“If I am but your tool, your Grace, I do not belong here,” he whispered.
“What was that?” asked Ki-Nan.
“Gather up all who can still fight,” Bardiya said. There was ice in his veins. “Scan the dying for Karak’s soldiers, find out what they know about the whereabouts of the eastern army.”
“I will, but why?”
Bardiya cast his eyes to the north.
“Because I’m going to kill a god.”
CHAPTER 22
The sun set over the desert, revealing a wide, cloudless sky filled with millions of twinkling stars. The Black Spire shimmered in the faint light, though its glow seemed strange, unnatural, as if the great and mysterious obelisk were somehow lit from within.
Ashhur’s dark-skinned children were making preparations for their journeys ahead. The women, the old, and the infirm were given carts and horses to assist them on the trip back to their home by the sea, while the healthiest of the men-both those who had been marched as prisoners and the horde that had arrived later, bearing weapons of steel-mounted their own borrowed steeds to begin their march north.
Ceredon watched it all, still strapped onto the plank above the wagon. Everyone ignored him, even when the very cart his plank was affixed to was pilfered of useful goods. The Quellan prince’s befuddlement grew. Unable to free himself, he struggled in his bonds as Darakken butchered the children, the demon instigating the spiritual leader of the Kerrians until the giant lost his mind and revolted. He’d been helpless when even more western men descended on the standing army, taking them by surprise, their ferocity and force of will helping to counteract the elves’ and soldiers’ far superior skill with sword and maul. He’d had no choice but to look on while the demon’s decrepit human shell jumped and cheered atop his dais, seemingly overjoyed by the massacre going on below him until the giant confronted him and smashed the demon’s skull.
It loosed a monster upon the land, he thought as he stared at Bardiya. A creature powerful enough to decimate two hundred men on his own. Why would the demon do that?
While all items of use were being packed away, Ceredon kept his eye on Bardiya as the giant worked his way through those who suffered with grave injuries, offering each one a healing touch before moving on to the next. The glow of his hands seemed faint, the healing not as potent as it had been when Ceredon watched him stitch back together the soldier he had gutted the day they’d arrived at the site of the Spire. Those who received his touch would struggle to their feet, still in obvious pain, and limp along until they joined their brethren. It was a gloomy spectacle, the cold yet determined expression on the giant’s face. Just as in Dezerea, Ceredon felt guilty for how harshly he had judged these tortured people, and even guiltier for the harsh words he had shouted from his slab.
Why must there be such suffering?
“Such is the way of life, the way of the universe,” came the reply. He wasn’t sure if it was the goddess or his conscience answering.
In the end he received his penance. When the carts were filled and the horses bridled, the two separate groups complete, the Kerrians began their separate journeys. One of Bardiya’s men pointed Ceredon’s way, the giant having to bend down to hear the whispered question. He then stood up straight, gazing at the bound elf.
“Let him free,” the giant said in a rasping voice that echoed throughout the sandy dell. “It was his voice we should have listened to long ago.”
One of the soldiers came and scaled the side of the wagon, stood on the rickety roof, and cut his bonds. Ceredon slumped to his knees, throat parched, back and arms aching from his imprisonment.
“Water?” he asked the man who’d freed him.
“Bardiya said to let you free. Didn’t hear nothin’ about water.”
At that the man joined his brethren, leaving Ceredon alone among the carnage. A silent command given, the humans departed the area, leaving Ceredon alone among the shattered wagons, innumerous corpses, and thirteen bound and dying soldiers of Karak who had failed to flee. Glittering above them all was the Black Spire. With the din of civilization now departed, he could hear the throaty purring of the sandcats as they stalked the area, drawn by the scent of blood and the promise of an easy meal. A cold wind blew, and a violent shiver rocked his bones.
A metallic clank reached his ears, and his adept eyes caught movement along the ruins of the collapsed dais. Instead of the sandcat Ceredon expected, a human form emerged from the wreckage. The man stood tall, cracked his back, and then brushed himself off. When he turned his way, Ceredon saw the man’s face; the long, dark hair; the diamond-shaped scar on his left cheek.
“My prince, are you alive?” Boris Marchant asked.
It took Ceredon a moment to remember that human eyes could see nowhere near as well as his own. “I am. And I believe I told you not to call me prince.”
Boris chuckled.
“Aye, that you did. I hope, given today’s circumstances, you’ll forgive me for the blunder.”
Ceredon slowly climbed down off the wagon, standing uneasily on tired legs as Boris joined his side.
“You took your time freeing me,” he said. “In fact, I dare say you never did.”
“Apparently not. Again I apologize. I told you, I needed to wait until the moment was right, until it was safe.”
“So you waited until the demon set off the giant and got his entire regiment slaughtered?”
The human laughed. “Well, let’s just say that I didn’t know when it would be safe. I had hoped it would be before my friends from the west launched their assault, but I had no way of knowing Darakken would be so. . careless.”
“You knew of the humans trailing us?”
“I did,” Boris said with a nod. “The one who led them I’ve known for quite some time. He is a pupil of my uncle and a very capable man. He and his people have been following the convoy since we departed Ang, waiting for their opportunity.”
Ceredon shook his head, trying to push through the cobwebs in his mind. Something wasn’t adding up.
“They can’t have followed us for so long without my brothers spotting them.”
“They were spotted,” Boris said, shrugging. “Darakken didn’t seem to care. He laughed and told the elves to ignore them.”
Ceredon turned his attention to the thirteen men of Karak still bound and gagged. Boris’s eyes followed, and the scarred man frowned deeply.
“Give me a moment,” he said, drawing a dagger. “I’ll take care of them.”
“No,” Ceredon said, grabbing the man’s arm. “The crows and sandcats will be here soon. Let vermin die by vermin.”
Boris raised an eyebrow, hesitated a moment as if in disbelief, and then sheathed his dagger.
“Damn,” he said. “I thought I was cold. So what now?”
“I was hoping you would tell me. So far you have been the one with the plan.”
“That I am.” Boris clapped the elf on the shoulder. Ceredon knew he should be insulted by such familiarity between a human and himself, but at the moment, he decided he didn’t care. “Well, you’re free to go, Ceredon. Return to your home and tell your people of the need for cooperation with the humans who share your land. My Connington uncles will be more than receptive to any talk of compromise between our peoples.”
“We’ve lost so many,” Ceredon said, casting his eyes to the dead. “Perhaps it is finally time we sought peace instead of bloodshed.”