Maylin's Gate (Book 3) Page 7

  "Stanis my lady?" General Andreas said. "Forgive me, but General Stanis doesn't have the experience to lead an invasion of such import."

  "I have to agree with General Andreas on this point my lady," Pietro said. "General Stanis is a fine man, but he hardly seems prepared to lead."

  She suppressed a smile. General Demos predicted both men would take this stand. "General Demos made his intent clear. That decision is final."

  Anger flashed behind Andreas's eyes. The general turned away and moved toward the open door. "Where do you stand my lady?"

  "General Demos believed in your plan General Andreas," she said. "I can't speak for General Stanis although I believe you would find his support."

  Pietro's shoulders sagged and he removed his glasses. "My lady, General Demos would've believed prudence our best option given the circumstances."

  "Our supplies won't last the winter," she said. "We need to act now and take control of the resource rich lands to the south. At the moment, hunger is our worst enemy."

  Triumph washed over General Andreas's face. "Make preparations. We set sail at dawn."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The General’s Offer

  The chained draco hissed and pushed away as if trying to disappear beneath the haystack.

  The hair on Ronan’s arms and legs bristled. He craned his head toward the voice. “Did you say something?”

  General Demos shifted and peered over the rickety wooden stall. “Judging by that wound, you’re in no position to travel to your ultimate destination. However, I can command the draco and lead us both from this village.”

  “You’re not taking him anywhere.” Rika stood between him and General Demos.

  “Rika, wait,” he said.

  “No,” Rika said. “I don’t trust him. He could dump you off the draco and leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.”

  General Demos’s expression remained neutral. “Doing so would serve to hasten my own death. I’m certain the king can defend himself.”

  “Rika, help me up,” he said.

  “You can’t walk with that wound,” Rika said. “You’ll make it worse.”

  “It’s not bad, and I need to speak with this…creature eye to eye,” he said.

  “I’m a person, not an animal,” General Demos said. “Though my appearance might frighten you, I’ll assure you that I’m a man of honor.”

  Rika helped him to his feet. “Lean on me.”

  He wrapped his arm around Rika’s shoulder. He hobbled from the draco’s stable and perched himself on a double stack of hay in the corridor. He would’ve sworn Rika mumbled something about ‘stubborn’ and ‘mule headed’ under her breath.

  General Demos stood at the detention shield’s edge and waited for him to speak.

  “Why?” He winced. Sharp pain flared along his thigh.

  “Because this creature wants to kill you,” Rika said. “Why do you think?”

  He ignored Rika’s chiding and kept his gaze locked on General Demos. “Is she right? You want to leave me for dead?”

  “As tempting as that sounds, it’s not my primary motivation,” General Demos said.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “I don’t wish to see any more of my people die by your hand,” General Demos said. “Your actions today cost thousands of baerinese lives.”

  The answer caught him off-guard. “So your reasons are purely altruistic?”

  General Demos paused before speaking. “I’m not a man accustomed to lying King Latimer. My reasons are not purely altruistic as you might imagine.”

  He smiled. “If I’m away from here, your kind has a greater chance of conquering Meranthia with fewer lives lost. Am I right?”

  General Demos nodded in acknowledgment.

  Rika’s eyes flashed with anger. “Ronan, you can’t be considering this.”

  “Do you have a better idea?” He raised his hand stopping her from answering. “That doesn’t involve you or Connal flying me away.”

  Rika bit her lower lip and shook her head.

  “How do I know you won’t try to kill me once I drop the shield?” He said.

  General Demos glanced between him and Rika. “I don’t think the lady would allow any harm to come to you.”

  Rika nodded and glared at General Demos. “Finally, we agree on something.”

  He lifted his wounded leg and straightened it letting the blood flow through to his toes. His leg throbbed. “If I were in your situation, and given the opportunity, I would do the same.” His breathing came hard and labored. “But make no mistake. I won’t allow the slaughter or enslavement of humanity.”

