Maylin's Gate (Book 3) Page 6

  Pain erupted across his leg. He howled and leaped from the draco's saddle.

  The draco twisted its neck and pulled away a mouthful of leather.

  Rika shifted into a forest cat and bounded toward the draco. With a roar, Rika bore her fangs.

  He pulled himself across the straw carpet until he reached the safety of the stall's far wall.

  The draco shrunk away from Rika and lowered its gaze. The creature squawked a low whimper of submission and tried to push its head beneath the piled hay.

  Rika stepped back and shifted into human form.

  Pain throbbed in waves from the wound in his leg.

  Rika pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and knelt beside him. "Are you okay? Let me see it."

  He sucked in air and tried to control his labored breathing. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch." He covered the wound with his hand knowing Rika would never take his word for it.

  Rika jerked away his hand and gasped.

  His stomach sank and he stole a quick glance at the wound.

  A six-inch gash ran along his thigh where the draco's teeth had dredged a furrow through his skin.

  "This is something you can't mess with Ronan. You have to channel and fix it."

  "It's not as bad as it looks." Pain throbbed in his thigh, and it took all his effort not to touch the magic blazing just under the surface.

  Anger flared in Rika's eyes. "You're as stubborn as a mule."

  "I'll be fine, but I need a bandage to stop the bleeding." He strained his neck and glanced through the stall's open door. "There's a blanket hanging in the corridor."

  Rika retrieved the blanket and returned. She ripped a strip from the fabric and bound the wound. The anger hadn't retreated from Rika’s eyes. "You'll get an infection."

  "I'll have Mistress Henley make a poultice before I leave," he said.

  Rika gaped. "Leave? It won't let you near it."

  "Can you soothe it?" He said.

  "I might, but why should I?" Rika said. "Even if you can make the draco fly, what's to prevent it from dumping you off a hundred feet in the air?"

  "I want you to command it," he said. "You know. With your guardian's magic."

  Rika shook her head. "I can no sooner do that than you can grow wings and fly yourself to Dragon's Peak. My magic doesn't work that way."

  His stomach sank. "If I can't make the draco fly me out of Forth, there's no telling what might happen. What if I accidentally wipe out the entire village?"

  "You won't."

  "You don't know that Rika." He ran his fingers through his hair. "What if I destroy all of Meranthia?"

  Rika's lips drew into a thin line, but she didn't answer.

  "Perhaps I can help." A raspy, inhuman voice answered from the adjoining stall.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Trace’s Hovel

  Danielle’s boots clattered against the splintered stone.

  Sharp echoes rattled from the citadel’s high walls.

  She walked the subterranean hallway alone. In fact, the citadel’s prison hadn’t confined a single person in over a hundred years.

  She paused outside a rusty iron door and summoned her courage. Trace had left her for dead while imprisoned in the desert camp. Every time she visited the emperor, she fought an urge to squeeze the tyrant’s throat.

  She touched the seed pouch dangling from her waist belt. The seeds offered a modest sense of security, but she would never underestimate Trace. She let go a deep breath and pulled on the door’s iron ring.

  The door groaned and swung outward. The prison cell came into view revealing a congealed wall of pure spirit.

  Unlike a regular shield meant to serve a temporary purpose, Ronan built this one to last. The energy flowing through the barrier had slowed to a virtual standstill.

  The room-sized shield trapped the man sitting inside. A man who sat reading a weathered book she found in the royal library. The gift, like her other attempts, had failed to loosen the criminal’s tongue.

  She stepped through the open door and paused at the barrier’s edge.

  Trace’s attention remained focused on the book.

  She eased into a simple wooden chair beside the barrier and settled Trace's bag in her lap. “I need you to tell me where I can find the heartwood.”

  Trace turned a page. “I never cared much for Therin’s work. Not when he was alive and not now.”

  “I need to know where to find another heartwood sapling,” she said.

  “Are you familiar with Therin’s work Miss Deveaux?”

