To Darkness Fled (23 page)

On the platform below, Esek strode to Lord Falkson's side, flanked by Sir Kenton and Chora. The crowd erupted into cheers. Esek raised his hands above his head in a familiar arrogance. "Tonight we honor Barthos, god of the soil."

Lord Falkson translated to the audience, his voice deep and booming.

Achan gripped the rail with both hands, desperate for a way out. If he could somehow keep from falling...

"This man is a usurper." Esek pointed above his head. "He would have you turn your backs on Barthos. We must destroy him."

Lord Falkson translated and the people cheered. The gowzal on his shoulder screeched.

Sir Gavin! Where are you?

We're coming. Remember, Arman is stronger than Gazar.

Right. Achan gripped the rail tighter and hooked his left foot around the last baluster.

Behind him, Silvo laughed. "It will do you no good, stray."

Lord Falkson clunked to his knees on the front corner of the platform and lifted his hands to the pointed ceiling, as if worshipping an idol.
"Ruwach aphar mayim esh, machmad parar. Gowzal, yarad. Parar no oyeb. Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."

The garbled and phlegmy-sounding words hushed the crowd and weakened Achan's knees. He expected green orbs to shoot out from Lord Falkson's hands but none came.

"Thanks for the ring," Silvo whispered in Achan's ear, stretching his hand in front of Achan's face. Prince Oren's ring gleamed on Silvo's olive-skinned hand.

Achan loosened his grip on the railing and swung around to lunge for Silvo.

"Time to die." Silvo pushed him, dark eyes glinting, olive lips twisting in a smile.

Achan lost his balance. A flash of heat seized him as he fell sideways off the platform. A scream tore from his throat.

The rings caught him--nearly jerking his shoulders and wrists from their sockets. Achan's weight pulled the rings farther down the wooden spikes, drawing Achan's arms down and out inch by inch.

He writhed, kicking and gasping and shouting every curse in the king's language. The cuffs cut into the tops of his hands. His arms and wrists throbbed. He dangled above the platform like an animal in a snare.

He had to ease the strain on his arms. He thrashed back and forth, trying to grab the chain with his fingers to spare his hands from the cuffs. He grabbed for the opposite chain, but his sweaty fingers slipped over the metal. With each twist of his body, the rings slid down more, pulling his arms further apart.

Under his feet, Lord Falkson continued to chant his strange language, somehow raising a physical wind with his words. Several gowzals fluttered to perch closer to the man.
"Barthos parach. Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen. Laqach no minchah. Laqach no oyeb."

Liquid tickled through Achan's beard and dripped from his chin. Sweat? Tears? Blood? He didn't know. He only knew he was going to die.
Sir Gavin!

He looked out at the field of faces, scanning for red Old Kingsguard cloaks. But of course they wouldn't wear them if trying to infiltrate this crowd.

Achan's temple prickled.
Vrell Sparrow.

Achan opened to the boy, thankful his rescue had come.

Achan. Are you well?
Sparrow asked.
What is happening?

Achan swung and reached again to the left. How could Sparrow not see?
Where are you?

Sir Gavin made me wait with the horses.

Achan's fingers slipped over the chain and the cuff wedged back into the top of his hand. He gritted his teeth.
Blazes, Sparrow. Wait with the horses, then, and keep out of my head.

You sound weak. Are you hurt?

Achan grunted and swung right.
You could say that.

What can I do?

Sit and wait like you were told!
Achan closed his mind to the boy, enraged his rescue hadn't come after all. His lungs were on fire. He could barely breathe. Where was Sir Gavin?

Achan's temple's pricked again.

Vrell Sparrow.

He managed to grip the chain above the cuff on his left hand, but his sweaty fingers slid down and he had to grip it again and again. He started to swing like a pendulum, side to side, until his left-hand grip was firm and secure. He ignored the searing pain from where the cuff cut into the skin on his right hand.

Sir Gavin! Where are you?

Straight out in front, lad. Do your best to hold tight.

Achan almost laughed. Holding tight wasn't the problem. He was holding quite tightly at the moment.

He squinted to locate Sir Gavin but failed. The wind picked up, tickling the hairs on Achan's legs and chilling his sweaty body. He swung toward the right spike. The chain drooped a bit. He jerked the chain, causing the large black ring to inch up the spike. In the same motion he crawled his fingers along the chain to keep it tight when he swung back. If he could climb off the top of this thing...

When he swung right again, he slid that ring up higher. It caught on a knot in the wood. His arms were crooked now, the right higher than the left.

He jerked the left chain up, twisting the excess around his hand to shorten it before he swung back. The higher he managed to raise the rings, the closer his arms were to the spikes--and the less he felt his arms would be ripped out.

He stopped, tried to catch his breath, but could hardly pull air into his lungs. His biceps burned. He wasn't strong enough for this. The chains coiled around his hands, cutting of the blood flow. They looked purple.

"Barthos yarad. Barthos laqach. Barthos dashen."

Dirt joined the wind rising from the platform below. The blowing cloud twisted into a funnel. Gowzals flew into the gale and were swept away, darkening the cloudy haze to black.

The whirlwind lengthened. Lord Falkson's phlegmy chanting droned louder. A gowzal squawked. The crowd grew silent, many of them dropping to their knees.

