He held his left hand up against his
chest, struggling to carry the burden of the ring. His finger was nothing but
slender dried-out bone, desiccated by blazing desert heat, but the ring still
clung to him.
Endless sands became marbled tiles.
Shining Walls stretched up as far as he could see, humming with her power and
the light of the moon. She sat on the High Throne, a golden crown of flowers on
her head. He crawled toward her, dragging that hand, the cursed ring,
struggling to make his brittle bones move.
Sands and wells, she was so lovely,
gleaming of moonbeams and opals, her black hair about her shoulders like his
taamid
. Most beautiful of all, though,
was the light shining in her eyes.
For
me.
Behind her throne, a graceful white
trunk stretched above, shielding her head with spreading leaves dotted with
black and red.
He fell on his face before her, unable
to bear the look of horror and hatred that would replace the love shining in
her eyes once she realized his true identity.
The ring slipped off his hand and rolled
across the tile, bumping and racing toward its goal. It leaped at her like a
rabid jackal and latched onto her neck. His ring became a collar to choke and
bend her to Shadow’s will. She clawed at the thing, wailing, begging him to
help her, but he did nothing.
He had accomplished his purpose.
Why, then, did he drown in misery?
She didn’t waste away to a skeleton
beneath its power; instead, her belly grew. Darkness grew in her, sucking the
life from her until she was gaunt, her light dimmed, her hair dry and brittle,
her eyes haunted chasms of agony. The tree withered, dropping its leaves, roots
arching like bleached bones.
He pushed to his feet and found himself
dressed in fine Green Land clothing. His boots crunched on the dead leaves of
the tree until he stood before her, whole and healthy while his child sucked
the life out of her. It would be a son, he knew.
A son of both Shadow and Light.
I
have a purpose.
* * *
MOANING, MYKAL THRASHED FREE OF the
taamid
tangled about his legs and
staggered out of the tent. Night. The fire had burned low and no one was in
sight. Shivering, he stumbled toward the shadowed ruin on the rim. Below, the
Green Lands waited like a priceless emerald. Only the encroaching sands and the
withering plants on the border told the tale of the desert spilling over the
plateau, destroying all it touched.
As he would destroy her.
He rested his head against crumbling
stone. His cheeks were wet with tears, his stomach boiling with holy water that
ate away like acid. Of course her power would hurt him. He was Shadowed. He was
death and destruction, the most favored servant of all.
I
have a purpose.
The mark in his groin throbbed. Her
silver rainbows glowed in his flesh, light against the dark of his skin. Such a
small bite against the bulk of his body, but it shone brightly, a reminder of
her passion and spirit. If she could bite him all over, would she be able to
blot out his stains with her pearly light? If she spilled water into him again,
could she wash him clean?
Could he ever be clean enough to earn
her love?
He stared up at the slip of the moon.
Soon it would be hidden completely, swallowed by the darkness of night. Yet the
moon still shone somewhere, sleeping her sweet slumber. Her symbol would grow
in the sky again.
Do I have enough of her
love in my body to grow into something beyond Shadow?
He twisted the ring on his finger. Sands
shifted inside him, a quagmire that could suck him down to endless torment.
He’d lived many lifetimes and committed uncountable foul deeds in the name of
Shadow, and the hateful ring reminded him of his purpose. The ring was his
savior—his key to the next life and the next, always avoiding damnation—but
also his destruction.
If he slipped this ring off his finger,
he might wither into the walking skeleton of his dream. His true body had long
ago turned to dust. If he tried to cast off the Shadow he’d carried for so
long, he might be devoured by the Black Dragon inside him. He might never be
able to transform back into a man.
He knew without question that as soon as
this life ended, he’d descend into the blackest, foulest pits of hell. Torment
would be his forevermore if he failed in his purpose.
As the moon served to constantly remind
him of his purpose, so, too, would
she
recognize the ring. Despite his dark coloring and desert body, she would know
him as her greatest enemy and cast him out of the Shining Walls of her heart.
If he carried this ring to her, she would wither and die, chained by him for
Shadow, which was what he’d fully expected to accomplish.
That had been before his dreams of a
White Dragon. Before her mark had seared his flesh, her pleasure had scoured
his heart, and her holy waters had scalded his belly. If he had any hope at all
of casting off this Shadow and feeling her love shine down on him, he had to
rid himself of the ring.
When he tugged on it, he knew a moment
of panic. It stuck to his finger, resisting his pull. In the dream, it had
buried itself in his flesh, sucking him dry day by day. He stepped out of the
shadow of a ruined tower and held his hand up to the slip of the moon in the
midnight sky the color of her eyes, praying enough of the silvery power
remained to help free him.
Gritting his teeth, he tore the ring
from his flesh. Something ripped inside him, tearing away pieces of his soul,
but he forced the black band to slide off his finger. Breathing hard, he stared
at the noisome hunk of twisted metal. It lay so innocently on his palm,
unpretentious iron. Without the ring, could he force the dragon back into the
cage of his body?
I
don’t know.
Fear tasted like bitter ash on his
tongue; however, he’d pay any cost to see the light of her Lady’s moon shining
in her eyes when she looked upon him.
Grim with a new purpose, he wandered the
ruins, searching for a place to discard the ring. He didn’t want this thing
anywhere near her, not if it would chain her for Shadow. Beneath the remnants
of a watch tower, he found a cistern. Long ago burned dry by Agni’s torment, it
was filled with sand, not water, but it had been sheltered enough by the
crumbled walls that it hadn’t been completely clogged by the desert.
He tossed a pebble into the dark hole
and counted several seconds before the soft thud. He wasn’t likely to find any
deeper spot this close to the Green Lands. Scanning for anyone nearby, he
finally tossed the ring into the empty well.
