Athar made a low growl. He scowled in a way that didn’t seem anatomically possible coming from a camel.
Shadya took a long, slow breath while holding her stomach.
“Is something wrong?” Rondel asked.
“I’m just a little nauseous. It will pass.”
Athar’s ears stood up. He made a weird garbling sound with his tongue then walked away. Shadya rose and began to follow.
Rondel tilted his head. “What’s going on?”
Shadya paused. “What do you mean, my love?”
“I mean what is going on with Athar and why are you following him?”
She kissed him on the forehead. “It’s nothing. You worry too much. Finish your meal. When I return, we’ll leave.” She followed Athar behind a small cluster of rocks.
Rondel turned away and popped a date in his mouth. He smelled nothing. The flesh broke apart and juice rolled across his tongue. Yet, he realized that he still couldn’t taste a thing. His mouth felt as numb and deadened as everything else about him.
Especially my head.
He spat out the date.
Am I sick?
Maybe Shadya knows a ward that will help me feel better.
He stood to find her. His chest began itching again. He swore while scratching at it with a free hand. He took a step and the itching intensified. Another step, and the itch became an intense burn. Two steps later, he dropped to his knees, unable to endure the pain. Rondel shuffled backward to lay down by his things. The pain subsided.
What is going on?
He removed his outer robes and began unbuttoning his shirt.
Exposing his chest, nothing appeared unusual at first. Just pale skin covered with coarse black and gray hair. He blinked. A thin stone shaped like a disc hung by leather strips over the center of his chest. Another, smaller stone hung near it.
Why didn’t I feel them against my skin?
He reached for the stones, but found he could bring his hands no closer than a few inches from them. The harder he tried to touch the stones, the hotter his chest grew. He dropped his hands, sweating and breathing heavy.
Guilt washed over him in an odd way. Wanting to touch the amulet made him feel like he somehow would betray Shadya, the woman he loved. The woman who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The perfect woman who . . .
Focus, Rondel. You’re onto something. Cast Shadya aside. Just for a moment.
That thought brought on even more guilt. The burning sensation on his chest caused him to dry heave in pain.
A past conversation he had with someone flashed in his mind.
“I want you to promise me you’ll do something for me when this is done,”
said a distinctively female voice. It was strong and much different than Shadya’s.
“All right,”
he had answered.
“I want you to take off those amulets. I’m not telling you to get rid of them. Just remove them for a little while.”
“And then what?”
“Think.”
He sat up and reached with both hands for the leather straps at his neck. The invisible force that had prevented him from touching the stones returned. It was as if someone was pulling his hands apart as he tried to bring them together. Sweat beaded his brow. The stones burned in such a way that the smell of singed chest hair lifted to his nostrils. A whimper passed his lips, as the tips of his fingers touched the leather straps. He gasped for air while taking the straps in each hand.
Despite the pain, he paused briefly in an attempt to calm his breathing.
You can do this, Rondel.
Tears ran down his cheeks as he pulled against the invisible force pushing the straps back down against his body. It felt like he was yanking his heart through his rib cage. The nausea intensified.
Gods!
He cursed aloud when the stones came away from his chest, taking hair and skin with it. He whimpered as the leather straps passed over his head. He flung the stones away with his last bit of strength and finally vomited.
I’m free.
He lay back on the ground, trying to catch his breath. Unfortunately, his sense of taste had returned. He vomited again.
“Think,”
he heard that female voice in his head say again.
All he wanted to do was sleep, but he obeyed the voice. Free from the numbing haze that had consumed him upon waking, his mind opened.
Anger, disgust, frustration, and embarrassment washed over him. Then sorrow. He slowly remembered everything.
“Andrasta,” he whispered.
“We told you, she’s dead,” said a deep voice.
The man who had carried him from the beach and over the mountains stood nearby.
The one I killed before. Where did he come from? He wasn’t here earlier.
