Dreams of Fire and Gods 2: Fire (14 page)

General Meik and another man in military uniform flanked the prisoner and lifted him to his feet. Meik searched him for concealed weapons, and then the two men grabbed his arms and pulled him forward until he stood before the
vek
and Sael.

The soldier Koreh didn’t recognize reached up and roughly yanked the prisoner’s upper lip out and upward, so that the pink underside was exposed. It held a small, shimmering tattoo of a closed eye. “He’s
samöt
, Your Grace.”

“Yes, of course.” Worlen looked down his nose at the young assassin. “I already know you were sent by the emperor and I already know that your intent was to kill my son, Dekan Sael
dönz
Menaük. Perhaps you meant to kill me, as well, but that’s an insignificant detail.
You
know that your failure may mean your execution, if the
ömem
see fit. So I see little reason to waste time torturing you for further information that I know you don’t have, or listening to any tedious last words of defiance or predictions of my downfall. I’m sorely tempted to just throw you off the balcony and be done with you.”

If the young assassin was disturbed by this threat, he gave no sign of it. He continued to glare at the Worlen without speaking. But one of the
vek
’s attendants —a dour-faced old man whom Koreh vaguely recognized but couldn’t name— looked alarmed. “Your Grace!”

Worlen waved a hand dismissively. “No, Master Snidmot. I merely said I was tempted. We’ll obey protocol, though what good it will do us with the
ömem
already refusing to cooperate, I don’t know.” He nodded at the two men holding the assassin. “Please see that he is locked up for the night. Securely, please. I trust between the two of you, you can prevent any dramatic escapes in the wee hours of the morning?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Meik answered.

T he
vek
turned to Sael, saying, “Have a messenger sent to Worlen to alert the
ömem
there of the hostage—”

He stopped and looked alarmed for the first time.

Suddenly, as everybody turned at once to look at the young
dekan
, Koreh felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. The spot where Sael had been standing was empty. Koreh whipped around, searching the room for his lover, but there was no trace.

Sael had disappeared.

 

Chapter 8

 

W
HILE
everyone searched the room for the missing
dekan
, the two military men “escorted” Donegh out into the hall and down to the dungeon. Donegh was just as baffled by the
dekan
’s disappearance as the others, but for a slightly different reason. He’d actually seen what happened, though he had no intention of informing anyone of it. The
dekan
had been standing there one moment, looking not at Donegh but at the young man who’d captured him with something akin to adoration on his face, when suddenly he’d
fallen into the floor
. Not through any kind of trap door that Donegh could see. He’d simply dropped down through the stone!

How that could happen, Donegh was uncertain, though obviously some sort of magic was involved. Just as there had to be some sort of strange magic involved in his capture. The young man in the cloak had appeared instantly in the room. Donegh hadn’t heard him enter or come out of hiding. Even if that could be attributed to stealth, the cloak that moved like vapor could not. Nor could the staff that had knocked Donegh unconscious with its odd bluish flame.

This entire valley was under the influence of some sinister magic.

The soldiers placed him in a small dark cell with no windows, and only one massive iron door with a small metal grate at eye level. Even if he’d been able to cut through the grating, it was far too small for anything but a cat to squirm through.

A small cat.

The soldiers left him there without a word and not so much as a cup of water for his comfort. Donegh had just a moment to see how barren the stone floor and walls were before his captors swung the heavy door shut and slammed the bolts into place. After that there was absolutely no light in the room except for the faint glow of torchlight coming in through the grating.

Donegh walked in the dark until his hands touched the wall, and then he slid down to sit on the floor with his back against it. He had nothing to do now but wait until the
ömem
in Harleh either sent for him or gave their permission for him to be executed. Since he was young, they might subject him to the harsh punishments of the Brotherhood, but allow him to live and continue his service. Donegh wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bear that humiliation. He knew magic had been used to defeat him, but none of his comrades would believe his story. He would spend the rest of his life being ridiculed for his failure.

Of course, the
ömem
might simply order his execution. But he couldn’t count on that.

The soldiers had left him with his clothes. It might be preferable to hang himself with his belt from the grating, if he could manage it, or devise another way of strangling himself with it. He slipped the belt off and held it in his hands, touching the soft leather lightly with his fingers and contemplating how he might put a knot in it to press tighter against his trachea.

Then a voice spoke in the darkness, causing him to exclaim in surprise. “Anxious to die, are we?”

It was a woman’s voice. An elderly woman, by the sound of it. And vaguely familiar.

“Who’s there?”

Something like a candle flame flickered against the far wall, though it was blue, like a flame made from burning alcohol. In its light, Donegh saw a figure standing near the wall, dressed in the black robes of an
ömem
, complete with the sheer black veil they generally only wore at official gatherings. The woman had her arm extended and she was pulling her hand away from the flame as if she’d just ignited it, which she must have.

“Have you forgotten me so soon?” she asked with a warm chuckle.

She began walking, staying close to the wall and periodically reaching out her hand to tap the damp stone. Every time she did, a blue flame burst into existence and continued to burn in place, though Donegh could see nothing on the wall that could burn and likewise nothing in her hand that could ignite a fire. No flint, no candle.

He stood as she drew near, uncertain whether he should be afraid. “How did you get in? The room was empty when they put me in here. I’m sure of it.”