Let
sands bury it for all eternity
, he prayed.
Let her be safe.
Let
her be safe from me.
I’m
Mykal tal’Mamba and I have a purpose.
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
“ARE
YOU SURE THIS IS WISE?” King Valche smoothed his fine royal jacket and adjusted
his ceremonial sword. “The Sha’Kae al’Dan haven’t arrived yet.”
Shoulders back and chin tilted up at an
arrogant notch, Shannari stared each of her Council members in the eye. Some
nodded back, eyes bright with excitement; others flinched; and a few couldn’t
meet her gaze at all. Each man stood at the head of his soldiers sworn to her
service as High Queen of all the Green Lands.
The blue and silver of the Allandorian
Guard stood shoulder to shoulder behind her with the silver and rose Shanhasson
Lions. King Challon of the North Forest commanded a smaller force than most of
the others, but they were all woodsmen and fantastic archers. Maston, Illione,
Far Illione, Gritteire, and Planzio soldiers all lined the causeway leading
from the Palace to the Shining Walls. Taza had sent no soldiers, but their
ships guarded every major port.
“I’m not going to sit here helplessly
and let them lay siege to Shanhasson,” Shannari said. “As far as I can tell,
there’s only three hundred Keldari. Our combined forces are more than enough to
handle them, and I refuse to cower behind the Shining Walls. I don’t need force
to win this battle, Father, but I do need to show unity against our enemy. I
won’t open the Gates until the Sha’Kae al’Dan arrive. For now, I’m merely
beginning the negotiations.”
She mounted Wind and waited while the
Blood encircled her on their glossy red
na’kindren
.
Dharman and Sal rode on either side of her, with her father close on her right.
The rest of the Blood protected her flanks and back. Dharman’s bond vibrated
with concern that she had no forward guard, but she’d made her arguments
earlier. She had to present a strong, unafraid image to the Keldari. She
couldn’t show up at the Gates buried behind rows of warriors as though she were
afraid to show her face.
This time, Dharman had insisted that she
wear armor. The Blood had polished her chainmail and plate until it gleamed,
and someone in the armory had managed to find white leather pants and
gauntlets. Mounted on her silvery white mare with a long white cape flaring
about her, she shone as brightly as the Shining Walls.
At Dharman’s request, she’d let him
brush her hair until it hung loose about her shoulders like a heavy black
mantel. The soldier in her knew all that loose hair made her vulnerable if
someone got close enough to grab a handful of hair instead of a braid she could
tuck up beneath a helmet, but she decided if someone got that close, it would
already be too late.
Wind flowed down the street in a fluid,
gentle canter, and the allied troops cheered as Shannari rode past. How much of
it was sincere, she didn’t care to guess, but hopefully it would impress the
Keldari. Sliding to a snorting, prancing halt, Wind arched her neck and put on
quite a show before the Gate.
The old Gates had been formed of massive
timbers from the North Forest. This time, she’d requested that the metalworkers
come up with a more pleasing design. The sides and frames were still formed
from heavy timbers, but the interior panels were gleaming trellises vined with
roses. Each and every full moon, she walked the Shining Walls and offered a
sacrifice of blood to strengthen their magic.
No one would pass those seemingly
delicate Gates if she didn’t will it.
Three solemn black-robed savages stood
at the Gates, their troops lined in three columns, one behind each leader.
These must be the
tals
of Keldar.
Their dark eyes bored into her. She searched each man’s face, looking for the
only features she knew from the Dream, but none of these men had molten silver
eyes. Approximately the same age, with the same darkly bronzed skin and tattoos
across both cheeks, they could have been triplets. All three were dressed in
the same voluminous black folds of miserably heavy cloth, pulled up over their
heads to leave only their faces uncovered. Each wore a scimitar on one hip and
a short blade on the other, standing with arms crossed, hands lightly gripping
each weapon.
Her stomach tightened, unease sending
her alarms blaring. How could she protect herself if she couldn’t even tell
which one was the Black? Or what if none of them were the man she’d marked in
the last Dream?
:Which
one is he?:
Even Dharman’s mental voice was terse,
all his intensity focused on those who dared to threaten her.
Listening to the black dragon curled up
in her mind, she knew he had to be here. He felt close, so close she ought to
be able to smell him. A faint hint of sandalwood wafted to her, but she
couldn’t tell from which
tal
.
:I don’t know.:
A savage walked around the three
tals
and bowed formally before her,
showing the royal seal of her invitation. “Your Majesty, it is with great honor
that the most powerful and respected
tals
of Keldar accept your invitation. We came without harm, as you requested; the
tals
merely wish to speak with you and
come to a favorable decision for all.”
“Who are you?” She asked, trying not to
let her unease tighten her voice. Sourness curdled her tongue and twisted her
stomach. Lady above, she'd heard that the Keldari were Shadowed one and all,
but she hadn't imagined it would be so unpleasant to simply meet them.
“I’m Asad
rav
’Mamba. Let me introduce Nijar
tal
’Gaboon, Odan
tal
’
Tellan
, and Mykal
tal
’Mamba, at your service, Your Majesty.”
One of the Blood behind her snorted,
likely Sal, although none of them were pleased at the term
service
. They took their honor and service very seriously indeed.
Did the Keldari know this and deliberately use the word as an insult? She
couldn’t decide if they were that crafty or not. She knew too little about the
desert savages.
She let her gaze flicker over the rows
of soldiers, ignoring the
tals
. As
far as she could see in the ranks, they all stared back with dark eyes. There
wasn’t a single light-eyed man in the bunch. Her head pounded, splitting open
with agony, but she fought to keep her face smooth and un-alarmed. “If you mean
to parley, why bring so many soldiers? I count at least three hundred armed and
mounted men, Asad
rav
’Mamba.”