Clumsily, Rondel reached for his short sword, only it wasn’t there. A boot struck his side, then rested on his chest over his wounds from the amulets. Eyes watering, he struggled to breathe.
“That’s enough!”
The man looked up as Shadya came to him. He scowled. “I told you we should have killed him.”
“You’re just hungry,” she said, frowning.
“I’ve never had a foreigner before.”
“And you won’t have this one. He’s too important to the joining.” She paused. “And to me.”
* * *
His camp lay in ruins. Many of Melek’s men looked broken, certainly beaten. Omar and Khalil took turns sharing information gained from scouts and divinations. Neither found any trace of Shadya, or more importantly, the Mask of Halves.
He walked into his newly erected tent, shaking his head. He needed privacy, time to think.
And I’m actually considering letting one of the people responsible for all this live.
To blame Andrasta for their current state was easy, something for lesser men. He couldn’t say that to his men though as many did fault her for their woes. He blamed himself, and he held the captains before him who had allowed Hubul’s Host to deteriorate over the centuries responsible.
Despite my best efforts, I am not any better. It is easy to criticize others in the role of captain when you’re just a name in the ranks. Once you are captain, you realize what all those before you had to deal with and consider.
The Host had once been feared above all others in Erba. Yet, as the years waned and each commander failed to complete the mission Hubul had bestowed on them, their numbers had decreased. Part of the Host’s mystique came from misdirection, always claiming to number a few dozen, when only under
his
command had their size dwindled close to that amount. Once they boasted over a thousand strong.
Recruits are harder to come by. Few today are willing to devote themselves so completely to Hubul.
Boutros, the commander before Melek, had been one of the worst captains in the Host’s history, allowing men into their ranks not completely committed to Hubul’s cause. Worst of all, the man had grown careless with the Mask of Halves while awaiting the next alignment of the heavens. He lost it in the last days of his command.
At Boutros’s death and Melek’s appointment to captain, he had purged the dead weight from the Host, controversially kicking two dozen men out who should have never been allowed to join. There was no precedence in their annals for his decision, yet those that remained considered it an encouragement.
He built on that encouragement to reclaim the Mask of Halves from the enemy.
Everything had seemed to be falling into place. He was going to do what no other captain had been able to. He was going to destroy the mask.
But
she
lived.
Allowing Shadya to survive had been his first failure as captain.
And how many more since? My passive approach since reclaiming the mask has resulted in many deaths. Worst of all, the Mask of Halves is once more in the hands of the enemy.
He sighed, no longer confident in himself. He rubbed at his beard while contemplating his most immediate concern.
Am I making another mistake by keeping Andrasta alive?
“Captain?” Omar’s voice penetrated his thoughts.
Melek blinked. “Come in.”
Omar and Khalil walked inside. “You wanted to see us?”
“Yes. Bring the woman, Omar. I need to speak with her again.”
“You aren’t going to kill her?”
“That depends on how our conversation goes.”
“Captain, the men will not accept—”
“Accept what, Lieutenant?” snapped Melek. His confidence may have suffered, but he would not accept dissent. “They will not follow my command? My decisions? These are the same men who elected me to lead them, are they not?”
Omar said nothing.
“Speak up, Lieutenant. I want names. If I can’t trust those under my command, then they are worthless to me. And to Hubul. I’ll continue the Host with only those loyal. You know that. If needed, I’ll complete Hubul’s mission by myself.”
Omar bowed his head. “I have no names. My apologies. I’ll go get the woman.” He left.
Don’t lose faith in me, Omar. I will make you and the others proud. I swear it.
Melek glanced over at Khalil. The old sorcerer looked worn. The last few days had been hard on everyone. “Say what’s on your mind.”
“You just spoke of loyalty. What I have to say might be misconstrued as disloyal.”
Melek clicked his tongue. “Please. You’re the most loyal member in the Host.”
“Fine. You were too hard on him. He was frustrated. That’s all. Remember, he deflects a lot of grumbling among the men so it never reaches you.”
