Harvest of Dreams (The Gods' Dream Trilogy) (49 page)

Pasinae raised her voice. “An invasion comes.” Extending an arm, she pointed to the sea. “Stay away from the temple and sequester yourself in your homes. Don’t try to fight. The invaders will focus only on the soldiers, unless given a target.” She hoped her words were true—that Ocean’s Glory wouldn’t sack Penutar in revenge for Seagem. “Spread the word to your neighbors to do likewise. Now go!”

The woman squeezed her hand, bunched up her ragged robe, and tottered down the street. Before they scattered, the people closed in on Pasinae again, giving her tender pats. Then they scooped up children, or aided the elderly or injured, and hurried home.

The derli carriage pulled to a stop in front of her. The driver set the break and swung down, his face scrunched with fear. “Trine Priestess, please forgive me. I didn’t know you’d fallen out of the carriage, or I would have stopped sooner.”

Normally, Pasinae would have blasted him, but after her battle with the tidal wave, the subsequent encounter with the townsfolk, and learning about her family, she felt only a strange sense of weariness. “Help me back up. Then make all speed to the temple.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Hot winds blew over Drayleth, and the milky pale light of dawn grayed the world around them. Overnight, the grassy plain had changed from verdant green to brown stalks that crackled under feet or hooves, sending the scent of dry grass into the parched air.

Indaran’s patchwork army lined up as they’d practiced for the last two days, similar to how they’d engaged in the initial skirmish—except this time, Indaran intended for them to attack both flanks of the enemy instead of one. Archers on foot stood in the front, ready to drop back when the enemy drew too close or they ran out of arrows. The swordsmen spaced themselves behind the first row of archers. Mounted Che-da-wah—including the four men from Ocean’s Glory whom Khan had judged competent enough with bow and arrow to shoot on horseback—bunched in two groups, one to the right and one on the left of the field.

Indaran sat astride his black horse and extended his father’s spyglass. He raised the instrument to his eye to see Ontarem’s army marching toward them. He swept the viewer over the ranks, surprised to see fewer soldiers than he’d expected.

How can that be?
Indaran lowered the scope and let it dangle from the chain around his neck. He glanced over at Roe-al on his horse with Jora mounted on the other side. “The army’s half as big as I think it should be according to Jasmine’s report of the number of soldiers Ontarem sent here, the amount we or Ontarem killed in the last skirmish, and the estimate you think the Che-da-wah have whittled away. Is there any way the Evil One’s forces could come at us from the side or behind?”

Roe-al shook his head. “Drayleth is on a plain between a great canyon and the sea, with Exonlah at the foot between the two. Ontarem’s soldiers can only come straight at us. And with the grass withered, hiding more than a few scattered people would be difficult.”

Indaran nodded his understanding. “Khan!” He shouted for his brother-in-law, who was giving last minute instructions to his archers, and waved for him to come over.

With a raise of his hand, Khan signaled an acknowledgment. He rode his horse closer.

“Can Shad and Shir do some
reconnaissance
?” Indaran asked, the Outworlder word Khan had taught him feeling strange on his tongue. “To make sure Ontarem hasn’t held back some soldiers or hidden them somewhere?”

Khan nodded. He put two fingers in his mouth and let out a sharp whistle.

Shad and Shir, perched on the top poles of the tents, took to the air and headed straight for them, dipping to hover about three feet in the air in front of Khan.

Khan made a series of gestures and combined them with the mental imagery he used to communicate with the animals.

The two monkey-bats chittered, each pointing with one tail in the direction they planned to observe—Shad to the left, and Shir to the right. They swung their second tails in a curving motion to indicate how they’d return.

In spite of his worry, Indaran couldn’t help feeling amused by the creatures…
Maybe when this is over, Jasmine and I can add two-tailed monkey-bats to our family.
The thought lightened his spirits.