  General Demos stared ahead stone-faced, but anger ticked behind the general’s eyes. “Of course.”

  “And, if you make the trip with me, don’t expect to ever return to your people.” He held the general’s gaze letting his works sink home. “You’re as dangerous to humanity as I am to the baerinese.”

  “As much as your words might bolster my ego, I can’t make entire mountainsides collapse,” General Demos said.

  The words stung. Images of Devery Tyrell begging him to cut off the energy flows flashed through his mind. “There’s more than one way to bring down a mountain.”

  General Demos held his gaze for several long seconds as if considering the proposal. “I accept your conditions.”

  Rika folded her arms and smiled. “You’ve forgotten one important part Ronan Latimer.”

  He raised his eyebrow. “That would be?”

  “He can’t command the draco from inside the shield, and you can’t release the shield without channeling magic,” Rika said.

  He sighed and nodded. “You’re right, and I won’t drop the shield until you’re far away.”

  General Demos turned away and returned to the haystack.

  “I need to talk to you. Alone.” He pushed himself from the haystack and hobbled toward the open door.

  Rika moved in beside him. “Let me help you.” Rika guided him to the stable door and pushed it open.

  A shock of frigid air washed over his face and body distracting him from the pain.

  A dozen yards away, soft light flickered inside the frosted panes of Mistress Henley’s cabin.

  He squeezed Rika’s hand and pushed the stable door closed behind them. “Rika, wait a second.”

  Rika shook her head unwilling to meet his gaze. “I’ll not let you send me away.” Her voice trembled. “I don’t work without you. You know that.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “You’ve channeled magic a thousand times and you’ve never harmed me.” Rika’s gaze met his. Starlight reflected from tears flowing down her cheeks.

  “It’s different now. I’m different.”

  “What happened on the pass was an accident,” Rika said. “You weren’t channeling Elan’s magic.”

  “I don’t think you understand Rika. I’m changing inside. I think the headaches are a sign.” He dropped his gaze and stared at the packed snow beneath his boots. “I’m terrified.”

  “Then let me help you,” Rika said. “I love you. That’s what people do when they love each other.”

  “You’re too important.” He couldn’t look at her. “You’re everything to me. And the baby….” A hard lump formed in his throat and he choked on the words.

  “What if we need you?” Rika said. “What if we’re all dead when you come home?”

  The thought sickened him. “You can find me at Moira’s,” he said. “Or, Dragon’s Peak, but please don’t follow me.”

  Rika didn’t speak for a long moment. “What do you want me to do?”

  He gazed into Rika’s eyes and smiled. “I want you to find Sir Alcott. He’s excavating the ruins in the Trinity Range where Danielle found the Book of Order.”

  Rika nodded.

  “Tell him what’s happened here. Tell him what I’ve done.”

  Rika squeezed his hand. “What then Ronan?”

  A shiver raced alo
ng his spine and his eyes drifted down the mountain pass toward Ripool. “Raise an army.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Around the Forge

  The sharp ring of a blacksmith’s hammer rose above the construction noise. Carpenters stood atop ladders hanging rafters across the Citadel’s new roof. Their apprentices measured and sawed sixteen-foot sections of hard oak.

  Danielle pulled her cloak tight and stepped around piles of fresh sawdust and stacked boards.

  The ringing grew louder and heat waves radiated from the forge’s open doorway.

  Warmth. She hurried forward eager to drink in the forge’s heat. After her time in the desert, she never thought she’d welcome heat, but winter had taken a toll.

  Ayralen’s mild year-round climate had spoiled her. Winter stirred memories of festiveness and celebration among the forest people.

  A hard pang tugged inside her chest. She’d never experience another Heartwood winter.

  The ringing grew louder and she paused inside the forge’s open door. Welcome heat washed over her face and hands. She untied her cloak and draped it over her arm.

  Arber’s bald head glistened. The guardian stood over a black anvil pounding a piece of red-hot steel.

