise, Arvana Nazar. As the Founder entrusted the relic to Paulus, I entrust it to you. Maker have mercy on the sins you must bear for our sake.”

The superior hung the locket once again around Arvana’s neck. The first time she’d done so last spring, her skin had shivered at its coldness between her breasts, and at the strange mix of trepidation, obligation, and hope with which she accepted the duty she’d secretly hoped would make her a shacra. Then, over the summer, it had grown as familiar as her novice’s ring, sitting against her skin without notice. Now, in taking it, she felt nothing except numbing resignation. What had she expected? For happiness to come from the breaking of her vows? For this terrible task to be a honeymoon?

“I wish you to leave as soon as possible,” the superior said. To Nan she added, “Make a list of what you need. Solace will provide coin and whatever is necessary.”

Nan raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to go home to Ferne Clyffe. I’ve never read my grandmother’s journals.”

Outside of Solace, the next morning

T
hough Degarius’s knee was swollen and stiff and his shoulder wound throbbed, he was glad to be out of Solace. He rubbed his forehead under his Solacian monk’s gray wool cap. It itched, but did a good job of hiding his telltale hair. The morning sun was flickering through the half-bare autumnal trees that lined the secluded, rambling path along the hillsides outside of Solace. Eventually they would have to join with the road that led to Verdea Crossing, but by then, his beard would be full and a bright red. No one in Acadia, except Fassal, knew it was that color. For now, they were safe, but slow.

For disguise and the convenience of riding, Miss Nazar was dressed as a monk, too. Miss Nazar. It sounded strange, but what the hell else was he supposed to call her? She wasn’t Hera Solace anymore. How had he even started calling her
Ari
? He never called Miss Gallivere
Esmay
. Miss Nazar sped her horse to a trot to jump a fallen tree in the path. She leaned forward and was up and over the log. He had never campaigned with a woman in tow. It was sure to be a pain, but at least she was an accomplished rider. He couldn’t fault that skill or complain that she couldn’t keep up because she was ill. Despite the dark circles under her eyes and a hollowness to her face, she rode diligently.

Degarius took his turn jumping the tree. Even though his knee ached when he rose in the saddle, the motion felt good, full of freedom after the confinement to the monk’s cell. But as he looked back to ensure that Heran Kieran, the Solacian brother following with the pack animal, made it around the log, the sense of freedom left as quickly as the exhilaration of jumping the horse. He wasn’t free. He had to abide the superior’s plan...for now. If he reached Sarapost, he could take the relic to King Fassal. The Sarapostans would find someone better than Miss Nazar to use it, and he might earn his generalship back as recompense. As Miss Nazar said, this was about more than them.

The path widened and Heran Kieran, who was assigned as their archer, came alongside. He was a young man, well made and with dark skin suited for even the strong Orlandian sun. The superior had allowed Degarius to watch a demonstration of the man’s skill before accepting him into the party. The man’s speed and accuracy were better than even Salim’s. “Your archery skill would’ve earned you a commission in the Acadian army.”

Kieran tilted his head thoughtfully, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “That would have displeased the Maker. It’s wrong to kill even an animal in sport.”

Degarius bristled. What misguided mentality thought soldiering a sport? No frontiersman under his command would’ve dared speak to him with the heran’s zeal and conceit. But, he wasn’t the captain, not in title. Someone must be in charge of this regiment. Though Miss Nazar held the Blue Eye, he had all the expertise. As he did in assessing his new men at the start of a patrol, he stowed Kieran’s remark and Miss Nazar’s riding abilities into his mind like blankets into a pack. He didn’t have to like the man; his being a good archer and a presence besides Miss Nazar were enough.

An orange flash flitted in the corner of his eye. Degarius glanced to the sky. It was an even, cloudy gray. The sun couldn’t have broken through. Miss Nazar had stopped, was watching the sky, too. He hadn’t imagined it.

The glow again lit the clouds. It moved, disappeared, and then glowed again. What the hell?

Out of the clouds dipped a black form, like a bat, but a thousand times larger. His horse jerked its head.

