Season of Glory
Authors: Lisa Tawn Bergren
Other books by Lisa T. Bergren
Remnants: Season of Wonder
Remnants: Season of Fire
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Remnants: Season of Glory
Copyright © 2016 by Lisa T. Bergren
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ePub Edition © February 2016: ISBN 978-0-310-73569-4
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Cover design: Brand Navigation
Interior design: David Conn
16 17 18 19 20 21 /DCI/ 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
ANDRIANA
S
he should have come with us,” I said, looking over the farm, far below. “They're
coming.”
My
heart pounded as we watched four vehicles wind down the dirt road toward Galen's
house. To the east, the sun was just beginning to warm the horizon. “She did her
best to save you, Ronan.” My eyes flicked from him to Nieroâwho had literally
breathed
life
into my Knightâand back again. “And we just . . . left her.”
Ronan took my hand in his. “She wanted to stay,” he said. “To come with us . . .”
“Would've changed her entire life,” Niero finished, brushing past us. “Come on. We
need to cover more miles before dawn gives them the edge they seek.” He inclined
his head down the hill, as the Pacifican vehicles drew near. I swallowed hard. Had
they simply guessed we were there, or had they learned of our presence by some other
method? We'd escaped Palace
Pacifica and killed a number of the guards and, hopefully,
Lord Maximillian Jala, if not more among Keallach's Council of Six. They'd chased
us through the tunnels and now, apparently, had tracked us to Galen's farm.
Galen,
oh, Galen . . .
I stayed rooted to the spot, ignoring Vidar's empathetic pause and Bellona's gruff,
“C'mon, Dri.” Mom squeezed my arm as she and Dad passed. Only Ronan stayed with me,
his hand moving to my lower back. “Dri?”
“I-I can't,” I whispered. “I have to know . . . know that she's all right. We
owe
her, Ronan.”
“We gave her the chance to come with us,” he said.
“It wasn't as if she had days to think about it. She has a life here.”
His breath caught and then eased out, as he decided on patience. Galen had been our
savior the night before. If she hadn't taken us in, given us shelter, operated on
Ronan's wound . . . would Niero have been able to save him? Angel or not, had he
built on what Galen started? I wrapped my hand around Ronan's arm and rested my cheek
against his shoulder, remembering how close he'd been to death, how pale he'd been
after all the blood loss . . . and then the ivory tone of Niero's wings.
Wings
, I
mused.
Our captain has wings.
It was at once both a surprise and yet something I'd
known for a very long time. His uncanny way of knowing what I was thinking, his fierce
protection, his skills in leading, and his body's ability to heal . . .
Ronan stiffened as the trucks ground to a halt. The sound of the tires against the
gravel of the barnyard carried up the small canyon we'd just climbed. I reached forward
and moved a branch slightly to the side so we could see Galen leave the barn, wiping
her forehead with one gloved hand and carrying a pail, as if just completing her
morning chores. I prayed she'd
been able to clean up the bloody table and stow any
evidence that we'd been there.
“Down on your knees!” the Pacifican guard growled, lifting a pistol toward her.
His voice came to us, distant but startlingly clear.
Galen immediately dropped her pail and did as he asked. In the dawning light, their
bodies looked like golden-edged forms, far below us.
“Hands on your head!” cried another as the first approached her. Others surrounded
the barn and entered cautiously, weapons drawn. Yet more ran to her house to do
the same.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
She faced away from us, so we couldn't make out her words.
The man reached her and circled her. It was then that I thought I recognized him
as one of the men we'd battled in the palace. There were still great blotches of
blood on his gray uniform.
“Fugitives were seen coming in this direction last night,” he said to her. He said
something else, but he'd turned again and dropped his voice, making his comments
unintelligible.
I let the branch cover us as I glimpsed a Pacifican passing a window in a top-floor bedroom of the house. The last thing we needed was to be spotted. It would be
hard enough to escape Pacifica without a significant head start. I could hear the
low tones of continuing discussion between Galen and her captor but still couldn't
decipher any words.