He turned in his saddle and glanced behind him at the healing area set up just outside the forest to the right of the tents, where he could see his wife organizing her helpers. She, Anza, and half of the clan healers and their helpers planned to operate what Jasmine termed a
field hospital
near the battle. Sha-na and the other half would work in the clearing near Arvintor. This morning, he and Jasmine had argued about her decision to put herself near the danger—the first fight of their marriage.

When fear for her made Indaran insist she remain with Arvintor, safe in the midst of Exonlah, his usually compliant wife had dug in her heels. When he’d tried a direct command, pointing out that he was her husband and and king, and she should obey him, Jasmine retorted that she wasn’t yet a citizen of Seagem and would go wherever the wounded needed her. Knowing she was right, he’d given in. But he’d carry worry for her with him into the battle.

As frustrated and afraid as Jasmine made him, Indaran couldn’t help feeling pride in her. His wife, strong in conviction and compassion, would make a fitting queen for Seagem. She’d changed so much in the short time since she’d arrived in Kimtair, and he wanted nothing more than a long, peaceful life with her at his side.

Please, Yadarius!
Indaran prayed. He spared another moment of gratitude for the renewed connection with the SeaGod. He turned to face forward and saw Shad arrow onto Khan’s outstretched arm.

Shir aimed in his direction.

Indaran just had time to throw up his hand, so she could land on his shoulder. “Good girl.” He stroked her head. He and Jasmine had enjoyed playing with the two animals, and the monkey-bats had adopted them as second “parents.”

Shir preened under his fingers. She stared at him with intelligent eyes and sent him some fuzzy images of empty grassland.

Surprised, he glanced at Khan. Neither monkey-bat had attempted mental communication with him before.

His brother-in-law grinned and scratched under Shad’s chin. “They’re quite something, aren’t they?” His expression sobered. “Shad reports only emptiness.”

“Same for Shir.”

“Ready?” Khan asked the monkey-bat. He must have received an answer for he tossed the animal into the air.

Indaran did likewise. For a moment, he worried about the missing enemy, and then shrugged. He didn’t like not knowing where Ontarem’s other soldiers were, but all he could concern himself with right now was the battle heading his way.

We’re still outnumbered.

~ ~ ~

Hot and uncomfortable in her heavy uniform, Daria watched Ontarem’s soldiers approach, a solid ominous line growing nearer, the ground rumbling with the sound of marching feet. Something about the men seemed different, taller? She squinted, wishing she had a spyglass. In a few more minutes, as the miniature figures grew larger, she realized the first rows carried pikes and long-handled hooks shaped like man-sized shepherd’s hooks.

Dread skittered down her spine.
They’ve figured out how to counter our mounted attack. We’ve just lost some of our advantage.
She glanced at her brother, but his expression remained impassive. He made an
engage
sign to Khan who signaled the start of battle with his attack.

In one fluid motion, her mate drew and released, sending the arrow whizzing straight and true to pierce the heart of a soldier in the opposite line. The man crumpled to the ground, and another stepped forward and took his place.

Ocean’s Glory archers fired their first round straight ahead, dropping soldiers in the front lines. Then, in their second round, arrows arched across the sky like a shower of splinters. The Che-da-wah were the first to move—charging the enemy line, throwing spears as they galloped by, only to peel off to the right or left, depending on which side of the battlefield they were on. They raced back in a wide arc to grab a new spear from the adolescents holding armloads of them and started all over.

Daria tried to close her ears to the screams of the wounded. She kept her attention divided between the fighting and her swordsmen, making sure they stayed in formation, engaging only on her orders. As the each archer used up his supply of arrows, he dropped behind the rest of the shooters, and ran to the back to ease into the last line. Only then would he pull out his sword.

As the enemy army pressed forward, she marked each officer on his mount and tried to spot in the enemy ranks some of the men they’d saved, but couldn’t recognize any.

Her othersense thrummed, pulling her attention to the back of the enemy formation to a man mounted on a gray horse.

As if sensing her attention, he turned his head and made eye contact across the battlefield.
You will be my God’s!
She heard the thought as strongly as if he’d spoken it aloud not three feet away from her.

