Lunatic (22 page)

Of course, the priest was easy to hate. It could work to his advantage.

"Five minutes."

riest!" Marak slammed the thrall's double doors against the walls and bellowed into the hall. The few servants and acolytes around scurried out of his way. He roared through the atrium and between two shrines of the winged serpent, boots pounding against the floor.

"He's-he's in his study, General," a temple guard offered. The man bowed and scurried out of Marak's way. Smart man.

Marak swung open another door and knocked one of the serpent-idols off its stand. The silver god clattered on the floor as the door crashed against the wall.

Sucrow looked up from his study, pen in hand, and drilled him with a malicious scowl. "You dare show such irreverence. Announce yourself like a civilized man."

"I announced my entry from the front door, Priest. It's no fault of mine if you're deaf." Marak stomped across the room and slapped both palms on the desk, leaning over the wood into Sucrow's hawkish face.

Sucrow stood and came around the desk. "Don't send me albino slaves, Marak. The smell is atrocious. I had the guards take her to a holding room. In fact, I don't want her to exist. Who are these?"

"They wish to make a presentation. Apparently they think they can do in three days what we've been trying to do for years."

Listen to yourself, he almost heard Jordan say. You talk like you re pulling weeds. I'm not a weed, Marak.

Qurong wants dead albinos, I give him dead albinos, his mind argued back.

The invisible knife twisted inside his stomach. He remembered that argument. One of many.

And when Qurong asks for my dead body, brother? When Sucrow takes Rona for his reprobate rituals? Then what? For Elyon's sake, Marak, you were going to marry the girl! Don't tell me you don't love her still!

Marak stilled. He turned his back. I can't love the dead.

We're not dead.

Sucrow dismissed the young couple. "They can wait. I have another matter to discuss with you."

Ignoring Josef's angry expression, Marak motioned for them to remain in the hall. The door shut on the pair of nutcases, then Marak was alone with Sucrow.

The priest opened a cask of wine.

"Why did you decide to keep an albino for a pet?"

Marak shrugged. "I just haven't decided how to kill her yet. She's the one responsible for the death of Jordan of Southern."

A sly grin spread across Sucrow's face. "You are cruel."

Funny, Rona had told him the same thing.

"She hasn't tried to convert you, has she? The albinos can be persistent."

"She'll keep her mouth shut, or I'll cut out her tongue."

"Just like your brother," Sucrow cackled. "And now he's dead."

"Get on with this. I have duties that don't concern you."

Sucrow fingered his necklace and folded his hands. Chuckled. "Very well, General. Let's get down to business. My report to the supreme commander included your compliance to the new laws regarding the albinos. As expected, the execution of your albino relatives has reassured us both where your loyalties lie."

Marak growled. He'd given the order. His captain carried it out. As promised, he'd watched their executions.

Cassak sent him home. Then he found Darsal in the dungeons.

Sucrow sneered, enjoying his newfound power too much. "I will be placing my serpent warriors over each of your commanders. They will report to my men, just as you will report to me."

"My men report to me."

"You'll have to take the matter up with Qurong, General." The priest still looked amused. "But don't think that will aid you. I have my own means of persuasion."

Rumor had it Sucrow used spells to control the throaters. If you believed in that kind of thing. Regardless, the man obviously had some sort of control over them. They were all unquestionably loyal to their high priest.

Once again, Marak wondered how this man had gained so much power and favor with Qurong. Thus far, Marak had resisted the priest's influence. On that point alone he agreed with the rebel Eram.

The priest needed to go. No religious man should have equal or greater power than a governing ruler. Exactly who ruled whom, the priest or the supreme commander?

Sucrow poured two glasses and gave one to Marak.

He pushed it away. "Qurong wants me to let you at the helm of my project. He did not order me to drink with a superstitious old man who worships a snake with wings, Priest."

Sucrow threw him a cold stare. "Blasphemer or not, you will show respect for the Great One while inside my temple."

"Your temple or his?"

"You know what I mean."

"Then say what you mean."

After a few moments, the priest conceded. "Killing kin. Something your grandfather never would consent to."

Marak ground his teeth.

The priest chuckled. "Still reeling over their deaths, Marak? They were diseased. Far better to die quickly than slowly, don't you think?"

Marak fought the urge to turn this priest into a mound of clay on the ground. But the old sorcerer had far more to his advantage than met the eye.

"I think a wise man knows when to mind his tongue. He never said I couldn't kill you."

Sucrow's amusement only increased. The viper needed to die, slowly and painfully, the most excruciating death available.

"Marak, Marak, such a temper."

"Don't tempt me, Priest. You've seen what I'm capable of." Marak turned. He hadn't touched the wine and had no intention of doing so. Sucrow likely meant to get him drunk and wave some spell over him.

"General ..."

Marak paused but didn't turn around, hand still on the door.

"As you've said. You're capable of anything, correct?"

"Say what you mean, Priest. This is why religious idiots have no business leading an army. You'd kill us all with your yammering."

More cackling. "Very well. Since you're so adept at killing albinos, take care of the one you've been dragging around."

Darsal.

"I do things my own way, Priest. She'll die when she dies."

"I want her dead, General. You can kill your own brother, surely you can take care of a nameless wench." Pause. "Or you could give her to me. She'd make a lovely replacement for the other wench."

