Awaken the Three Page 5

  “A clan, then,” Duna said flatly. She rolled the thoughts around in her head. “Perhaps more than one.”

  If they could take over a city like Ghal Thurái in a matter of days . . .

  “General,” Kunas said, interrupting her thoughts. “The city is lost.”

  Duna nodded absently.

  “But,” he went on, “perhaps it does not have to remain so.”

  She turned to the Master Khyth. “What are you suggesting?”

  “That we seek help from the east.”

  “The east?” Duna repeated despondently. “You mean . . . ?”

  “Haidan Shar.”

  Duna frowned at the words. Haidan Shar, she thought. I had hoped it would not come to this.

  A rich coastal city built on the cliffs overlooking the Tashkar Sea, the city called the Gem of the East had based its economy on fishing, but had boomed into a bustling and wealthy power when gold and other precious metals were discovered in the caves and rocks nearby. Soon it was attracting merchants from all over Gal’dorok—sometimes even as far as Derenar—at a much faster pace than even the capital of Khala Val’ur could keep up with. They were self-sustaining, and not overtly hostile to the other cities of Gal’dorok.

  Yet Haidan Shar had one thing that Khala Val’ur did not: a human-run government. While Khyth were tolerated in the city, their role in its rule was completely different than in Khala Val’ur or Ghal Thurái. This resulted in an uneasy peace between them. Haidan Shar was a human city in every sense of the word. When the Sunken City of Khala Val’ur had called for aid in the march to Kienar, the Gem of the East had remained silent. Perhaps now that the Chovathi had shown themselves to be a greater threat to just passing travelers, though, they would help.

  But there was still another reason why Duna did not want to enlist the help of Haidan Shar. The thought brought her hand to the dagger she’d had on that night. She might have to finally reveal its secret, one she’d been keeping for decades now.

  “We have always had a . . . complicated relationship with the Sharians,” she started. “Yet we have never had a reason to be united until now.” She turned to Kunas. “We cannot take back our city alone.”

  Kunas nodded. “I agree.”

  Her eyes went back to the rubble. They would have to begin reconstitution immediately. “Are there any survivors?”

  “Yes, General,” he answered. “They have fled to Khala Val’ur.”

  “How many?”

  “A few thousand. Mostly women and children who were able to escape through the back tunnels while the Chovathi swarmed.” He paused and looked back at their burning city. “The others . . . fought bravely.”

  Duna clenched her jaw. It was the Thurian way to die gloriously in battle, she knew, but sometimes she wished that the warrior ethos didn’t flow so strongly through the veins of every man beneath the Mouth. Who knows how much time it bought the survivors? If they had started their retreat earlier instead of seeking that glorious death, it might have left her with a battle-ready force to take back the city. But now she wondered if even the combined might of Gal’dorok could overcome an entrenched Chovathi force at all. Especially one that was organized.

  “Eowen,” she called out to the messenger. “Come here. I have a task for you.”

  The blond man appeared before her and kneeled. “Yes, General,” he said.

  “I need you to make your way to Haidan Shar,” she replied. “Explain to them what has happened here. Appeal to their humanity if you must, but emphasize the gravity of the situation.”

  Eowen nodded as he rose.

  Duna looked back to her burning, crumbling city, and as the skyward-dancing flames leapt off the mountains that once stood so proud, she was only certain of this: she would finish the work that the Dagger of Derenar had begun.

  She would wipe the Chovathi from the face of the earth.

  “And Eowen,” she called after the messenger as he started his journey to the east. “Tell my sister I said hello.”

  Chapter 11

  Ellenos

  Thornton

  As much as his eyes were on the city of Ellenos, Thornton could feel the eyes of the Athrani on him.

  When the legion had reached the top of the wheel, they had unloaded onto a waiting ship that would take them into the city. Now, floating down the canal on a vessel of unimaginable weight, Thornton could feel that same weight pressing down on him and his sister. He watched as Yasha pulled her hood tighter over her head in a futile attempt to conceal her appearance. She flashed him a look that communicated just how alienated she felt, and Thornton suddenly knew what it meant to feel different. He knew how Kethras must have felt in Annoch—or anywhere that humans outnumbered Kienari—and looked to see if the staring from the Athrani was having any effect. If it was, Kethras certainly didn’t show it. His great black eyes were unblinking, focused on surveying the city ahead. Hands folded behind his back, the son of the forest stood unmoving, an inky black oak tree rooted in the hull of the Athrani transport.

  Something about Kethras’s calm demeanor gave Thornton comfort as he looked back to his sister, Yasha, and again to the shore. They had been moving through the water for some time now, and Thornton guessed they were headed into the city’s center. Everything about the First City was impressive to him, and he wasted no time taking it all in.

