Vrell wanted to resist but she knew someone must stay with the horses. As much as it vexed her, she was the logical choice. She turned back to the split tree and made plans to wedge the torchlight in the crack later, when the red flame came into view.
She watched the three men drag Locto off into Darkness, toward a temple dedicated to evil, and she prayed Arman's protection over them all.
15
Sir Nongo led Achan under the platform at the center of the temple. Here, in the shadow of the platform and those log spikes, a pit had been dug. Sir Nongo seemed to be heading right for the gaping hole in the earth. Achan dug his heels into the dirt and clutched the knight's tunic, heart hammering, not wanting to fall.
Sir Nongo elbowed Achan's stomach. The sharp pain stole his breath. He folded against his knees, gasping, and Sir Nongo shoved him over the edge.
Achan's insides stretched as if they were trying to escape up his throat. He plummeted downward, falling a distance more than twice his height.
His back slapped onto soft dirt, batting the breath from his lungs again. He lay panting tiny hitches of cool air. All was dark but the square of fire glow outlining the bottom of the platform far above. Did Lord Falkson intend to sacrifice him like an animal? Would he simply slit his throat on the altar and let him bleed out? Would he set fire to him? A burnt offering for Barthos?
Achan stood, his legs shaky. There must be a way to climb out. He kicked his left toes into the dirt wall, reached his still-cuffed hands up, and drove his fingertips into the dirt as high as he could. He jumped with his right leg and pulled himself up, clinging to the side of the pit, arms trembling. He drew his right leg up and kicked in, but the force threw off his balance and he fell on his rear in the dirt, soil sprinkling on his head.
He jumped back up and screamed, pounded the dirt wall, bashed his shoulder into it, elbowed it, then sank to his knees and pressed the top of his head into the side of the pit, panting.
Arman had helped before. Achan could call on him. He didn't know the fancy words priests spoke but gave it his best. "Oh, great father god, Arman, creator of Er'Rets, maker of the sun, moon, and stars. Cast your gaze upon your servant. Help me, oh great god. Have mercy on my circumstance."
Arman did not answer.
Achan was tempted to yell, but perhaps Arman had everything under control. He tried another tactic. Sir Gavin! They put me in a pit. What can I do?
Long seconds passed before Sir Gavin answered. We're coming, lad. Stay calm.
Achan flipped to his rear and pressed his back against the cool dirt. He shivered, rocking back and forth to warm and calm himself. If only he could convince his mind to think casually about his situation, that all would work out…
"Great and powerful Arman, I am your servant. My life is yours. Extend it beyond this pit. You've called me to be king, so I trust you'll not let me die here."
The more Arman didn't answer, the hotter Achan's anger burned. "Arman!" He stood and yelled at the light above. "Tell me your plan!"
"Why waste breath on a codger like Arman?" a hissing voice said from across the pit.
Achan jumped against the dirt wall, heart trampling. He blinked hard, straining to make out the person who belonged to that snake-like voice. He could see nothing. "Who's there?"
"It matters not what I'm called. It is what I come to offer that is of importance."
Achan could barely see the shadow of a man draped in a black cloak. "A ladder?"
The man hissed, a wedge of butter tossed in a hot pan. "I know what it's like to be cast aside. Do not settle for what they offer you, boy. I can teach you to use your power. We can make things right in Er'Rets-for strays, for peasants, for all."
Achan's mind whirled, trying to understand. "How did you get down here? And what do you know of my power, anyway?"
"You crave freedom. You should not be made to wait for men to fulfill their own agendas."
"And you can give me freedom? How? We are together in the same pit."
"I cannot only set you free, but I will show you how to obtain the deepest desires of your heart. To make Er'Rets a better place. To have what you want when you want it. You are the Crown Prince. These things should be yours already."
Achan huffed. "Darkness has spoiled your mind. Do you even know your name?"
"I am called Hadad."
The name, so similar to Prince Gidon Hadar, sent a shiver up Achan's spine. "So, what must I do to have this freedom, Hadad?"
"Renounce Arman. Leave the knights and come with me. Take my hand, and we will vanish from this place."
Achan's stomach coiled. He sensed deceit from this shadow. He shot back a witty comment to ease his discomfort. "You do have a ladder?"
"Reach out for me!" the man hissed.
Achan considered it. But this faceless shadow emitted a chill, just by his presence. Achan preferred Arman's warmth. Sure, Arman bossed him around and paid no attention to Achan's schedule, but if Arman spoke truth, if he was the only god, Achan couldn't afford to betray him. And he didn't like the audacity of this Hadad trying to get him into more trouble.
"Thanks, but I'll take my chances with the black knights."
Wings rustled as if Achan had upset a flock of chickens. A bird cawed, high and shrill. Shadows swirled in the square of light above, a swarm of gowzals circling.
One dove and nipped Achan's chin. He batted it away, chains clanking. Another flew against his chest, knocking him into the wall. Teeth sank into Achan's nose.
He screamed, grabbed the creature's neck, and squeezed until it let go. He threw it to the ground, stomped on it.
Another bat-bird fluttered by his ear and bit his head, tugging bits of his hair and scalp. Achan grabbed the creature's leg and flung it across the pit. They swarmed him.
He cowered, covering his head with his arms. The beasts nipped at his back.
"Stop it! Arman, help me!"
The birds howled and fluttered away in a gust.
Hadad also seemed to have vanished. Was the man a black knight who had used gowzals to create an illusion of himself?
Achan slid into the corner to catch his breath. He dabbed his wounds with the back of his hand, waiting for his heartbeat to slow. The bites stung.
Suddenly, all his pain magnified. His chapped lips, cut feet, cuffed wrists, bruised torso, bleeding scalp and nose. He wanted relief. His memory drifted to his bath at Mirrorstone. He longed to soak his filthy, sore body. Even the cold shallows of the Sideros River delta would do.
He closed his eyes, recalling the last time he'd bathed there. The sky had been fierce blue dotted with white clouds, tufts of cotton floating in a field of forget-me-nots. Real birds-not beasts-had chirped their spring song.
He let his mind drift to Gren. Was she still imprisoned? He focused on her face.
Intense sorrow poured down his throat. Tears pooled in his eyes. Forsaken by the gods. Riga. A new home. Alone. People staring. Rumors. Throwing rocks.
"You're certain he's down there? I can't see a thing."
Achan snapped away from Gren's depression. That haughty voice belonged to the man who'd stolen his life. The former Prince Gidon Hadar: Esek Nathak.
Achan wiped his eyes and stood, looking up, veins throbbing. "Yet I can hear you, Esek. What brings you to Barth? Another throne to steal?"
Esek's callous laughter floated down. "You have got him, Sir Nongo, you devil. Well done. No one could imitate such insubordination."