  When the steward told her she could find Arber in the forge, she thought the man mistaken. Arber Stroman hadn’t spent ten minutes inside a forge during his years in the Heartwood.

  “That’s it. Turn it over and work the hammer near the guard,” a second man said. “You need to flatten that section.”

  Arber nodded without looking up.

  She suppressed a smile. Had Arber taken up an apprenticeship?

  Arber moved sideways and dipped the blade in a water barrel beside the anvil.

  She started to speak and froze.

  The second man appeared when Arber moved. The smith’s blond beard disguised his features, but she would recognize the man anywhere.

  “Jeremy?” She said.

  Jeremy’s head swiveled toward the doorway and he smiled. Sweat streaked the front of Jeremy’s leather smock, and the shield knight had tied his hair back in a single knot.

  When had Jeremy’s hair grown long? Her legs slackened under Jeremy’s penetrating gaze. She entered the forge and hung her clock on a peg beside the door. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but here you are.” Her mouth hung open and she gawked at the shield knight. “You’re a blacksmith?”

  Jeremy pushed aside an errant lock of sweat-soaked hair. “I am.” The knight’s gaze drifted to the stone floor, “Well, I’m a close approximation anyway.”

  What else didn’t she know? She had spent the last month so consumed with the heartwood, she ignored Jeremy. “Who taught you?”

  “I apprenticed under a smith right here in Freehold while I trained at the Citadel,” Jeremy said. “After I took the shard, I tried to keep my skills sharp here at the Citadel’s forge.”

  “He’s selling himself short,” Arber said and peeled off a stained pair of leather gloves. “Jeremy’s a master smith.”

  “Can you make shard blades?” She said.

  Jeremy nodded. “Devery taught me last year. I’m not as good as him, but I’ve finished a few blades.”

  “You’re teaching Arber?” She said.

  “He is,” Arber said. “We’re in desperate need of blacksmiths, and Jeremy needs the help.”

  That a guardian of Arber’s skill and stature would plug a leaky hole came as no surprise.

  Rather than pitching in, she had spent her time chasing a fantasy. Maybe Trace had been right about her.

  Arber mopped the sweat from his brow. “Did you pry anything out of Trace?”

  She touched her leather belt pouch. “Yes. Well, sort of.” She spent the next few minutes recalling her conversation with Trace.

  “You’re doing the right thing Danielle,” Arber said.

  “You think so?”

  Arber nodded. “Don’t let Trace make you doubt yourself. You’re on the right track.”

  “Trace said he didn’t know where the sapling came from or where to find the heartwood tree,” she said.

  “The visitor,” Jeremy said.

  “Excuse me?” She said.

  “When you asked him about the visitor it caught him off-guard,” Jeremy said. “What if the visitor gave him the sapling?”

  “I think Jeremy has the right of it,” Arber said.

  Her pulse quickened. “If the visitor gave Trace the sapling then where did it come from?”

  “I’d wager the silver key is at the heart of this mystery,” Arber said.

  “Earlier today, you mentioned Aren Broderick,” she said. “You said he handed the key to Trace?”

  “That’s right,” Arber said.

  “Aren must know more about the key,” she said. “Like what it unlocks or where it came from.”

  “It’s a good place to start,” Arber said.

  “Pack your bags,” she said. “We need to find Brees.”

  “Brees?” Jeremy said. “So you’re going back to the desert? I’m going with you Danielle.”

  “No. I can’t ask that of you,” she said.

  “You didn’t ask.” Jeremy stripped away a sweat-soaked shirt revealing a muscled chest beneath. “But I’m going anyway.”

  Her gaze swept over Jeremy’s chest and rippled stomach. Her face flushed.

  Jeremy reached for a fresh shirt and slipped it on. “You’ll need my shields.”

  “He’s right. We could use Jeremy’s help in the desert,” Arber said. “I would’ve given anything for a knight’s shield during my last trip through the Chukchi.”

