Veil of Shadows (33 page)

The door slammed shut behind her, and Xan turned to study the Warlord. He was still staring at the door, although Syn was no longer in sight. He was smiling. Xan drew his blade. It caught the Warlord’s eyes and as their gazes met, Xan tossed it in the air, making the silver metal dance and twirl about his fingers.

“I’m tempted to cut you, just for looking at her at all,” he said mildly.

“Should I close my eyes when I speak to her, then?”

Xan slid the knife back into the sheath. “Might be the wiser choice. But wise doesn’t describe your actions, does it? You shouldn’t have come here.”

The Warlord smirked. “And yet . . . here I am.”

“Yes. Here you are.” Moving closer to the Warlord, he said in a quiet voice, “Touch her, and I’ll bleed you. No way around it.”

He was half delirious with hunger, lack of sleep.

Stumbling through the forest, Dais kept his knife in his hand, watching for anything that might be slow enough for him to kill. He was so hungry now, so desperate for food, he’d eat nearly anything.

But there wasn’t anything here that he
could
eat.

Burned. Everything was burned. The stink of cooked demon flesh, rotting and sour, flooded his head. He almost tripped and ended up crashing into a charred tree. He’d been higher up in the mountains when the devices exploded, so close that he’d felt the heat of the blast, so close that the ash had choked the air and all but blinded him.

“Should have just stayed in the mountains,” he muttered. He didn’t know why he’d left—at least in the mountains, there had been enough vegetation around for him to eat. Not that he enjoyed chewing on leaves, seeds and the like, but it provided some nourishment.

If he’d stayed there, he wouldn’t have gotten trapped with no food, no water.

There was nothing here. Nothing he could use for food, no place he could hide, no soul to offer him refuge.

Bloody hell, if he’d been just a bit closer to the blast zone, he’d be dead.

“Should have stayed in Anqar,” he muttered. So many times, he’d been tempted. Raichar Taise had paid him well enough; he could have survived there. Taise could have found a use for him. He’d had plenty of men serving under him, that was certain. Powerful men always had a use for clever, clear thinkers. Dais would have been set.

But greed had made him push for more and more.

Now he was trapped here, trapped. Hunted like an animal—

Had to get away. That was why he’d left the mountains. Couldn’t stay there, not come winter. Needed to get south. Couldn’t go back to the band of Warlords, thanks to that one backstabbing, double-crossing bastard. Might even have a price on his head, courtesy of the Warlords. Fuck . . . what if one of their damned mercenaries were here?

If they had one of the Insar . . . Oh, damn.

“South,” he muttered, shoving off the tree trunk and stumbling down the path. Needed to head south, needed to get out of this ruined land, find some place with game, with clean water . . . had to . . .

“Clever little witch.” Morne stood at the outer edges of the blast zone and stared at the devastation with a smile. He had no doubt who had been behind this plan. It had Laisyn’s name written all over it.

Kalen had warned him a few days ago to stay clear of this area. Morne had been miles away when the blast hit and he’d still felt the earth shaking, seen the smoke billowing up into the sky. The ash had cleared from the air, but some of the fires still burned. The damage stretched across an area of five miles, with the worst of the damage in the center and gradually lessening on the outer edges.

Morne had come to satisfy his curiosity. He’d done that—and more. Standing in the skeletal remains of the trees, he stared at the man a few dozen yards away, hardly able to believe his eyes.

Considering how much time he’d spent looking for Dais Bogler, Morne felt more than a little disappointed. It seemed too anticlimactic.

Just ahead, through the trees, he could see Dais, stumbling around like a drunken fool. Though that wasn’t the case. Morne didn’t need physical contact with the man to realize why it was so easy to catch him unaware.

“Life’s not so easy when you’re on the run, is it?”

Dais was starving, dehydrated and exhausted. So exhausted, it almost made Morne’s teeth hurt before he shielded himself.

Morne had seen others in a similar state—many of the refugees who’d come into the base camp over the years had been like this. Dying of thirst, starvation and a bone-deep exhaustion that went beyond mere weariness. If something wasn’t done, Dais would be dead in a few more days.

“Can’t have that,” Morne muttered. Too easy a death for that bastard. He’d cost the lives of too many people. Resting a hand on his blade, he debated about whether he should just slit the bastard’s throat or let the fool wander around until he was simply too weak to walk another step.

Maybe he’d end up Jorniak fodder. Would serve him right.

However, it was more likely he’d end up catching the notice of a Raviner.

Though the blast had killed quite a few demons, not all were dead, and sooner or later, they’d be drawn back to this area. Demons were creatures of habit.

The last thing Morne wanted was a Raviner getting his hands on Dais. There was enough rage, enough fear, to feed several of those things for days. Nasty things would come about if that happened.