“I know. But I cannot allow him to blow off his own frustrations so loudly. Too many others are moving about nearby.”
“You may need to clarify that to Omar in private.”
Melek nodded in agreement. “What else?”
“What
is
your plan for this woman?”
He hesitated. “One that no one will like. Including you. But it isn’t worth mentioning until I talk to her again.”
Anger lay beneath Khalil’s calm voice. “You want her to come with us.”
“It’s always been hard to put something past you.”
“This isn’t a time for joking. She and her partner are directly responsible for the deaths of eight men. And that isn’t counting secondary deaths and injuries.”
“I know.”
“And you see nothing wrong with this?” He lowered his voice. “Maybe Omar wasn’t hard enough on
you
.”
Melek’s mouth thinned. Even though it hurt to hear those words from Khalil, he could not appear as unsure as he felt.
Not to anyone.
“Khalil, in many ways, you are the closest thing I’ve had to a father. You helped train me in the histories of the Host and taught me how to use my mind so that it matches my skill with a sword. Though we are taught not to love anything or anyone more than Hubul, I wouldn’t be ashamed to say that I hold you dearly in my heart.”
Khalil’s eyes twitched, his mouth gaped slightly.
“That being said, understand that I will reprimand you just as I will reprimand anyone else who tries to stop me from
any
decision I make in the coming days.” He paused, voice softening. “They have the Mask of Halves and I don’t need scouts or divinations to tell me they are on their way to the Empty-Hand Desert to use it. Things are getting desperate, for all of us. I will use anything and anyone to stop Shadya. Even someone who just yesterday killed my brothers. Hubul is first, Khalil. Everyone else is second.”
* * *
Omar threw her unceremoniously to the ground inside a half-erected tent constructed from those remnants untouched by fire. Captain Melek once again gazed down at her. He released a short breath through his nose that came across to Andrasta as obvious displeasure.
“Cut her binds,” said Melek. The hulking figure didn’t move. “Is there a
problem
, Lieutenant?”
“No, Captain.”
Omar pulled out a dagger and cut the rope at Andrasta’s wrists. A part of Andrasta wanted to lunge at Melek. However, another part of her knew that such a thing would be expected.
She sat up slowly and rubbed at her wrists, flexing and relaxing the muscles in her limbs.
“Leave us,” said Melek. “Now,” he added after Omar paused yet again.
The lieutenant bowed before leaving.
The flap closed, blocking out the sunlight. One lone candle burned on a nearby table.
Melek gave his back to Andrasta and poured a cup of water. She scowled at what could either be a taunt or an act of superiority. She couldn’t decide which, but it annoyed her all the same.
He turned and handed her the cup.
“Please drink.” He sat across from her. “We’ll begin when you’re ready.”
She swallowed a gulp of water. “Begin what?”
“I have more questions for you. But first, I thought it best to tell you the true story of Hubul’s Host. I’m sure that whatever you’ve heard is likely full of lies and I want you to understand what we’re really about.”
“And your story will be the unquestionable truth?” Sarcasm dripped from her voice.
“As I know it.” He cleared his throat. “Millennia ago the great Hubul, father of the gods, had a son. This son was unique from his other children because he was born of a mortal woman. It was not uncommon for the gods to have relationships with mortals—however, it was forbidden to actually bear offspring. If such a thing was to happen out of carelessness, the child was to be disposed of quickly once discovered, usually cut from the womb. A cruel thing, I know, but it was a rule that the gods lived by, Hubul included.
“However, Hubul loved this particular woman too much to hurt her. He allowed her to carry the child through pregnancy and bring it into the world.” Melek paused. “This is said to be Hubul’s first and perhaps only mistake in his existence. For by allowing his son to live . . .” his voice trailed off. “Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself.”
He continued. “This child secretly grew up in isolation as Hubul knew that the other gods would want to kill the boy if they learned of his existence. Hubul had grown to love the child greatly. In fact, some believe that he favored this child more than his other children.