  She wouldn’t let Trace sidetrack her. Not this time. “I don’t care about Therin or his bloody books.” Heat rose behind her collar and she squeezed the seed bag resting at her waist. “Tell me where I can find the tree.”

  “Therin had the peculiar tendency of revisiting the same theme in each of his works,” Trace said.

  She clamped her jaw tight and stared at the sculpted gray hair laying perfect on the back of Trace’s head.

  “It drove him mad,” Trace stole a quick glance at her. “He never did find his resolution.”

  Inside her, rage festered like an infected boil.

  “He hung himself.” Trace’s gaze returned to the book. “The healers believe he died a slow agonizing death. Poor sod.”

  “I need —”

  Trace’s one remaining hand raised and cut her off. “Unless you’re here to execute me, flee. I’ve no use for you.” The emperor gestured toward the open doorway

  Even imprisoned Trace remained in control. Why should he give her orders? “I have something I want to show you.”

  Trace glanced at the burlap bag settled on her lap and rolled his eyes. “Not that wretched sack of knick-knacks again.”

  She peeled open the bag without responding. One by one, she pulled out the pendant with the missing stone, the petrified heartwood seed, and the engraving of Trace and Elan.

  “Why don’t you throw that rubbish in a fire?” Trace glared at her with disdain. “That’s what you threatened last time.”

  “Your reaction to these items strikes me as odd. These items must mean something to you. You carried them half-way across the world. They even held a place of honor beside the spheres you stole from me and my brother.”

  Trace stared at the items piled in her lap. “How can I steal something I created? By definition, the spheres belong to me. I could make the same accusation about you and your scheming brother.”

  “How old is this engraving,” she said. “It’s quite extraordinary.”

  “What does that matter?”

  “You and Elan seem…happier in the engraving. You must have been friends at some point.”

  “My personal life is my own, and the nature of that engraving is none of your business.”

  She nodded. “I thought you might say something like that. Did Elan know about this engraving?”

  Trace stared at the engraving for several long moments before he spoke. “Miss Deveaux, you'll not further bait me. If there's nothing else, I’ll return to my reading.”

  She stood and placed the seed and the pendant on the empty chair behind her and walked to the edge of the spirit membrane. “I wonder if Elan knew about this?” She pressed on Elan’s right eye and the invisible door popped open.

  Trace’s face turned ashen. The emperor’s gaze locked on the silver key.

  “You’d like me to destroy this key. Wouldn’t you?”

  Trace’s gaze returned to the book in his lap. “I don’t care what you do with it.”

  “Thank you emperor. You’ve given me the information I need. Aren Broderick might supply a few more of the missing clues.”

  Trace’s head whipped around. “You’re playing with forces beyond your comprehension.”

  “You’ve left me no choice.” She rolled the key between her fingers. “Unless you’re willing to tell me where I can find the heartwood.”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “Where did you get the sapling?”
She said. “It didn’t come from the forest or it would’ve died with the first tree.”

  Trace’s lips tightened into a thin line.

  “You know what I think?” She held the key high for Trace to see. “I think this key unlocks a door where I’ll find the heartwood tree and God knows what else.”

  Trace had dropped all pretense of reading and stood. “You don’t want to use that key Miss Deveaux. Trust me.”

  “I want to cure the plague ravaging your people,” she said. “It will spread beyond the desert, and once our immunity wears off, it will kill us too.”

  “There are other ways to cure the plague,” Trace said. “Surely someone as intelligent as yourself might find a way? You command every plant and animal on the face of the planet. Why don’t you look for a cure with the ingredients right in front of you?”

  “Ancient wardens tried. They —”

  Trace laughed and shook his head. “Ancient wardens didn’t have an innate command of nature the way you do Miss Deveaux. They were blind men bumbling around in the dark.”

  “Why should I spend time finding a new cure when one is waiting for me in the desert? The heartwood will cure the plague. It might be the only cure. New research could take decades that we don’t have.”

