Glyphbinder (15 page)

The way he stared at her made her feel warm and worried all at once. Like he truly cared for her. “How do I stop?”

“You remember the way you saved me. I’m alive today because of you. You saved me, and you’ll save them. It’s just who you are.”

He meant it. He meant every word. Kara would have hugged him then, but Byn was almost out of sight. Instead, she squeezed Trell’s hand. Then she headed after Byn as Trell fell into step beside her.

Trell’s faith in her didn’t make her feel better, but it kept her going. It would keep her going. She would not give up until she found her friends and made them safe.

ARYN LOCKE WOKE with a splitting headache. The world spun, swayed, like he was in the hold of a ship caught in a massive summer storm. When he forced his eyes open, the headache only got worse. The world around him was a muddy blur.

Aryn quested for the dream world, but the pain in his head put it out of reach. He soon discerned a faint light just beyond the blur around his head. Torchlight. At the smell of worn cloth he realized a rough woven sack had been bound over his head.

Whatever carried him jostled him constantly, and Aryn knew it was not human from the sound of its massive feet crushing grass. His hands were bound, but he did not cry out. Why would he?

He had years of practice in enduring pain, pinches and cuffs from his dear older brothers. Tears and cries had only spurred them on and Aryn had learned to endure pain with quiet, even a smile. He wondered where Tamen and Loras were now. He wondered if his brothers would care when they learned he was dead.

Aryn breathed and kept himself still through every jostle from his captor, every shoulder jammed into his gut. He had to stay awake now. If his captors thought him sleeping, he might be able to escape when they stopped. At the least, he could get in one good swing.

They moved downhill. Aryn could feel the change. As they walked one of their captors grunted, followed by a low moan. Aryn recognized it as human. He recognized it as Sera.

He bit back a scream, his heart pounding. What did these monsters want with her? Had they hurt her? Would they?

A history of quiet meetings came rushing back. He and Sera as children, playing with Sera’s kind old nanny. Aryn remembered Sera performing the tune she had composed for his tenth birthday on her recorder. He remembered long summers of swimming, playing, and laughing in their younger years. Happy times.

These last few summers, he and Sera had barely seen each other at all outside of Solyr. Sera tutored him, but that was all they had time for, and Aryn had resented that while at Solyr. Byn monopolized her, and Aryn hated him for that.

It was only now, being carried to his death, that Aryn acknowledged how foolish he had been. Sera had never been his. Even if he had won the post of royal apprentice she would never have left Byn, and why would she? What did he have to offer her?

Aryn’s captor tossed him off. Air spun about him and then he hit hard ground, smelled grass. The landing knocked the breath out of him, but that pain was nothing against Sera’s loud cry as she landed beside him. He wanted to kick knees and smash heads.

Someone ripped the sack from Aryn’s head before he could get his breath back. A cuff across his jaw set the moonless sky spinning before his eyes. When he could see again, he dangled in the arms of two massive gnarls.

Oily brown fur covered their bodies and their arms and legs ended in long, sharp claws. A dog-like snout turned to him and bared long rows of stained teeth. Aryn winced.

“Prey blinks,” the gnarl said with an exaggerated growl. “Shall we feed it to the mistress?”

Aryn stared at the brown-furred beastman as it ripped another bag from Sera’s head. Her changed orange eyes were wide. He had come on this journey to protect her, and now was the time.

He hoped it didn’t end up getting him killed.

“Unhand me…” Aryn started, but his throat stung and he fell into a fit of coughing.

The gnarls held him steady. Torches held by two other gnarls gave just enough light to reveal their black eyes. They stood in the middle of a small, flattened clearing in a sea of high grass. A sliver of moon hung in the now clear sky.

“Unhand me.” Aryn summoned what he could of his mangled pride. “You hold in your arms Aryn Locke, third born of—”

A beastman punched him in the gut. They released him. Aryn fell to all fours, gasping and spitting. Far from diplomatic.

A boot heel dug into his back. It pushed him flat and then kicked him in the side. Grunting and shielding himself, Aryn rolled over and raised his hands. His ribs screamed with pain.

“Be silent, butcher, and listen.” A young woman with straight red hair glared down at him. She was no beast.

