The Chosen of Anthros (12 page)

The truth was Leona didn’t really know what she thought. She just knew that she couldn’t be Hafaress. The vision must have been a lie. It was wrong. She was new to this kind of thing, so maybe not all of what she had seen was real.

Maybe Daniken said that to throw me off. She’s trying to get to me, and what better way to kill me than to throw me into doubt so she can strike?

But there were so many things that didn’t add up. So many things that had happened that didn’t make any sense at all. Like the hammer. Why had it seemed to choose her? Why was she the only one who could lift it?

Why does everyone keep calling father Olik?

She didn’t want to think about it, and she didn’t have to think about it much longer because she was nearing the barracks.

The guard at the door nodded to her. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for where they keep the prisoners?” she wondered, squinting up at him through the dazzling sunlight.

“The stockades,” he said, pointing to a brick building close beside the barracks. It was small and windowless. “But what would you want with prisoners?” he wondered with a frown.

“I’ve been charged with questioning the darkling,” she told him.

He shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably, as if trying to settle the brown leather armor better into place. “Who charged a girl with that task?”

“The ravens told me if you have any questions they should be directed to them,” Leona told him, lifting her chin defiantly.

A strange look fell over his face. Was it fear? He nodded. “Very well. I will lead you.”

Leona fell in step behind the tall man. He led her through the door of the stockades and into a small chamber with torches lining the walls. Behind a table sat another guard, lost in a book. He looked up when they entered, frowned at Leona, but snodded at her guide.

“Bertrand!” the guard said. “What do we have here?”

“She’s to question the prisoner,” Bertrand said.

The proclamation wiped all traces of cheer from the man behind the table. “But she’s—”

“Ordered by Huginn and Muninn,” Bertrand told him. “I don’t like it either James, but…”

“I understand,” James nodded his shaggy red head. He itched his beard and shook his head. “Alright, this way miss.” He took a set of keys from a peg under the desk and opened another door directly behind him. This door was wooden with bars running the length of it. Leona followed the leather-clad prison guard through this door and into a long hall of barred cells.

Bertrand didn’t follow.

“He’s in the last one on the left,” James told her, motioning vaguely. “Knock when you’re ready to come out.”

Leona nodded and made her way down the stone hall. James lingered for a while, his face creased with concern in the light of multiple torches and lanterns hanging from the walls. Finally he left, closing the heavy door behind him.

Though there were torches on the walls, once the door was closed, Leona felt as though she might as well be in a bear’s den with no light. She peered into the murky depths of each cell she passed, wondering if there were other prisoners inside. If there were, they were hidden by the deep shadows in the back of their cell.

She made sure to stick to the center of the hall, so if anyone rushed the cell door, they wouldn’t be able to reach her. Just being in that place, alone, without protection, made Leona’s skin crawl. The sooner she was done, the better. She couldn’t wait to be out in the light of day, and away from here.

Leona found Fortarian where James told her she would. The last cell on the left.

“Company,” he croaked when she stopped outside his cell. “How delightful.” He didn’t sound delighted.

Fortarian also didn’t look as well put together as he did the last time she saw him. His long white hair was in tangles around his head. His lithe form looked more skeletal than elegant. The shadow plague that consumed the entire right half of his body was graying, almost like ashes. Where the plague had once been deep and shimmering, like fresh ink, his skin now seemed to flake away. Clothes that were once so clean and immaculate were now torn and hung off his frail figure like rags. His left eye was blackened and nearly swollen shut.

“What’s happening to your darkling wyrd?” Leona wondered.

“It’s flaking away,” he told her. A tear rolled out of his eye, over the angry bruise to moisten his split lip. His mouth quivered, and his hands shook when he pointed to the collar around his neck.

It was the same collar they’d placed on Abagail. Was this going to happen to her sister too?

“What will happen when it’s all gone?” Leona wondered.

“Who knows?” Fortarian asked. “Maybe my right half will be as withered and rotten as Hilda.”

Leona shivered when he mentioned the dark goddess’ name.

She stared at him for some time. The man who had wounded her, used her to activate the hammer.
But that wasn’t him,
she thought.
That was Gorjugan, the serpent god.

A darkling had once controlled Fortarian, using him as its vessel in Agaranth.

“Why are you here, Leona?” Fortarian wondered. “Is my sister going to let me loose? Have they realized that I’m no harm to them?”

Leona shook her head. “I don’t know,” she told him truthfully. “You were home to Gorjugan and you were a darkling long before that. That’s how he got in, isn’t it? You welcomed him.”

“I’m aware of what I was,” he said. It wasn’t aggressive. “And it’s adorable that you think a darkling god needs an invitation to take control of us. But that’s neither here nor there since there’s nothing I can do with this collar locked around my neck.”

“There’s plenty you can do without the use of darkling wyrd,” she told him, squaring her shoulders.

He shook his head and sighed. He flopped back against the brick wall. Several moments passed when she just stared at him.

“So why are you here? Did you come to mock me?” he looked up at her. “Did you come to see for yourself that I was locked safely away and couldn’t cut you up again?”

“I came to see what happens to darklings who finally meet the fate they deserve,” Leona said. “You’re pathetic.”

And he was. Fortarian didn’t even wince at her. He nodded as if he agreed. Whatever it was that she’d come to feel, come to see if he was the darkness plaguing Haven, she’d found out. He was nothing and would likely never be anything again.

“You let the darklings into Agaranth. You cursed your world to this wintery hell,” she accused.

“You’re sure of that?” he asked her. “You think I alone had the power to bring the darklings here dear niece?”

“I’m not your niece.” She slammed her scarred palm against the bars to his cell.