So Morne either needed to just end him here or haul him into the camp and let the rest deal with him.

He stood there, torn. Then, abruptly a smile curled his lips. Sheathing his knife, he drew a leather cord from the pack at his waist.

“Hello, dead man.”

Syn was so tired, the words were blurring together before her.

She yawned so loud, her jaw cracked. Feeling Xan’s eyes on her, she glanced up and found him watching her with a smile. He stroked the tip of his finger down her cheek and murmured, “You should rest.”

“I’ll rest when the next rotation arrives.”

Since they’d brought the Warlord into the base camp, there had been three attempts to kill him. Two of those attempts had been stopped by the guard detail. One of those attempts had been stopped by the prisoner himself.

Syn had ended up moving him into one of the secure containment pits, for his own safety. It didn’t sit well with her, although she couldn’t figure out
why
. It wasn’t as though she was mistreating the Warlord. She was actually trying to
protect
him.

He hadn’t so much as fought when they’d led him to the pit and he’d leaped down into it of his own volition, not waiting for the ladder. She’d flinched when he jumped, half thinking he’d done it with the hopes of breaking his own neck. But seconds later, she’d remembered some basic Anqarian physiology—they were physically stronger than most humans, their bones denser. It was theorized that the force of gravity in Anqar was greater than in Ishtan. They had the same genetic makeup as people from Ishtan, but one of them could make a twenty-foot drop with no injury. The same couldn’t be said for people from Ishtan.

She’d peered over the edge at him and seen him settle himself down in the corner of the narrow, tomblike pit, his face expressionless, his emotions carefully hidden deep inside. She still couldn’t get much of a read on him—no overt maliciousness, no rage, none of the negative emotions that would have made it easier for her to have him executed. All she could sense from him was a deep, abiding sense of determination.

He had a goal.

Until she knew what that goal was, she wasn’t going to trust him.

But she also wasn’t going to leave him alone, either.

Sooner or later, either he’d get tired of people trying to kill him, or one of the attempts would be successful.

They’d moved him into the pit after the third attempt. This particular pit had been designed for “unique” prisoners. It was smaller than the main pit and built under one of the dormers. To get to the Warlord now, it would require going through whoever was on guard duty.

Syn had selected the guards herself, and she was almost certain the only threat to the Warlord now was himself.

In all the years the rebellion had been in this location, there had been a few occasions when they had managed to take a Warlord alive, and smaller pits like this were where they’d keep such prisoners. Or at least, where they’d keep them until the Warlords found a way to commit suicide. They didn’t tolerate captivity well. Rather ironic—they had no trouble enslaving others, but would rather die than have any sort of captivity forced upon them.

“Think he’s down there trying to figure out how to kill himself?” she asked, glancing at the wooden floor as though she could see him through the planks.

“No.” Xan was whittling away on a piece of wood, and he paused to glance at her face. He shrugged. “If he was going to kill himself, he would have already done so. He figured he was going to get locked up once he got here, and if he didn’t want that, he would have just found a way to make you kill him right then or he would have escaped.”

Syn grimaced. It wasn’t like either of them could be experts on Warlord personalities, but she’d arrived to the same conclusion herself.

“So we just have to keep up this game until Kalen decides what to do with him.” Shoving a hand through her hair, she yawned again and glanced at the dented carafe. “Is all the kion gone?”

“Yes. You drank the last cup about an hour ago.” He rose, tucking away the butt of wood he’d been carving. “I’ll go to your dormer, bring back more. I need to stretch my legs.”

Then he smiled at her and stroked a hand down her neck. “Although I can think of more pleasant ways to wake up, ways that would also help both of us stretch . . . loosen up.” He bent over her and nipped her earlobe. “Wake up.”

Syn swatted at him. “We’re on duty, remember.” Then she hooked a hand over the back of his neck and hauled him down for a kiss. “But later.”

Definitely later.

“After you sleep a good twelve hours,” he said. He cradled her cheek in his hand and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “You’re pushing yourself too hard, trying to take a shift in here every other day on top of your other duties. You need to let yourself rest.”

“I can rest when I’m dead.” She shrugged and waved him toward the door. “Go on already. Get me some caffeine, I’m begging you.”

The door closed behind him, leaving her alone. Leaning back in her seat, she stared at the faded wooden beams overhead, counting them just to keep her mind from wandering, drifting off. If she let her mind drift for even five seconds, she was going to fall asleep.

Xan. She’d think about Xan. It was one way guaranteed to have her blood pumping hot enough to chase the exhaustion from her mind. Although he hadn’t been on rotation here tonight, he’d been with her. She hadn’t even been surprised when he showed up on the doorstep only moments after she’d taken over guard duty. She was getting way too used to having him around, she knew. It was something she kind of wanted to talk to him about, although she wasn’t sure how.