Her face was tan, slim, and marked by freckles. Almost boyish. Her narrow nose sat between two gray eyes. She wore a dark leather tunic under a jacket of fur-covered hides and rawhide pants tucked into brown boots. She glared at him like he had glared at Kara, the night she had beaten him in their triptych duel.

“My name is Jyllith Malconen. I was born in Talos. I had a mother, three sisters. Your legionnaires slaughtered them when I was eight years old. I survived. You most likely won’t.”

Talos was a town in Rain. Aryn remembered. One of many sacked and burned by unknown parties before the Rain Rebellion. Before he could remind Jyllith about that, she moved on to Sera.

“And you?” Jyllith clenched Sera’s chin in one hand. “You’re smaller than I expected.” Jyllith forced Sera’s head left, then right, as if checking the teeth on a dog.

“Wait.” Aryn rolled onto his stomach. “Mynt didn’t murder your family.” The Rain Rebellion finally made sense. Whoever slaughtered the people of Taven’s Hamlet had burned Talos as well, more than a decade ago. “You were tricked. Someone’s inciting war against us.”

“Figured that out, did you?” Jyllith forced a chuckle. “Did you really think you could keep us under your boot forever?”

“We didn’t—“

“Mynt slaughtered thousands of my people as Tellvan stood by and watched. They denied all pleas for aid. Now we’re going to watch you both destroy each other.”

“
That’s
why you murdered everyone in Taven’s Hamlet?” Aryn stared. “Because of a war ten years ago?” He dared sit up.

Jyllith’s jaw twitched. “They brought that upon themselves. They supported the slaughter.” She did not sound entirely convinced.

“You don’t believe that.” Aryn stepped closer. “Think it through. Whoever owns your allegiance destroyed Talos, not us. They tricked you like they’re trying to trick—”

Something slammed into him, blowing him off his feet like a giant fist. A Hand of Breath as fast and masterful as he had ever seen. Aryn heard a bone snap when he landed and agony raced through his left arm. This time, he did scream.

“That’s how it feels when you lie to me,” Jyllith said. “Do it again and something else will break.”

“Stop!” Sera pulled against the gnarls that held her. “Stop hurting him! What do you want?”

Jyllith turned on her. “You, Kara.”

Aryn cradled his arm and sat up. “That’s not Kara.”

Jyllith turned back, eyes narrowed. She stalked over, scribing a glyph. Fingers of Breath gripped Aryn’s feet and jerked him into the air, hanging him upside down.

“Say that again.” Jyllith closed her eyes. Took the dream world.

Sera shook her head.
“Quiet!”

Aryn blinked at the impact of her mindspeak. He felt his blood rushing to his head. He also ignored her.

“This woman is not the one you seek. Her name is Sera Valence, daughter to Cyan’s chief magistrate, and you can ransom both of us for more money than you’ve ever seen.”

“Truth,” Jyllith whispered. She opened her eyes and turned on the waiting gnarls. “You grabbed the wrong girl!”

One of the gnarls that had held Aryn snorted. It stepped forward and crossed its arms across its massive chest. Its fur had a darker tint than its fellows, and a long scar crossed its wolfish face and one closed eye. A red jewel hung from its ear.

“Beg pardon,” the chieftain growled, “but mistress said grab girl with bright orange eyes.”

Jyllith’s leather gloves crackled, and Aryn was certain she would scream at them. She took deep breaths instead. He didn’t like that. Rational people were harder to manipulate.

“I did.” She gripped the gnarl’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t ready for Taven’s Hamlet. I thought I was, but the reality was different.”

The gnarl thumped her arm. Jyllith glanced at Sera and clenched her hands. “It’s my mistake. I’ll tell him.”

Aryn’s ears perked up. Him? Jyllith was working for someone. The elder who had tainted their supplies? It was difficult to think with all the blood rushing to his head.

Grunting, the big gnarl uncrossed its arms. “Try again?”

“No. The carrow root will be through their systems by the time we find them again. Wait here. Guard them.”

“Aryn, why did you tell her?”
Sera felt betrayed.
“She’ll go after Kara now.”

“She’d do that anyway, but only after she murdered you.”
Aryn, still hanging upside down in empty air, pressed ahead with Jyllith. “Ransom us. Send word to Postmaster Ganelle in Locke. Between my father and Sera’s family—”

Air crushed his throat. Aryn choked, wheezing and gasping. Jyllith was suffocating him. He felt like the world had flipped over and he was going to fall into the sky. The wide, yawning sky.