  He’d noticed a number of canals that intersected the one they were floating down—some perpendicular, some coming at sharp angles—no doubt used to get quickly from one end of the city to the other. Some of them had smaller vessels floating down them, holding just a handful of people; most of them would wave at the huge transport as they passed. A great purple flag planted at the top of their own ship bore a golden outline of an eye with six lines radiating out of it, three on top and three on the bottom, which Thornton thought looked like eyelashes. He figured it to be the banner of Endar, and it was most likely what people recognized when they would wave at them.

  Another thing that intrigued him about the city was that Athrani buildings were so much different than human buildings. Thornton thought it was most likely due to the fact that they weren’t so much constructed as they were Shaped into being. They seemed to have been carved from a single source, like statues of marble and gold that towered toward the sky. And they were so close together, too! That had always been something that stood out to him in Lusk, and even Annoch: that there was almost no space between one building and another. In his small village of Highglade, people had entire fields to themselves. But in the cities, where the population was astoundingly large, there was simply no room for that kind of privacy. That was abundantly clear here in Ellenos, where sometimes it looked as though several dissimilar buildings were all part of one massive structure.

  But one thing was obvious to Thornton as he gawked at the buildings they floated past: Ellenos was stunning. The word majestic echoed in his mind, and he thought that he had finally found somewhere worthy of the description. The rolling hills and valleys that made up the landscape of the city were perfectly incorporated into its construction. Even the light of the setting sun seemed to have been part of the city’s layout as it sank below the surrounding mountains to usher in the dusk, bleeding together the shadows that stretched off the Ellenian buildings.

  “She’s impressive to behold, isn’t she?”

  The words startled Thornton as he realized just how entranced he was at the sight of the First City. He turned around to see Endar grinning at him, once again draped in the purple cape that marked him as commander of the Athrani Legion. Coming out of his trance, Thornton stammered a yes.

  “She’s the only home I’ve ever known,” the big half-eye said. Clasping his hands and putting his forearms on the edge of the ship, he leaned over to share the view. “Sometimes I feel like that spoils me.”

  Thornton looked away from the commander and back to the fantastically made structures. Some of them looked like houses, others he recognized as inns, but many of the larger structures were entirely foreign to him. “I can see why,” Thornton admitted. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  Yasha piped up. “If you’ve ever seen the depths of Khala Val’ur, you’d know just how good you have it.”

  Since undergoing the Breaking, Yasha’s once-soft voice had taken on an ethereal quality that Thornton thought sounded like an echo trailing just behind her words. She was still soft-spoken, but the change in her voice commanded something when she talked, something that was enough to make Endar jump.

  “So she does speak!” the commander exclaimed, turning to marvel at the girl from the Sunken City. Pressing his back into the wooden railing that formed the edge of the deck, he looked her up and down before speaking again. “Tell me: What is Khala Val’ur like?” His arms were crossed over his gold breastplate as he stared at her inquisitively. “I’ve never had the pleasure.”

  Yasha squirmed a little and looked away. “It’s dark,” she said. “And cold. The inside of the city never sees the light of day, so a huge fire is kept going to take the place of the sun. It’s a poor substitute,” she scoffed.

  “I would imagine,” Endar said, taking in a lungful of air.

  “It’s nothing like this,” Yasha continued, looking off the bow. “The Khyth are very calculated. Everything is linear, and everything serves a purpose.” She shifted her gaze to some hills in the distance that looked as if someone had planted a tree in them that had grown into a cluster of buildings. “I mean, they moved the mountains themselves to build the city,” she said with a sweep of her arms. “If they don’t think something belongs somewhere, they’ll smash it and make room for something that does.”

  Endar nodded. “You’ll find that the Athrani are quite different.”

  Thornton was already looking past his sister when he felt the ship begin to slow. “What’s happening?” he asked Endar.

  The huge half-eye grinned as he looked out beyond the helm. “We’ve arrived.”

  ***

  Despite the beauty of the city that had surrounded them since they’d set foot inside it, Thornton suddenly felt cold and afraid. He looked at the face of his sister and saw that same nervousness reflected in her eyes. But one look at Kethras, stoic and tall, reminded him that his black-furred friend would do anything to protect him. He’d seen it in the forests of Kienar, and on the road from Lusk when the two Kienari had first made their presence known. Kethras had only just met him and Miera that night, but had been willing to die for them—and to kill for them.

  Endar seemed to sense the unease that had penetrated the deck like a fog, and placed his hand on Thornton’s shoulder. “Relax, blacksmith,” he said. “The Keeper is wise and just. You’ve nothing to fear.”