  Trace’s face brightened. “Ahhh… I see. Your reasons go beyond the noble. Don’t they, Miss Deveaux?”

  Her stomach fluttered. She didn’t like the conversation’s direction. “I want to cure the plague. Nothing more.”

  “You don’t want to be the one that allowed the forest to die. What would your father think?”

  Goose bumps rose on her back. “You’re wrong.”

  “Am I?” A smirk slithered across Trace’s handsome face. “If nobody ever knew, how would you answer then?”

  Heat spread across her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to her shoes.

  “If you spent half the effort researching a cure as you’ve spent on this quest for your tree, you would’ve found one by now.”

  Her anger rose to a boiling point, and she leveled her gaze on Trace.

  “You don’t want the world to remember you as the little girl that let the forest die.” Trace let go a short mocking laugh. “Pathetic. You’re no better than me, Miss Deveaux.”

  Anger flashed behind her eyes. “I never murdered thousands of innocent people.” She jabbed her finger toward Trace. “You did that. Not me.”

  Trace raised an eyebrow. “You’ll kill millions with your selfish quest for a tree that doesn’t exist.”

  Nature energy boiled from her skin and collected at her feet like a green fog. “Shut up.”

  “I take it back. Maybe you’re not like me,” Trace said. “At least I’m honest with my treachery.” The emperor turned away from her and sat in the weathered rocking chair.

  She could strangle the cretin right now and nobody would care. In fact, they would celebrate. She inhaled a sharp breath and tried to calm herself. Trace wanted her to lash out. To kill him. But why? “What did you want with all three spheres?”

  Trace’s nose remained buried in the book and he flicked his hand toward the door. “Be gone with you.”

  “Did someone visit you in your dreams? Did that someone tell you why?”

  Trace’s body went rigid and the book fell slack in his lap.

  Exultation surged inside her. “Did the visitor demand the spheres?”

  Trace turned revealing a face that had turned as white as the bed sheets tucked in behind him. “How do you know about that?”

  She folded her arms and turned her own condescending smile on Trace. “I know more than you think…emperor.”

  “If you know about the visitor, then you should know about the key.” Trace surveyed her face for several long moments. “But you don’t. Do you?”

  She held Trace’s gaze, but remained silent.

  A wave of exhaustion passed over Trace’s face. “I’ll urge you one last time Miss Deveaux. Do not pursue the matter any further. The world can’t afford it.”

  Her stomach sank. Either Trace was the world’s greatest liar or she was hearing the truth. She hadn’t the life skill to determine which. She dropped her head and stared at the floor. “You’re a bastard.”

  “Yes.” Trace’s eyes glistened, and he seemed lost in another time. “I can’t help you. I’m sorry.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Broken Council

  The decking inside the juggernaut groaned under the shifting ice. Titas, the grandest ship in the fleet, sat anchored at the harbor's center.

  Outside Titas's war room, sharp cracks came from the ice. The late winter sunshine continued its assault. Icicles hanging from the upper deck continued their steady melt. Water streamed across deck toward the ship's bow.

  A gust of wind picked up and fresh air drifted into the cabin. The scent of fresh peat and thawing earth drifted past Tara's nose. Early spring in Meranthia. Ancient memories pricked at her consciousness. Memories of happier times.

  She sat before a mahogany table strewn with maps, notes, and half-melted candles. She shifted the wooden splint wrapping her arm sideways until the pain receded. What she wouldn't give for five minutes with the power awarded a white souled knight.

  Across from her, General Pietro studied a war map outlining the coastal villages. Along the cabin's walls, Andreas's elite guards stood at attention. A not so subtle reminder of Andreas's rise to power after General Demos's kidnapping.

  A prick of dread scuttled her spine. She didn't trust these generals, and neither had General Demos. Both had waged war against General Demos less than three years ago.

  General Andreas stood inside the doorway and peered across the melting harbor. "Well done General Pietro. You're foolhardy plan has placed us in an untenable position."