“Over here,” Ronan said, crouching and leading me by the hand to the right. We peered
out through a pine tree that had a split in the middle.
The men who had gone into the barn and house now streamed out, and two approached
the one in charge to report.
“No! I swear it!” Galen cried suddenly.
The man pistol-whipped her across the cheek. “You lie! There is blood on the table!
They were here. You treated their wounded!”
“I did not. I butchered a lamb yesterday,” she said. “You can check my shed and see
the carcass for yourself.”
“Smart,” hissed the man. But then I saw another man on the outskirts of their circle
toss a plastic bag inward. It was the plastic bag and tubing she'd used to put blood
back into Ronan.
Oh no . . .
I dared to peek out farther to get a better look.
The Pacifican held the bag above Galen's head. “This is not the tool of a butcher.
It is the tool of a
physician
,” he said, leaning toward her, and spitting out the
word as if it was foul in his mouth. “How many were here? Where are they now?” He
grabbed hold of her shirt and pulled her to within inches of his face.
“Where?” the Pacifican snarled. The man shook her so hard that her head whipped back
and forth. “Where did they go?”
When she remained silent, he threw her to the ground. She sprawled on her side, arms
outstretched.
“Half of you search the hillside!” he commanded the others. “Move! And the other
half take a Jeep and search down that road.” He gestured toward a road that splintered
off the main drive, to our left.
A group of Pacifican soldiers reached the bottom of the hill and fanned out, searching
the foliage and ground for any sign of us. “Dri,” Ronan warned in a whisper. “Now
we
have
to go.”
Reluctantly, I allowed him to pull me away, aware that we couldn't stay . . . couldn't
be discovered. But as we entered the path behind the rest of our party, who'd gone
on without us, we heard Galen scream. I froze, pulling Ronan to a stop.
Worse was how her voice cut off in a horrific, brief choking sound.
Then all was silence.
No. No, no, no . . . .
“Dri,” Ronan whispered, pulling me in close as I trembled. “It's over. We can't do
anything but live for the cause Galen served.” My throat burned with the sobs that
I desperately wanted to let loose. It was all too much. Too much. Because she'd chosen
to help us, Galen was now dead.
“It's war, Dri. This is but one battle,” he said. “We'll make them pay for this.
But not today. If we're discovered here, now, we might never escape Pacifica again.”
I nodded slightly and swallowed hard, closing my eyes and concentrating on my breathing,
on Ronan's welcome warmth and scent, on the gift of his beating heart, his life,
and on the hundred questions I wanted to ask Niero. Why hadn't he done something
now, here, about Galen? Why hadn't he saved her, as he had saved Ronan?
But the thought only brought anger and resentment flooding through me. I needed
to concentrate on what was good and right. I dug deep, thanking the Maker that Ronan
was with me, alive, as were my parents.
My parents
. . . For so long I'd thought
them dead. I focused on Niero finding a way out of Pacifica and across the Great
Expanse, as I turned to follow my Knight.
Ronan and I settled into a jog, now bent on not letting our pursuers glimpse us as
we moved deeper into the forest. We spotted the rest of our crew ahead on the next
ridge, waiting, watching. I itched to be with my parents and the rest of the Ailith,
fully connected again, along with those we were missingâChaza'el, Tressa, Killian,
and Kapriel.
Just as suddenly as it came, my smile faded, as my thoughts moved from Kapriel to
Keallachâthe emperor of Pacifica, Ailith brother, my former captor, and Kapriel's
twin. My feelings were jumbled each time I thought about him. How much had Keallach
known of what was to come? Of what the Council would demand of me? Had he been absent
on purpose?
I lifted my face to the gently falling rain, welcoming the cooling drops and relishing
the scent of ozone on the air, which reminded me of the Valley.