“Stop!” Sera screamed.

“Say another word and I’ll crush your lungs.” Jyllith stalked over and grabbed Sera’s chin, tugging her forward. “Why do this? Why sacrifice yourself for Kara? Are you deluded or stupid?”

“I’m innocent,” Sera said quietly. “We didn’t burn Talos. We didn’t hurt you. We were just children then, like you.”

“No one is innocent.” Jyllith stepped away. “Your legionnaires showed me that when they kicked in my mother’s skull.”

“Mistress!” the big gnarl growled. “Windwalkers.”

Jyllith looked to the darkness, and Aryn craned his neck to find two more gnarls lumbering from the night. The torches held by their captors gave the fur of these new ones a light grayish tint, like the gnarls they had fought in Taven’s Hamlet. One carried a big sack.

As the beastman threw down its burden a man tumbled out of the sack. Aryn did not know him, but he did know the tattered crest painted on his boiled leather armor. A yellow lion roaring before a clear blue sky. This was a Mynt soldier.

“We caught him leaving Taven’s Hamlet, mistress.” Both of the gray-furred gnarls bowed.

Jyllith stalked over. “Get him up.”

The big gnarls forced the man to his feet. Aryn winced as he saw the man’s face. Blood covered it, two teeth were missing, and a bloody rip down his scalp had parted his short blond hair. His mouth made a line and his face was like a carved statue. Hard.

“You.” Jyllith clenched the man’s chin between two fingers. “What were you looking for in Taven’s Hamlet?”

He showed her missing teeth. “A date.”

“You will tell me.” Jyllith scribed another glyph.

Aryn dropped, landing on his working arm. He bit back a scream as his other arm sent a spear of pain through his body. Dots danced before his eyes and he fought the urge to vomit. He could not stop thinking. Not now.

The feeling of being on solid ground, of being upright again, felt wonderful and disorienting at the same time, but his body had to adjust and he couldn’t lose focus of his goal. Saving Sera. He pushed himself up on one knee and watched Jyllith work.

Her other captive grunted as Jyllith lifted him into the air, then twisted him upside down. She clenched his chin and closed her eyes. Aryn realized then she couldn’t lift two targets at once. Useful.

The man spit, a mixture of blood and phlegm that splattered her cheek. She took no notice. Then, he started to scream.

“Stop it!” Sera struggled with the gnarls. “You’re killing him!”

The gathered gnarls seemed entranced by Jyllith’s torture of the Mynt soldier. They weren’t looking at him. Aryn stumbled toward one of the gnarls that held Sera, moving like the town drunk.

As he wobbled, threatening to go down, the gnarl released Sera and bounded over to steady him. Aryn drove his shoulder into its gut as hard as he could. It felt like hitting solid rock.

Pain shot through his other arm and down his spine. He fell and screamed. Sera thrashed and kicked off one gnarl into another, bucking and fighting. Aryn forced his head up and bared his teeth.

He heard a loud pop. The world went utterly silent. Aryn realized then he could not breathe. There was no air any longer.

He saw the gnarls gasping, silently. Sera was as well. Jyllith stood just outside the eerie silence, bloody fingers raised and glyphs floating in air. Just when Aryn’s vision began to vanish, Jyllith mussed her blood glyphs. Thunder deafened him.

“Get up,” Jyllith ordered. Her voice sounded far away.

Aryn breathed. It burned his lungs but felt amazing. By the time he could focus on the world around him, one of the gray-furred gnarls had him completely immobilized and another held Sera the same way. The brown-furred ones were growling on the ground.

Jyllith glared at them all. “You are soldiers of Rain. You do not toy with captives, you immobilize them. You do not hunt for the tribe, you hunt for me. Understand?”

“Mistress, forgive.” Both Rockeaters whined and held out their open paws. Even the chief cowered. They were afraid of her.

Jyllith’s eyes met Aryn’s and for a moment, he saw something behind her hard gaze. Fear. It was the trace of wet at the corner of her eyes, the way one eye twitched almost imperceptibly. Who frightened her? The man who had told her to capture them?