  She nodded. “Alright, but hurry.”

  “Will Brees be able to find his brother?” Arber said.

  “I hope so,” she said. “I’m counting on it.”

  “He’s at the excavation site in the Trinity Range,” Jeremy said. “He and Keely left last week. Sir Alcott uncovered something and needed a set of translations from his office.”

  “Then we’re off to the Trinity Range,” she said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Betrayed

  Tara sat bolt upright and choked. Her eyes stung and tears streamed down her cheeks. Leaning forward in bed, she covered her mouth as she gagged and wretched.

  Smoke filled the air inside her one-room cottage. Orange flames licked the walls beside the closed bedroom door.

  She stretched her mind outward and searched for her pets. Nothing. Memories of the explosion flooded back. The avalanche had destroyed her minions. The humans kidnapped General Demos.

  Panic seized her and she tossed back the covers. Why hadn't one of the troopers come for her? Had the humans set Ripool ablaze? Her throat constricted and she rolled from the bed and hit the floor with a thud.

  Pain flared in her broken arm and she screamed. Her nightgown tangled in her legs and she rolled onto her back.

  Flames licked the cottage's wooden rafters and raced toward the far wall.

  She yanked at the nightgown and pulled lace high around her waist. Billowing smoke burned her throat and eyes. Mucus streamed from her nostrils and she pulled in short hard fought breaths.

  Less than a dozen feet away, the closed door beckoned.

  She lurched forward using her forearms and pain erupted in her arm. Clutching her nightgown in her good hand, she stood and ambled toward the door outlined by a blaze of fire.

  Heat, unlike any in her centuries of life, hit her like a sledgehammer. She gasped and staggering backwards.

  Three feet away the door loomed. A wooden board rested in two brackets. A security precaution she'd demanded. Fire consumed the brackets and the ends of each board.

  Using her good arm she lifted the board and tossed it aside.

  The board popped and cracked engulfed by flames licking the wall

  She pulled the door handle and screamed.

  The stench of burning flesh mingled with the smoke. Her flesh.

  The iron door handle glowed orange and her palm thr
obbed.

  Screaming, she rammed her shoulder against the door. It didn't budge.

  A whoosh sounded above her and flame shot across a beam while a second board fell to the floor near her feet.

  Panic seized her and she kicked the door near the handle.

  The door didn't budge by a fraction. Blocked.

  A sickening realization set her stomach spinning. She had endured too many assassination attempts not to recognize the signs. She whirled toward a desk sitting against the adjacent wall.

  Last night's dinner, roast chicken and beets, sat on a tray untouched.

  She had no doubt the food would contain poison. Whoever wanted her dead would believe the poison had either killed her or left her unconscious.

  The flames spread halfway across the ceiling. Chunks of burning rafter fell in rapid succession igniting her bed in flames.

  In minutes, fire would engulf the cottage. She squinted through the smoke.

  On the far wall, a single window stood closed.

  She expected assassins waiting on the other side

  Beside the dinner tray her gaze locked on a fist-sized pewter paperweight.

  She stumbled ahead and grabbed the paperweight. She grabbed her white dress hanging from a nearby wall peg. With both items in hand, she crawled toward the window keeping low.

  The fire hadn't consumed the window and she pressed her back against the wall. She clutched the paperweight and the dress near her body and paused. Her breathing came hard and ragged. She couldn't wait any longer or she might pass out.

  With a grunt, she hurled the paperweight through the window.

  Glass shattered and the window's wooden frame exploded. Fresh air raced inward and smoke poured through the opening.

  Behind her, the fire drank in the fresh air and flared spreading across the ceiling. Fire engulfed the desk, the bed, and her personal belongings stuffed inside a chest of drawers.

  Terror clutched at her mind and she recoiled from the flame. Outside the window, frigid air called. Like a welcome friend, she turned to embrace the night.