Rona.

"Fine," he growled. "I'll kill her."

Sucrow chuckled. "Pity. She might enjoy Teelehs caresses as much as the other one did."

"Leave it, Sucrow. I said I'd kill her." He tried to leave.

"Ah, General?"

"What now, Priest?" he snarled.

"Are you curious what the youth might say?"

"Send your servant with a report. I'm taking the wench now."

He shut the door. The young man and woman were still waiting in the hall. "Enter." Without waiting for a response, he stormed off.

Sucrow was trying to usurp the military arm.

Qurong was breathing down his neck to finish off the albinos.

Eram threatened rebellion.

He'd killed his own his brother and sister-in-law.

Then taken in a pet albino.

Lunacy.

Darsal had to die.

Then Sucrow would get off him and he could see to getting his command back.

SUCROW HAD LOCKED DARSAL IN WHAT LOOKED LIKE A small ritual room and posted a guard outside. A room with Teeleh's winged serpent image leering at her and an altar and a silver bowl of unlit incense. She'd had neither the time nor stamina to resist being placed there.

Not that it would have mattered.

Marak might kill her.

Sucrow would kill her.

And that was counter to Elyon's mission for her.

She couldn't do penance if she was dead.

Once the door shut she started to pace. Johnis and Silvie were alive. Alive and Scab. Alive and coming to deal with Sucrow.

What to do, what to do?

Darsal sat, one knee up, as far from the feet of the idol as she could get. No way would she take a kneeling posture before the image.

"Elyon ... ?"

She tried to wrap her head around this idea that Johnis and Silvie had not found water, had not gone on as they should have to bathe and find Thomas.

This was not what was supposed to happen.

"Elyon, why?"

Everything in her screamed to break out of the temple, rush out, and find her friends. Shake them, reason with them. She could try it. Overpower the guard, steal his weapon. Grab Johnis and slam him against the wall, fling him into a red lake and drown him.

But no-even if she could get out of the room, she'd never get beyond the first corridor before someone ran her through.

She couldn't help Johnis and Silvie. They were in agony. The Scab general was to blame.

How could she choose Marak over Johnis and Silvie? Hopeless.

Return to the Horde and love them for me. For Johnis.

"Do you want me to help Johnis or stay with Marak?"

The seconds turned to minutes. Darsal laid her forehead on the cool floor.

Arguing outside. Marak burst through the door. Darsal stood. Her leg chain clattered on the cold stone floor.

"Come," he snapped. "We're leaving."

She squeezed between him and the door, under his arm, barely brushing his clothes. Marak poked at her with the butt of his knife.

"What's-"

"Silence!" he ordered.

She obeyed.

"WHO ARE YOU?" SUCROW DEMANDED. THE SNAKE WAS just as disgusting and slimy as his predecessor.

"My name is Josef of Southern. This is Arya, my betrothed."

They had both agreed to change their identities. Josef after a story Darsal's niece once told them. Arya after Silvie's mother.

Of course, Silvie couldn't be sure if the suggestion was Johnis's or Shaeda's.

She wasn't sure what she knew anymore. Johnis wasn't himself.

Johnis approached the desk and leaned forward. "I've a solution to the albino problem. We can be rid of them all in three days' time."

Sucrow squinted at him. He had the look of a man curious but trying to appear indifferent. With one hand he pushed Johnis back.

Silvie kept a hawk's eye on the cretin's fingers. Though the more rational part of her told her Shaeda, if she was really controlling him to any degree, would not allow him to be injured for long.

As long as he obeyed.

"And what might that be?"

Silvie tried to keep their greater purpose in mind: conquer the Horde. With them Sucrow would die too.

Shaedas will was infinitely potent.

Soon enough. Soon enough. Johnis's plan included breaking free of the accursed Leedhan's stranglehold and keeping her powers for himself. Then they could kill the Horde instead of just conquering them.

Silvie toyed with her knife, imagining slitting the woman's throat.

Under normal circumstances she would already have planted one in the Dark Priest's brain and another in his torso.

Soon.

Very soon.

Her hand was getting itchy for a throw. The blade would have to go right past Johnis's ear, likely touching it, to reach the priest's skull. She'd made that throw before. Her love was in no danger if she made a second attempt.

"An ancient power," Johnis answered, "beyond the likes this world has ever seen."

The priest picked up his pen and started rummaging in his desk, apparently bored with Johnis's assertions.

Illusion, of course.

If anyone knew the old tales, Sucrow did. That was why Johnis had been confident selling the point to Marak. Sucrow would know.

"I've been given the means and locations required to retrieve it."

"Is that so, boy?" The priest's coyness made her blade-finger twitchy.

Johnis's cutting glare hardened. "It is."

"And how do you propose to get this ... weapon?" Sucrow sneered.

"With this." Johnis withdrew the maggoty, rancid yellow grapefruit-thing and held it right under Sucrow's nose.

The priest's eyes widened. Only for a second, but enough for Silvie to notice. Johnis was right.

Which meant Shaeda was right too.

Her stomach turned.

But why was Sucrow pretending he didn't believe? Or maybe Johnis really had surprised him with a fruit that no one had seen before. Comforting, that thought.