Fortarian didn’t flinch. He stood and neared the bars. Leona backed away, sure that he might be able to still infect her with his shadow plague, even if he wore a collar hindering its power.

“So certain,” he whispered. “Darklings aren’t the only ones able to lie and hide the truth.”

Leona shook her head, but she couldn’t find any words to argue.
Truth,
she thought. Wasn’t that what she was trying to figure out?

She fled back down the hallway and James let her out the moment she knocked on the door. She had to talk to Abagail. Leona burst out of the stockades, the sudden light of the sun blinding her from the darkness of the prison.

Abagail will know what to do,
Leona thought. How was she ever going to explain all of this to her sister? How was she going to tell her about the hammer and the vision she had? She was in a world of trouble.
So isn’t Abagail.

Was it selfish of Leona to be thinking of herself and laying all of this on Abagail?

I’m in no shape to spar today,
she thought. But she had to. She didn’t want anyone to know there was something wrong with her. She had to talk to Abagail, but her sister was likely still doing her own thing.

She cast her gaze up to the sky. It was time for lunch, but she just wasn’t hungry. There was no way she could even force herself to eat after the upset that morning had been. She found her way around the second level and to the yurt the ravens used. If they were inside there was no indication from the outside. She tried the door, but it was locked. Leona knocked and listened for a time, but there was no movement inside.

With a sigh she slumped down onto the stairs and watched the students in the center of the courtyard spar.

“Again!” Ephram said.

Rorick’s hand still screamed from the shock of Ephram’s disarming blow. He didn’t think it was possible for someone so slight, so short, to pack such a punch. But the dark haired, bearded quartermaster was a force to reckon with.
I suppose you don’t become quartermaster by being weak.

Rorick grabbed his practice blade and stood. He shifted his grip on the hilt and went after Ephram again. The man was like water, flowing through the air, evading every one of Rorick’s blows. But Rorick had him. Ephram was against the wall and the burly man lunged at his teacher. This time he was Rorick’s.

Except he wasn’t. Ephram dodged out of the way, rolled under the blow, and came up, kicking Rorick in the side, knocking the wind out of him.

Rorick gasped, and limped to the side of the practice field. He grabbed his rib.
Figures, right where the elle folk got me. Why does everyone keep smacking the same spot?

“Come on now!” The quartermaster jeered. “I thought you traveled with those girls to protect them. I’m surprised they made it here alive.”

“Actually I think the youngest did more protecting than I did,” Rorick said, rubbing his side.

“You don’t say?” Ephram said. He motioned that they were taking a break and leaned against the wall of the yurt beside Rorick.

“She is something else,” Rorick told him. “Made decisions that I’m not sure I could have made, and carried them through like a trained warrior.”

“Then I delight in meeting her this afternoon.” Ephram took a deep pull from his canteen and then handed it to Rorick.

“Go easy on her,” Rorick cautioned. He accepted the canteen and guzzled down enough water to make his stomach sloshy.

“If she’s as tough as you say, I should hope she goes easy on me.” Ephram smiled, showing a straight row of white teeth. “Camilla will help you learn the basics of fencing. She tells me you don’t have much experience with a blade?”

“No, I never used a sword. Blunt objects here,” Rorick said.

Ephram nodded. “Discuss that with her, see what she wants to do. We prefer our guards know their way around swords.” He pushed away from the wall. “Speaking of, you’re on guard duty tonight with her. You will meet her back up here after dinner and she will show you where you’re going to be stationed.”

“How long before I’m on my own?” Rorick wondered.

Ephram laughed at that. “Not so fast. Part of your training is in weapons, part of your training is us evaluating if you’re trustworthy or not. You will stick with her for now.”

Rorick nodded. The rest of their training session passed with a little less abuse and a little more teaching. By the time they were done, Rorick knew the basics of the sword and had even disarmed Ephram once, though he suspected the quartermaster let him disarm him.

Dinner came with no sign of either of the girls. Gil joined him, but the harbinger was an odd sort. Half the time he couldn’t tell if Gil was talking to him or to the book that sat open before him.

“Guard duty tonight?” Gil asked, fingering a page of the book. He didn’t bother looking up.

Rorick grunted around a mouthful of roasted chicken. He poked at a rogue potato that slipped across his plate through the gravy.

“Who’s teaching you now?” Gil asked. This time he did peak up at Rorick, almost like he was checking to see if the other man was still there with him.

“Camilla,” Rorick told him, stabbing into the potato.

“Hmmm,” Gil said, going back to his book. “That should be…interesting.”

“What’s wrong with Camilla?” Rorick asked, not bothering to eat the potato.

“Nothing’s wrong with her, exactly, but she’s a very tough woman. She’s been through a lot. She doesn’t normally take students.” Gil sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over frail chest. “I wonder why Ephram put you with her.”

“Who is she anyway?” Rorick wondered.

“Ephram’s second in command. She’s captain of the guard.” Gil went back to his book as if it didn’t matter.

It mattered to Rorick. Here it was, almost time to meet Camilla, and his nerves were so on edge he thought he might jitter out of his chair. Why would Ephram put him with the captain of the guard? Why would he have Rorick studying with his second in command?

“Well,” Gil said, pushing to his feet and closing his tome. “You better not keep her waiting.” The thin man strode away from the table.

Rorick barely registered making his way back up to the second level and to the courtyard where they sparred. Ephram was there with another person who was, impossibly, half his height and half his weight. The person seemed nearly elven, if it wasn’t for her height. Elves seemed tall. This person would barely come up to Rorick’s chest.

She was short enough to make Leona seem tall.