A form coalesced in the swirling cone. The black wind funnel began to take the shape of a man, five times taller than normal--with a doglike head, long pointed ears, and a shaggy mane. His body consisted of black dirt particles spinning together under invisible skin.

Barthos, god of soil.

The people in the temple fell prostrate. On the platform below, Silvo, Nongo, the guards...even Esek fell to his face.

"Arman, Arman, Arman," Achan whispered between short breaths, staring at the
thing
. His arms shook, ached, burned. Please. He gasped. "Please."

Sir Gavin Lukos.

Achan's head throbbed from Sparrow's persistent knocks so much he barely heard Sir Gavin's knock over the boy's. Achan opened immediately.
Where are you? What do I do?

Remember, lad, he's made of black spirits like the black knights use.

Wonderful. But what do I do?

Barthos is a creature of Gazar, not a god. He has no authority over Arman's children. We cannot kill him with steel, but we can rebuke him.

Scold Barthos? That huge creature?
How?

Tell him to leave.

Sir Gavin's voice yelled from the crowd on Achan's left. "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

Achan scanned the crowd in that direction but couldn't see him.

The creature too turned toward Sir Gavin's voice, revealing its lupine face. A kuon, the rabid black wolves that were said to be so prevalent in the Cela Mountains. That explained why Barth's crest displayed a kuon.

Achan whimpered, doubting this beast would listen to him. He sucked a short breath between his teeth. "Go away!"

Barthos's
neck twisted. Eyes locked onto Achan's, he roared a guttural sound that curled Achan's toes.

The beast swung a clawed paw. Achan moved his legs aside in time. But the ring on the right spike slid loose, jerking Achan's right arm down.

Now he knew why he'd been strung here. He was to be plucked off his chains and devoured by this god of the underworld like a choice morsel.

Achan writhed back and forth, legs swinging, right arm jerking the chain back up the pole. His arms were killing him. His hands were numb. Pain stabbed his temple.

Vrell Sparrow.

Achan screamed. He was going to maim Sparrow if he survived this.

From the crowd behind him, Sir Caleb's voice shouted, "Arman hu elohim, Arman hu echad, Arman hu shlosha be-echad. Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

The kuon tipped his head back and howled like a hundred vultures circling their carrion. It fell to all fours and lumbered under Achan, shaking the platform and spikes with each step.

Inko's voice rose from somewhere on Achan's right. "Hatzileni, beshem Caan, ben Arman."

Barthos spun toward Inko and roared.

Clearly, Achan didn't know how to scold the beast properly. Anyway, what was this doing but whipping the creature into more anger? This wasn't the rescue he had in mind. He realized that if he wanted down, he'd have to do it himself.

The right ring had wedged between two knots close to the spike's point. That drew his legs closer to the right beam. Achan kicked out, trying to hook a leg around the right spike. He missed and fell back, his arms jerking taut.

He grunted and kicked up again. This time he was able to curl his right calf around the spike.

The pressure in his right arm eased immediately. He hung for a moment, took a deep breath, then pulled his other leg over until he managed to wrap it around too. He clutched the spike with both legs and his right arm. He tipped his head back, left arm still stretched to the left spike.

Barthos stalked through the crowd, knocking the spectators aside. Black dirt billowed under his transparent skin.

People screamed. Some sang a warbling song in their foreign tongues. The knights' voices chanted low and steady, their rhythm contradicting Lord Falkson's slurred tones.

Sparrow continued to knock, the little boil.

Achan struggled with his left hand, jerking the chain up the spike inch by inch until at last the ring slipped over the top of the spike and fell.

The weight jerked his left arm, and his body slid down the wood spike. Rough splinters pierced his torso, arm, and thighs. He squeezed, stopping himself from sliding further, and pulled his left arm up to the spike.

He alternated hugging the spike with his arms and twisting his hips then squeezing his legs around the spike and moving his arms. The chains and metal rings still hung from his wrists, but at least his arms were no longer being yanked out. In this way he slowly inched his body around the beam until he was on the outside of it, hunched upon the slope as if riding Scout up a steep hill.

He shimmied up awkwardly. When he reached the sharpened tip, he worked the right ring up, for it had wedged between the spike and his body. Once he pulled the ring off the spike, he looped it over his arm like a metal sleeve. He pulled the left chain up and threaded his left arm through it.

Now what?

He was free of the spikes, but he was so high up that a smoky haze from the torches on the platform blurred the floor beneath him. Achan caught sight of a red blur running down the stairs followed by two dark blurs. Not so cocky now that the beast had been distracted, huh, Esek?

He looked out into the grandstands. The knights had successfully diverted Barthos. He could see them now. They wore the clothing Lord Eli had given them--white tunics, leather vests, and brown trousers--and were standing halfway up the grandstands on his left. The beast raged through the crowd, circling Sir Caleb, but never getting too close. People in the crowd screamed and trampled each other to get out of
Barthos's
path.

The platform was empty but for Lord Falkson and the gowzals that perched on him as if he were a scarecrow. Achan scanned the crowd for Silvo and Sir Nongo. He spied the black knights with Khai pushing through the crowd toward Sir Caleb.