Lunatic (7 page)

Movement in the northwest desert. Eram was up to something. Eram, the half-breed general, holed up in the desert. He'd lured about a third of their people-all half-breeds themselvesinto the northwest desert shortly after the drowning incident, two years and two generals ago.

The Eramites were smaller in number, but entirely made up of half-breeds, former Forest Dwellers.

Two guards arrived behind the scout, carrying a woman between them by the armpits. Albino. Barely conscious.

Albino wretch.

What was left, anyway.

Warryn kept her in an induced stupor. Tormenting the woman had nothing to do with interrogation and everything to do with breaking down the husband.

Rona was half-dragged to the altar and placed prone on top. Wrists and ankles restrained.

Warryn took a long dreg of wine and motioned for his assistant to begin. The assistant picked up a shaft of wood about a foot long with a thick knot on one end the size of Cassak's fist.

The tortures began. The albino didn't have the strength to scream. Only a pathetic whimper as the small club struck her knee. As Warryn progressed, Cassak grew uneasy.

Marak didn't deserve this.

Cassak narrowed his eyes. He'd seen enough. And there was Eram to deal with. "I'm going to attend to real business."

"Such as?"

"A rebellion in the desert." Cassak started for the door. "A word of warning: don't harm the woman more than you must."

He left before Warryn could respond.

Time to give the priest a little visit.

" oHNIS . . ."THE ALLURING FEMALE VOICE CAME INTO HIS mind again.

He stopped at the edge of the hard-packed path and listened. Quiet singing drifted along the wind. Memories of Natalga Gap entered his mind.

"Silvie, are you sure you didn't ..."

"I haven't said a word, Johnis, just like last time." She glanced back at him, shielding her eyes from the waning sun. Smoky yellow cloud cover wafted.

A g i f t - g i v e r in the south ... "

Johnis looked at Silvie, her blue eyes narrowed. Frustrated. But the longer he looked at her the less she looked like Silvie. Before him Silvie transformed. She grew tall, her fair skin translucent and smooth, so delicate he could see her veins. Flawless. One blue eye carried a sliver of red, the other turned purple with the same red glint. Her short hair grew long and looked of white gold.

Aid me, Chosen One. . . "

"What are you looking at?" Silvie asked.

The vision fled.

Johnis gaped. "I saw a beautiful woman. She wanted my help."

Silvie looked over her shoulder, then glared at him. "Flattering, but I don't need your help."

"No, no, it wasn't you. It was ..."

"There's no one there."

"She was white. Really white."

"A Roush?" She meant the furry, green-eyed white bats, enemies of Shataiki and servants of Elyon, who had aided them. The same kind who got them into this mess.

"No. Not a Roush. A ... woman."

"Come to think of it," Silvie continued, not really listening, "we've seen neither Roush nor Shataiki since we returned. You'd think Shataiki would be swarming a Horde city."

"True." Johnis gladly accepted the change of subject. But he could still see the multicolored gaze in his mind's eye, still feel a pull toward the hidden pool at the edge of the forest.

Aid me, Chosen One. . . "

Johnis spun, sword ready. No one. "Okay, who's there? Come out where we can see you!"

"There's no one here yet, and I want it to stay that way."

A woman wandering in the desert, faint from thirst. A man imprisoned by an enemy closing in.

"Chosen One .. .

"She wants our help, Silvie," he protested. "I can't ignore her. She's ..."

"She's what?" Silvie's brow went up. The vision receded. "I don't like this talk of another woman."

"It isn't like that. She's just ..."

He described the woman and her voice. But the more he dwelled on her, the stronger her song became. He could hear her voice in his head.

Cool air breezed over his skin.

"We are not chasing the woman in your head," Silvie pronounced. "Forget it. You are not going lunatic on me again. Ever."

The reddish, purple-blue eyes fixed on him. Swelled, opened wider and wider, until all he could see was what they reflected. Stark, endless white desert. Orange-red sunlight fading. Purple shadows.

She was surrounded by enemies. Being devoured by darkness.

His heart yearned for the desert.

"Johnis." Silvie snapped her fingers in front of his face.

His arms fell loose at his sides. Johnis took several steps toward the desert.

Silvie grabbed his shoulder. "Where are you going?"

"To help her."

"No. You're taking me to that hidden pool of yours. We are not wandering out into the desert because you think you heard someone calling you."

"I saw Roush once, remember? No one else did." His feet begged forward. Only Silvie's hand restrained him.

"So you did. But I don't hear voices, and I'm not going. Nor are you."

"Silvie ..."

More visions. The eyes showed him the canyons, Natalga Gap, and beyond. South. He had to go south.

Silvie pulled him east. "You said it was this way. The pool."

"That woman ..."

"There is no woman. There's you and me. Darsal somewhere, and we need to bathe before we turn Scab. I personally can't stand the itchy skin, and the flaking is gross. So come on." She pulled. "Show me the pool."

"Silvie, wait. What if it's a vision from Elyon? Wouldn't it be wrong to ignore it? My heart says to go."

That quieted her.

"Elyon wants you to bathe," she said.

"But Silvie ..."

The southern desert. The woman.

"Johnis." Silvie's sweaty, slender hand pulled him back. East off the path, just like he'd told her earlier.

"Johnis, we're in the open. We can't stay here."

