Athryn’s chant resonated in Khirro’s ears, lulling him until his shoulders sagged forward and his head drooped toward his chest. The chant became a drone, the drone a buzz, the buzz a growl, and Khirro’s dozing mind conjured the white tyger he’d dreamed of before, a totem he now knew to be the spirit of the king that lived inside him. He hadn’t dreamed of this version of the tyger in a long time, but now, in his mind, it stood before him, lips peeled back to reveal sharp teeth as a deep growl rumbled in its throat.
“Beware,” the tyger said. The growling stopped.
Graymon’s shriek startled Khirro back to wakefulness. His first reaction was to turn to the boy and hush him, but when he saw the look of fear on his face, he realized it wasn’t Khirro’s transformation into one of the dead that brought the sound from him. At the same instant he realized this, he also noticed Athryn’s chant had ceased. He pivoted back toward the magician, brought his dagger to bear in a habit he didn’t remember developing, but the sword pressed tight under Athryn’s chin stopped him.
The dead man leered over the magician’s shoulder, his gloved hand covering Athryn’s mouth. Athryn held the thing’s forearm with both hands, but he wouldn’t be able to extricate himself without the monster slicing his throat.
“Well, well. What do we have here?”
Tugg and Mandich came around the side of the tree, swords drawn. Khirro’s eyes flickered from Athryn to the two soldiers and back.
“Let him go,” Khirro said and felt another chunk of dried mud slide off his cheek.
Mandich leveled his sword at Khirro. It quivered in the air a yard away from him. “Not going to happen. Drop your knife if you want to live.”
They’ll kill him no matter what I do. They don’t need him.
A step behind him, Graymon whimpered. The two Kanosee soldiers looked at him and Khirro used the instant of distraction in the only way he could see to gain some leverage. He grabbed Graymon and brought the dagger he’d used to aid Athryn’s magic up to the boy’s throat.
“Let him go or I kill the boy.”
Deep inside, Khirro felt an ember spring to life.
Chapter Nineteen
The man’s sickly smell made the two soldiers who’d brought him gag and hold their hands over their noses, but it created the opposite effect in the Archon. She breathed deep through her nose, drawing in the heady fumes of sewage and burnt flesh, luxuriating in their intoxicating odor the way other women might inhale the scent of perfume, or flowers gifted by a lover.
“We found it…him in the south tunnel,” one of the soldiers said.
The Archon opened her eyes and fixed him with a penetrating gaze, recognized him as the leader of the patrol she’d seen bring the man and woman with the child into the fortress. She supposed the soldier had a name, but she didn’t know it nor cared to. As far as she was concerned, he was another pawn to move about as necessary to achieve the ends she desired. She moved away from the divan and the thing she’d thrown a blanket over to hide from her visitors.
“The south tunnel,” she repeated, her top lip curling into a sneer. “Did you find anything else?”
“Not much,” the other soldier said. “Some body pieces. Everything was burned pretty bad. Like him.”
“No armor? No weapons? What a about a staff? Did you find a staff?”
“No, we didn’t, ma’am…err, your Gra…your Maj…Nothing.”
She leaned closer to the burnt man, her hands held behind her back. As she neared, she took another breath through her nose, both for pleasure and in search of clues to the man’s identity, but the aroma of charred skin and old feces proved too strong for her senses. She paused a few inches from where the man’s nose had once been before it was incinerated.
“Sienhin?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
The man’s lips made a crackling sound as they parted to draw a rattling breath between them. The Archon pulled back and watched the man’s lidless eyes focus on her. The life in them flickered dimly, like a candle guttering before going out, but she saw enough to recognize him.
“Hahn,” she said, not bothering to hide her disappointed tone. She looked up at the soldiers who had dragged him to her room from the sewer tunnel. “Leave us.”
They both bowed shallowly and retreated from the room; she relished their relieved expressions, knowing it meant they feared her. She liked to be feared.
When they were gone, she returned her attention to her blackened former lover.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what happened, can you?”
A dry click sounded in the depths of Hahn Perdaro’s throat as he attempted to swallow with a mouth incapable of producing saliva.
“Fire,” he said, the word carried on waning breath.
The Archon reached out with a finger and prodded the burnt flesh of his shoulder. A pained breath shuddered into his chest.
“I know who did this to you,” she said conversationally. “He let you live, you know. If he did not desire your survival as a messenger, a warning to me, you would be dead.”
Perdaro made a noise like he attempted to speak, but the Archon ignored the sound.
“And what of Sir Alton Sienhin? Is he dead?”
Hahn moved his eyes away from her gaze and the action gave her all the answer she needed. Rage twisted in her stomach and she fought to keep from lashing out at the burned husk of a man; he was already being punished for his failure, anything she might do would be a relief to him. He didn't deserve relief.
“Now that you have brought your news, I am sure he will let you die.” She leaned toward him, brought her lips close to the opening in his skull where an ear once existed. “If it was me, I would let you suffer for failing at a task as easy as this.”
She drew back to look in his eyes and saw fear in them, and pleading. His head moved slightly side to side, his way of saying it wasn’t his fault, she supposed. Even without a face, she saw the pain the movement brought him, and it delighted her-this was his punishment not only for failure, but for the hideous things she’d had to do to keep him loyal. He released his breath and she smelled his charred lungs.
“Does he have the staff?”
More painful movement, this time in the affirmative.
“But you did not use it, so he does not know its power.” She brushed his cheek with the knuckle of one finger; he flinched. “This may work to our advantage. It seems you have served your purpose, Hahn. Time to go to the fields of the dead. I think you will like it there.”
“N…no.” Breath hissed out of his parched throat, barely recognizable as words. The Archon leaned in, indulging him. “I…f…fight. For you. M…m…m…ake me mon…ster. Bring. M…me b…b…back.”
She laughed aloud, a loveless, uncaring bark of a laugh.
“Bring you back to fight for me? You could not complete a simple task while you lived, and with real soldiers I sent to assist you. What makes you think you would be a worthy soldier in death, Hahn?” She laughed again and Hahn Perdaro struggled to form more words, to protest, but she spoke over his efforts. “No, my love, he will let you die now, and so will I. Guards!”
Perdaro flinched as she shouted and a moment later, one of the soldiers appeared in the doorway, bowing shallowly. Sheyndust looked at him and felt anger bubble inside her.
“Bring me King Therrador,” she commanded. “Use whatever force necessary, but be sure he is alive when he gets to me.”
The soldier grinned, showing the space where he was missing a tooth, and bowed again before hurrying from the Archon's chamber. When he as gone and the door shut behind him, she felt calm and control return. She strode to the divan where a blanket embroidered with the royal seal covered a bulky shape.
“Rest assured, Hahn, your death will not deter my plans. Your failure may be of great service to me, actually. Not only do I now have no reason to keep Therrador alive, but I will also use the last remnants of your life so that I may have a real soldier to aid me, one who will be loyal and capable.”