She drew close, but her veil obscured her features. “Donegh….”
“You know me?” he asked.
“Since you were just a boy.”
Her voice sounded so familiar, yet he couldn’t place it. “Who are you, Sister?”
She touched the wall not far from his shoulder, and another flame flickered into being on the wall. It illuminated her a bit more, so that Donegh could now make out the woman’s features, if only dimly, behind the thin veil. The face that smiled at him sent a sudden chill up his spine. He recognized her now… but it was impossible.
“Thuna?” Thuna had been an
ömem
in the royal court of gü-Khemed, though she’d been more closely allied with the
vek
. Her service there had largely been as a messenger for the
vek
and personal physician for his son, which is why they had brought her with them when Sael and Geilin had fled the Capital.
The old woman’s smile broadened.
Donegh backed away until he bumped into the wall behind him. He fought down the urge to scream as terror finally began to overtake him.

Because he knew that Thuna was dead.

 

S
AEL
looked up at the ceiling of the cave

in awe. He’d never seen a cave this enormous in his life. It rivaled the enormous vaulted ceilings in the royal cathedral in gü-Khemed, supported by natural pillars of stone reaching from floor to ceiling around the edges of it. But the center of the ceiling was one large dome, glowing with strange yellow-green phosphorescent lines. The lines formed a crisscrossed web over its surface that seemed to ebb and flow across the stone like flotsam on the surface of a pond. This “web” extended to the edges of the dome and down the pillars. On the pillar closest to where Sael stood, he could see the glowing lines were comprised of millions of tiny creatures with glowing bodies—
nened
, he realized, but much larger than the glowbugs that flitted around the fields near Harleh. They followed invisible lines as they crawled up and down the pillars, similar to the trails made by ants.

“Come,
iinyeh
Sael,” one of the Taaweh near him said gently.

Sael was still trying to get his bearings after being yanked down into the floor of his bedchamber and transported here. He wondered briefly what effect his disappearance must have had upon those standing in the room near him. Koreh would probably figure out what had happened—perhaps he’d even known it was coming—and would hopefully explain things to Sael’s father and the others. If not, the entire keep might be thrown into a panic.

But Sael knew the Taaweh would not be convinced to send him back before he’d done what he’d been brought here to do. So he stood up on the bed of soft moss he’d landed upon after popping out of the ground, and brushed himself off. The Taaweh smiled at him and waited patiently until Sael stepped down onto the dirt path beside him. Then he turned and led the way into the center of the cave. Sael followed behind.

The cave was full of Taaweh, more than Sael had ever seen gathered in one place. He was surprised to see they were not all dressed in black robes, the only garment he’d ever seen a Taaweh wearing. Apparently, in their own environment, the Taaweh were free to dress however they liked—tunics, robes, breeches—all in a wide variety of colors—and varying degrees of nudity. Some were completely naked, both men and women, which caused Sael to quickly glance away in embarrassment.

The path merged with a wide expanse of cobblestone in the center of the cave, around which the Taaweh were gathering. On the cobblestone floor was a massive throne of gold, its surface intricately wrought and inlaid with thousands of multicolored precious gems. But it was the man seated upon the throne who drew Sael’s attention. He was much larger than any man Sael had ever seen, dressed in a bewildering assortment of leather, bronze, iron, and steel pieces of armor, all battle scarred and tarnished and stained with what appeared to be blood. The man’s face was that of a corpse. Handsome, but waxen and drained of all color, its lips blue and its eyes nothing but hollow black sockets.

Sael was terrified, but he had heard Koreh talk of this man—the Iinu Shaa. The leader of the Taaweh, or at least one of their leaders. The other Koreh had described as being a very beautiful woman with golden hair, the Iinu Shaavi.

Uncertain how to greet the man—or was he a god?—Sael knelt before the throne and bowed his head.

The Iinu Shaa did not speak, but from all around them, Sael heard the gathered Taaweh whisper, “Welcome,
iinyeh
Sael.” It was eerie and unsettling, but Koreh had told Sael about the strange way in which the Iinu Shaa “spoke.”

What he had neglected to tell Sael was how to address the man.

 

“Your… Majesty,” Sael faltered.

Whether this form of address was correct or not, the Iinu Shaa didn’t bother to say. Instead the chorus of whispered voices said, “It is time for you to learn your destiny.”

And then it began to rain, although there were no storm clouds within the cave. The rain fell around the Iinu Shaa and Sael, somehow without wetting them. As the rain grew stronger, it began to obscure the cave around them and all the Taaweh congregated there, until eventually it seemed to be a solid wall of water. Sael saw light and shadow flit across its surface and then, to his amazement, images began to form.

“T
HEY
’
VE
kidnapped him!” Worlen

ranted as he paced around Sael’s chambers. He stopped for a moment to point an accusatory finger at Koreh. “They’ve been trying to force us to recognize you as Sael’s
nimen,
and now they’ve kidnapped him to allow you to take over Harleh!”

Koreh had been avoiding speaking as much as possible, because he detested having to address Worlen as “Your Grace.” He’d already given his opinion that it was the Taaweh who made Sael disappear, and not something the assassin had cooked up. He’d managed to persuade the
vek
of that, but that had merely made the man frantic about what the Taaweh were doing, since he distrusted them. Koreh could understand that, but this accusation was both absurd and insulting. As if Koreh would ever plot against Sael!

Fortunately Geilin stepped in before Koreh could come up with an angry retort. “Your Grace, if the Taaweh wanted to take over Harleh, I doubt they’d have to resort to anything so dubious as a claim to the title. And I don’t see what tactical advantage they would gain by taking the city out of Sael’s hands.”

Worlen growled in frustration, but this appeared to calm him down slightly. “You’re right, of course, Master Geilin. But why else would they take him?”