He lingered. Silvie was distracting him, cutting off the troubled woman. Every time Silvie spoke, he could no longer hear the beautiful woman in the desert.

"Your heart is with me. With Elyon. Now come. No more talk of imaginary women."

She had a point.

Johnis started to follow. But the draw toward the desert intensified with each step. His feet were heavy and sluggish.

Aid me, Chosen One. Aid me. . . "

"We can't stay, Johnis."

He'd stopped again.

"I'll admit you'll smell better." Silvie smiled at him. "And I'm all the woman you need, don't you think?"

South. He had to go south, not east.

He had to bathe too.

Why didn't Silvie want to help this woman? The scabbing disease, maybe. No, too soon.

Johnis nodded. "East it is."

They went on, but the siren song wouldn't leave.

I await you, johnisss .. .

hat cause did you have to torture them, Priest?" Marak demanded.

"We needed information out of the boy. I merely did the nasty business of interrogating your little brother for you." Sucrow's slate-gray eyes, covered in a milky film, drilled Marak with a hard stare. A bony finger with a massive brass-and-gold ring jabbed toward his face. The gaudy snakelike bangles that adorned the dark priest's arms jingled at the movement.

They stood at the bottom of the steps of Qurong's palace, now with its own private sanctuary built onto the northwest side, directly across the lake from Sucrow's thrall.

The step gave way to a hard-packed dirt road that spanned wide enough for four horses to walk abreast, and it split in three forks: one north, one south, and one toward the bridge.

Sucrow jeered. Fingered the serpent pendant around his neck. "You know, sometimes I think you care more about the albino than you care about our cause. Maybe you should have been betrothed to him."

The knot in Marak's chest tightened.

"She moans like a coward when we bleed her. And whenever Teeleh comes she screams. She knows well the tickle of his claws. Didn't baby brother tell you, General?"

Marak snugged the hilt of his sword in his right palm, in part as a message to the white-faced priest, in part because he wished to use it.

The priest cackled. "Now that will serve you well: a dead priest to go alongside all your other failures. Besides, I don't think Qurong will appreciate you killing your superior. Treasonous, don't you think?"

He turned his back on the priest. "Get out of my sight."

"Your family's turned into the enemy, General."

Marak marched away from Sucrow before he could decide to follow through on his impulse to take the man's head off.

Three subordinates waited for Marak, all save one were on horseback. The last offered Marak the reins to his own mount.

Marak accepted. "Go interrogate her. We'll find the other two. Then tell the commanders to meet me at the lake an hour before first light. We'll ride at dawn. Anyone who's late will face penalties."

The men obeyed. Marak went for the atrium. He glimpsed Cassak, his captain, headed from the interrogation chambers.

Where Warryn was torturing his brother.

The captain was almost past him. Marak had to know.

He caught his friend's arm. "What's the word?"

Cassak stopped. Marak saw the scroll in the captain's hand and tore it from him. He skimmed.

"Cassak ... tell me."

Hesitation.

"Don't let Sucrow get to you," the captain said.

Marak growled. "Take a troop into the desert and find me those albinos. Then I want you personally to report Eram's whereabouts."

Cassak frowned. "Marak."

So much for pretense.

He straightened and looked at his friend. "How bad was it?"

Cassak shook his head. "You shouldn't ask me questions, Marak. Just trust me." Marak raised a brow. Something was bothering his captain. He threw him a questioning look, eyes narrow.

Cassak scowled. "When it comes, it comes."

"What?"

His friend spoke slowly. "They've taken Rona again."

Marak worked his fist.

"General, end it. Don't wait for Sucrow to force you or to use them against you. Do the right thing and execute them."

"They're already dead." The general turned his back and stormed out. He had an albino hunt to lead.

SUCROW WAITED UNTIL MARAK WAS GONE BEFORE REtreating into his temple. The foolish general needed to learn to leave religious matters to priests and worry only about his precious plan to eliminate the albinos. His Desecration. A fitting mission name.

Marak also needed to learn his newfound place in the world. A world in which he was subject to Qurong's priest.

Sucrow crossed through the atrium and the outer court into a side chamber, intent on a hidden passage to the library.

Someone pressed the sharp tip of a dagger between his shoulder blades.

He paused, then reached for a concealed knife within his robes. "Who is there?"

Cassak stepped into the light. Kept his dagger where Sucrow could see it.

Coming to fulfill his duty to Marak and make certain Warryn didn't get too carried away with his torture. The leech.

Sucrow stilled but let a sneer spread across his face. "I could order you executed for treason, Captain. Enter."

The man closed the door and entered the room. Twirled his dagger.

Sucrow lit a candle and sat against the small wooden table.

Cassak sat. Long braids fell heavy over his shoulders. The man stank of desert, blood, and sweat.

"Now, what is it you want, Captain?" It was almost comical, this notion that a mere captain would try to sway Teeleh's priest on his general's behalf.

"Don't tempt him too far, Priest."

"You are not in a position to make demands. Did you not hear? Qurong has granted all military authority to myself and my serpent warriors." Sucrow waved a dismissive hand and moved to a seat across from Cassak. "Why are you here?"

"You're torturing my general's brother."

"Now isn't the time for second thoughts on trapping Jordan of Southern, Captain."

"The plan was simply to capture and execute them."

"Patience." Sucrow began to wish he were speaking with Marak instead. Marak was much more reasonable. Cassak, though, better appreciated Sucrow's position.