Before she knew what was happening, Jazz gave her a rough shove with both hands against the small of her back. Jandra stumbled toward the rainbow, and again the world went black.
Chapter Nineteen:
Prodigal Son
It was mid-day when Shanna and Lin drew their horses to a halt in front of a small farmhouse. Pet slid down from the horse he shared with Shanna while Lin went into the farmhouse to secure fresh mounts. This was their second change of horses in twelve hours. Pet didn't know how far they were planning to travel; the girls proved frustratingly tight-lipped as to their destination or the reason for the frantic pace they kept.
As the horses they'd ridden for the last six hours wandered over to a nearby trough, Pet joined them, dropping down to his hands and knees to take a long drink of the icy water. Its chill freshness helped him overlook the horse drool streaming into the trough. The light was such that his face was dimly reflected in the water; he was grateful the image wasn't sharper. He could see that both his eyes were ringed with black circles from his broken nose. The knot on his brow looked as if someone had shoved a hen's egg under his skin. His lower lip was split and purple, pulling his mouth into a permanent pout. Fortunately, his right nostril had opened up a few hours earlier. While he'd been breathing through his mouth, the air had made his missing teeth ache. With his mouth closed, the pain was tolerable if he didn't smile or frown or move or think.
Soon, they were astride fresh horses.
"Tell the others you lost sight of me during our escape," Shanna said to Lin. "It may be some time before I can return to the temple. Inform Colobi that the pigeon made it safely to the roost."
Lin nodded and spun her horse to ride off on a dirt path that intersected the road they had traveled. Shanna spurred her horse into a rapid trot heading in a direction Pet was pretty sure was west. Geography hadn't been a subject he'd had any use for. He dimly recalled learning that the sun sat in the west, but never before in his life had that knowledge been of any importance. In truth, he cared little what his destination might be. All that was important now was that he was putting miles between himself and Shandrazel.
Pet wrapped his arms tightly around Shanna as she pressed her horse into a faster pace. He leaned his right cheek on her shoulders; it was the least damaged surface on his face. Her dragon-wing cloak was soft, the dark leather warm. He closed his eyes, grateful for at least this small comfort.
It was the following morning, and their fourth horse, when they arrived at the edges of a human encampment. The countryside was full of rolling hills and forests; it seemed that with each hill they'd pass over, he would spot more and more tents. Were these refugees from the Free City? Certainly these couldn't all be worshippers of Blasphet. Pet had no flare for math, but it seemed like the humans here must number in the thousands.
If Blasphet did have an army of thousands, so be it. Pet had never been passionate about anything in his life. His philosophy had been simple-if you desired a life of comfort, follow the path of greatest comfort. Yet, during his journey, he'd spent a great deal of time thinking that comfort might not be the most worthy goal. The true Bitterwood, who he'd met once before, had dedicated his life to revenge. At the time, Pet had thought the old man was insane. Now, with his swollen, scabbed-over face sagging from his skull, Pet was starting to appreciate the value of vengeance.
If Blasphet placed a poison dagger in his hand and ordered him back to the castle, Pet suspected he would accept the mission. All his life, he'd allowed sun-dragons to shape him into the man they wanted him to be. Intentionally or not, Shandrazel had shaped him into a man with murder in his heart.
Shanna guided their horse toward the largest of the tents. Pet recognized it instantly and shuddered-it was the tent that had once belonged to Kanst, Albekizan's cousin and general of the king's army. It was a tent he'd slept in many nights after he'd been taken prisoner.
"What's going on?" he asked as Shanna halted before the tent flaps. "This is Kanst's tent."
"Not since Vendevorex killed Kanst," said Shanna, dismounting. "After the Free City fell, our leader appropriated supply wagons used by Albekizan's armies. They were already packed up neatly outside the gates of the Free City. The Lord himself placed these supplies into our hands."
Pet again glanced around at the city of tents. "I'm surprised that so many humans associate themselves with Blasphet after what he intended to do in the Free City."
"Our association with Blasphet is a matter of strategic importance," said Shanna. "It's all part of our leader's master plan."
Pet felt confused. Shanna was talking about the leader as if he were someone different than Blasphet. "I though Blasphet was your leader."
"So does Blasphet," said Shanna. "But the truth isn't so simple."
"Then Blasphet isn't who we've ridden out here to see? Just who is this leader of yours?"
As he spoke, the flaps of the tent pushed outward. A pleasant smell was released by the movement, an aroma like corncakes frying in bacon grease. Suddenly, a tall, naked, wild-haired man stepped from the tent. Pet recognized him instantly.
"Ragnar!" he said. "What are you doing here?"
"The Lord's work," said Ragnar, eying Pet skeptically. "Do I know you?"
"Yes," said Pet. "I was at the Free City, on the platform. Albekizan accused me of being Bitterwood. You helped free me."
Ragnar studied Pet's face. Slowly, recognition dawned in his eyes. "It looks as if you've fallen on hard times. I take it this is your reward for negotiating with the great serpent?"
Pet swung his legs over the saddle and dropped to the ground. His inner thighs felt blistered and raw as he walked toward the naked prophet. If he never sat on a horse again, it would be fine by him.
"Negotiations can only get you so far," said Pet. He drew up next to the hairy prophet and met his gaze, unflinching. At this distance, the smell of cornbread was no longer the dominant odor in the area. Ragnar hadn't bathed since the Free City, apparently.
Yet it was Ragnar who wrinkled his nose as Pet leaned near him, as if Pet smelled rank. No doubt he did. Between the dried blood, the foulness he'd laid in back in the dungeon, and more than a day of constant horseback riding, he was in no position to judge anyone for their odor.
"If you're building an army to fight Shandrazel," Pet said, "Consider me your newest recruit."
"Kamon reported the talks devolved into chaos from the first hour," said Ragnar. "I'm not surprised by your change of heart."
"Kamon?" said Pet. "He's here?"
"No," said Ragnar. "He remains at the palace. He serves as my eyes and ears there, just as Shanna, Lin, and others serve me within the temple of the Murder God."
"Then the Sisters of the Serpent aren't really devotees of Blasphet? You're the guiding force behind them?"
"No," said Shanna. "The core of the Sisterhood is composed of actual devotees of the Murder God. Colobi, the Serpent of the first order, truly believes the dragon to be a supernatural being."
Ragnar said, "Even before the Free City, however, I'd planted my followers within the ranks of the cult. I'd long planned to free Blasphet."
"What? Why?"
"Blasphet is far more dangerous to dragons than to men. I'd hoped he would rid us of Albekizan if we freed him. Now, it looks as if he will still be of use."
Shanna added, "The Sisters draw their members from among the poorest, most wretched women in the kingdom. Women who have lost all hope. I was recruited from a camp of refugees from the Free City. But my true loyalty will always lie with Ragnar."
"This sounds like a very dangerous game," said Pet. "Blasphet sends his followers on suicide missions. Even if he likes you, associating with him is a good way to die."