  Though Andreas addressed Pietro, the general meant the words for her ears. General Andreas would never confront her head-on. Not with thousands of baerinese souls near her reach.

  "How was I to know the Meranthian king could turn himself invisible?" Pietro's red forked tongue flickered twice before retreating. "I'm no more to blame for that development than I'm responsible for the setting sun."

  "We lost a third of General Demos's forces in that debacle," Andreas said.

  She clenched her jaw shut and her gaze drifted to a candle flame. Worst of all, she'd lost Gregor Demos.

  "We still outnumber the Meranthians ten to one," Pietro said. "If we sail —"

  Andreas spun on Pietro and pounded a gloved fist on the tabletop. A deep crack sounded inside the wood and the candles bounced under the assault. "There will no longer be a 'We' general."

  Pietro stood and pointed an accusing finger at Andreas. "You are out of line. We are one nation united under a single banner."

  "General Demos is dead," Andreas turned a murderous gaze on Pietro. "If we were in Baerin, my banner would fly above the war council. I am the strongest living general and the supreme commander."

  "Your army blocked General Demos's retreat in the pass," Pietro said. "I witnessed your duplicity with my own eyes."

  "Duplicity?" Andreas trembled with rage and appeared ready to split at the seams. "Are you accusing me of treason General Pietro?"

  "You let General Demos's men die. All to seize power for yourself." Pietro glared at Andreas. "If we were in Baerin, the war council would see you hang, not raise your banner."

  Pietro's accusation came as no surprise. General Demos kept Andreas at arm's length for good reason. "General Pietro, do you have any proof of this treachery?"

  "I know what I saw." Tongue flickering, Pietro hissed the last word.

  The two had spent years at odds, each trying to gain General Demos's favor. If not for Gregor Demos, Baerin would’ve sank to the bottom of the sea and taken every person with it.

  Gregor Demos had cobbled the alliance together through strength but ruled with fairness. Demos had ordered the fleet's construction despite opposition from Andreas.

  "I will assume control of the
invasion," Andreas said. "Along the coast, the ice is retreating. We will sail south and move inland through the villages scattering the coast."

  Pietro's eyes filled with rage. "I'll not submit my forces to your control."

  "General Pietro, we can no longer stay in Ripool," she said. "Can you offer an alternate solution?"

  A long tension filled moment passed before Pietro sat. "I agree with your assessment my lady." The general spread out a hand-drawn map. "My scouts have reported scant resistance in the extreme north." Pietro's finger slid north following the coastline. "We'll enter here at Cape Minehead." Pietro outlined a plane with a river running through the center. "We'll follow the Lea River and enter Meranthia proper here." His finger pointed to a town marked Winter Haven on the map.

  With head shaking, Andreas laughed. "Have you lost your mind? Three feet of snow cover that valley."

  Pietro's plan seemed far-fetched. "Our army couldn't advance until spring," she said.

  "The region offers room for our entire invasion force to land," Pietro said. "And our civilians wouldn't come under direct attack." Pietro's fingertip slid along a line of mountains stretching to the coast. "These mountains will protect us."

  "I'll not have my army cower behind the mountains," Andreas said. "Our forces are superior. There's no reason for us to hide."

  At moments like this, General Demos shined. Demos would’ve found the balance between the plans. They would have to find their way alone. "General Pietro, our civilians won't survive a northern winter."

  "The winter's more than half done my lady," Pietro said. "By the time we make landfall and organize our forces, the melt will have already started."

  General Andreas loomed over the map and glared at Pietro. "That's a coward's path."

  "General Andreas, please." she said.

  General Andreas spun on her. "My lady?"

  "Did you mean to assume command of General Demos's remaining forces?" She said.

  "I will assume command of all the forces. Those included General Demos's," Andreas said. "General Demos expressed support for my plan during our last council meeting."

  "That was before General Pietro laid out an alternate plan," she said. "Besides, General Demos has a written succession plan in place for his army. He meant for General Stanis to take charge should he fall."