He’s so strong!
He must be the other Trine Priest.
Daria tried to block her reaction, to keep him from sensing any fear. She pulled up her anger, used the strength of her defiance to gather her othersense power, and hurled a response at him.
Go ahead and try!

~ ~ ~

Wearing scarves tied over their heads to keep their hair back, Jasmine and Anza knelt over a Seagem soldier. The Archpriestess tried to stem the blood flow from a slice that had almost severed the man’s leg, while Jasmine carefully knit the two halves together. The process was time consuming, and, as she worked, Jasmine was aware of the press of the other wounded who needed her.
I’m not the only healer,
she reminded herself.
I can’t rush this.

Once her patient was stable, and she’d saved his leg, Jasmine waved to one of the adolescent Che-da-wah. He and his partner came running with a stretcher to take the soldier into Arvintor’s clearing, which they’d designated as the recovery center and place for further healing once a patient was stabilized.

Jasmine glanced over at the battlefield, trying to shield herself from the wounded and dying, to search for Indaran through the clash of the warriors and the dust kicked into the air from feet and hooves. She caught sight of the leader of Ontarem’s soldiers, remaining alone on his horse behind the action, a mounted man on either side of him.

She blinked, wiped her sleeve across her eyes, and blinked again, only to see the same sight—a man who looked just like the priest who’d briefly kidnapped her. Her body stilled.
It can’t be.
Indaran with the help of her monga, Shareef, had killed him.

He must be the brother…Nabric…the third of the Trine with Pasinae and Kokam!

She examined him with her othersense. This time Jasmine knew what to look for—the dark gray chord stretching from Nabric’s brain back to Penutar—to Ontarem—although this tentacle looked twice as thick as the ones the regular soldiers had with their God.

She and the Archpriestess exchanged glances, and Jasmine could tell by the expression on Anza’s face that she could see the tentacle too.

There must be a way we can save him.
“If only we could sever him from the Evil One,” Jasmine said to the Archpriestess.

Anza grimaced. “We can’t get close. Doing so would be too dangerous.”

“Let’s try from here, Anza. Maybe if we combine our energy…with the aid of the Gods…”

The Archpriestess nodded. She reached over to take Jasmine’s hand in her long, thin fingers.

Jasmine gathered Anza’s power, green and powerful from her distant connection with Yadarius. She twined Anza’s with hers, the red and green ribboning together. She visualized a blade, like a knife, and sent the weapon hurling in the Trine Priest’s direction, thudding the point home near where the tentacle attached to Nabric’s brain.

For a moment, Jasmine breathed in relief that her tactic had worked. But a beat later, the weapon slid off from the thick cord, leaving no sign it had penetrated or caused any damage at all.

Unwilling to expend more power to try again, Jasmine disengaged, discouraged.

Anza pressed Jasmine’s hand before releasing. “We had to try.”

A man stumbled over to them, holding his arm to his shoulder. Blood dripped from beneath his hand.

Jasmine stepped up to heal him. As she set her hand on his shoulder, something made her glance over at the Trine Priest.

The man in the gray flowing robe sat on his horse, watching her like a hawk eyes a mouse.

Jasmine shivered, realizing she’d just made a serious mistake by drawing his attention to her.
I’m protected. We have the whole army between us.
But even as she tried to reassure herself, to focus on healing the soldier, she couldn’t completely contain her fear.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The pearl resting against Nabric’s forehead throbbed. He stayed safely behind his men—his attention divided between directing orders to several aides who raced his commands to the officers and funneling the battle energy to Ontarem.

Like a giant seasponge, Ontarem absorbed the power generated by the battle—the fear and pain and death of His men. Once the rain of arrows had passed, and the two armies came together with shouts and a mighty clash of metal-on-metal, the potent othersense of the dying defenders enriched the force channeling to Ontarem. Each wave magnified Ontarem’s strength, and Nabric gloried in his God’s satisfaction, as He in turn funneled power back to His Trine Priest.