It had to be a draeden, but a dozen times more immense than the one in Lake Sandela Hant. Degarius’s feet throbbed.

The draeden burst into a blinding light as if it was lit kindling. Heat waves swam in the sky. The treetops under the creature burst into flame. A hot breeze, like a blast of air from a furnace, rolled over. “Take cover,” he shouted and steered his horse deep into a stand of pines. Miss Nazar joined him, the Blue Eye in hand, her thumb on the latch. Heran Kieran, with the packhorse, slipped in with them.

Degarius grasped Assaea’s hilt, but the sudden backward thrust of his arm sent pain shooting through his shoulder. He stopped. What good would the sword do, even if he were full strength? For all love, the draeden mustn’t see them or be enticed to them with the relic. “Don’t try to use it,” he said to her.

Heran Kieran, who’d drawn a bow and held it aimed to the sky, looked desperately to them. Didn’t the man understand the damn thing would incinerate them before they could get close enough to engage it? It would be pure foolishness to tempt it to them. On the hillside, there’d be nowhere to hide from the heat. It would have every advantage.

A curtain of smoke rose in the distance.

“Solace. It must have attacked Solace,” Heran Kieran cried. “We must ride back to see if we can help.”

Degarius, perched on his horse, listened with the air of a lieutenant awaiting an order—however foolish it might be. Miss Nazar’s sentimentality would send them on a pointless errand. Solace’s forested ground was kindling. He would negate the order, of course, but he wanted to hear it first. Then, there’d be no doubt of who led this little regiment.

Miss Nazar couldn’t tear her gaze from the smoke, not until Heran Kieran rode from the pines, his horse poised to retrace the path to Solace.

“Heran, there’s nothing we can do,” she said.

“But they’ll—”

“It was looking for us,” she said. “Stay in the trees until we’re sure it’s left.”

As Kieran returned to them, his eyes hardened on Miss Nazar. “Couldn’t you have stopped it? Isn’t that why you have the Blue Eye?”

Before she could answer, Degarius said, not to defend her, but to defend his decision not to engage it, “With our weak vantage point, we would have been incinerated.” At the word
incinerated
, his feet burned as they had the night he narrowly escaped Lake Sandela.

Degarius had amassed a lead on the Gherian horsemen and veered onto a path into a wood. He wanted to stop and pull off the boots. His heels burned as if he was holding them to a flame. But it wasn’t safe yet. They traversed two brooks before reaching a middling-sized stream the horses easily forded. Coming out upon the other side, they kept to the path until it reached a relatively dry plateau where the horses’ hoofprints wouldn’t be so marked. He stopped, and turning around, said to Salim, “We’re going back to the stream and following it through the woods.” His hope was that it would take the Gherians a while to figure out that they’d backtracked and followed one of the streams instead of the path.

The horses trudged along the sandy-bottomed shallow stream until it flowed into a larger one. Here, finally, was one bit of luck among so much very bad luck. “This stream takes us in the general direction of the Outpost,” Degarius said. “If the Gherians follow, at least it won’t be the whole lot of them. They’ll have split up to cover the area. Do you hear anything?”

Salim turned his head from side to side like a wild beast as he struggled to hear beyond the dripping trees. “Not for now.”

“I think it’s safe to water the horses,” Degarius said. He dismounted. When his boots hit the ground, excruciating pain shot up through the soles of his feet. His knees began to give. Clenching his teeth, he threw his arms over True Pearl’s back to alleviate the pressure and gain a moment to recover. “Steady, girl.”

Salim was at his side, locking his arm around his.

“Damn it, get off me,” Degarius growled, but Salim was lowering him to the ground. Sitting, he cringed and leaned to take off a boot. One tug and his mind went white with pain or was it the light Salim was making. Damn him, making a light.

His head swimming, Degarius leaned back onto his elbows, and then sprawled on his back. He could hear Salim whispering, but his voice seemed unreal, distant, like something he was remembering.

“Let’s see what’s wrong,” Salim was whispering. “Oh, Maker.”