  The words did little to ease Thornton’s twisting stomach. He was still an enemy—to them—in the heart of their capital.

  “Besides,” Endar added in a hushed voice, “I’m told that you’re friends with the Shaper. That carries some weight around here.”

  A smile cracked Thornton’s lips as he thought of Miera again. Funny how she’s helping even when she isn’t here to see it, he thought. His shoulders relaxed as the ship began to dock, and Thornton found his thoughts wandering off to the Otherworld, to the last place he had seen Miera before she . . .

  Before . . . He shook his head to try to jar the thought loose. It was no good to him. He wasn’t sure if there was any way he could get to her now, but he promised himself that he would never stop trying to find one, no matter how dangerous it might be.

  And, judging by the whispers of the men as they had marched across Derenar, it was very dangerous.

  Chapter 12

  The Wastes of Khulakorum

  Sera

  The last few days—weeks?—had been a blur. Sera’s chest ached, her head pounded, and her mouth was dry. Working her fingers up to the mostly healed wound on her shoulder, just above her heart, she felt the edges of a newborn scar that had come from the tip of an Athrani spear. Tennech told her that she’d nearly been killed, and in the ensuing darkness of sleep and recovery, she sometimes thought that might have been the better option.

  Hovering on the brink of death is not an easy feat, and Sera was finding out why. She had lost a lot of blood on the ground beneath the Tree, where the force from the blow and the initial shock had rendered her unconscious—and where she very likely would have bled to death if Tennech hadn’t dragged her away and patched her up. She had just been lying there helpless on the ground, slowly dying, while the flow of battle rushed on around her. But after being taken from the forest, and being asleep for most of it, her body was allowed to start the recovery process.

  She had spent more time unconscious than awake, but that trend was slowly starting to reverse itself. Her bouts of wakefulness were becoming the norm as the darkness and the dreams returned to their rightful place: under her control. Sleep was no longer something that forced itself upon her; now it was at her beck and call. Like the movement in her left arm and shoulder, control over her consciousness was gradually returning.

  She heard the sounds of quiet talking just as the pain in her shoulder forced her eyes open. As she sat up and looked around, she saw to whom the voices belonged: General Tennech, with his back to her, was talking with Captains Hullis and Dhrostain. Hullis, the tall blond Thurian, noticed she was awake and gestured toward her.

  Tennech turned his head, and the semblance of a smile tugged at the corners of his mustachioed mouth. Sera blinked a few times to make sure she wasn’t seeing things, but the sight made her think delirium had set in again: Tennech was not wearing his armor, and was dressed in clothes befitting an emissary or a high-ranking government official. The other two men still wore most of their armor, with the exception of their heavy breastplates. The general turned to her and walked over.

  “Good, you’re awake,” he said. “We were waiting for you before we made the final leg of the journey.”

  Sera glanced around; she didn’t recognize their surroundings. They seemed to be in some sort of oasis, with long stretches of desert surrounding them on all sides. There were perhaps a dozen tall trees that provided shade, and a deep pool of water that was responsible for the vibrant green in a sea of dead brown. If she had to guess, all of this meant that they were in or near the Wastes of Khulakorum. Nowhere else that she knew of matched this description, and nowhere else had a desert so large that it could take up an entire field of view.

  “Of course,” Sera said as the general drew near. “Where . . . Where are we?”

  “At the edge of the Wastes,” he answered, looking back over his shoulder to the men from Ghal Thurái. “By my calculation—and the captains agree—the tribal city of Khadje Kholam should be about half a day’s walk to the southeast. If you’re feeling up to it, we can leave now to arrive at sunup.”

  Sera stood up and swept her hands through her long brown hair, collecting it and pulling it down to rest in front of her left shoulder. Before her, the colors of dusk were starting to make their way across the sky, and she realized that she had been sleeping for much longer than she’d intended. Maybe I haven’t fully recovered after all, she thought.

  Her eyes scanned the rest of her surroundings as she tried to get her bearings. As she did, she saw two reasons why they had made it this far: the Gwarái.

  The two great masses of black were sleeping in the shade, and Sera wondered how the Thurian captains had managed to get something so big to cooperate. The Gwarái wore leather reins that were fastened to their long, thick necks. Other than that, though, the four-legged monstrosities should have been free to do what they wanted—one tends not to argue with anything so large. Sera was still not fully used to being around the two towering creatures; their countless dark scales over a long reptilian body made even the largest warhorse look tiny. But they had gotten them this far, so she had no reason to complain. Any other pack animal would have had immense difficulty making a journey this far in a reasonable amount of time.

  The thought triggered a memory. She started looking around frantically, scanning the trees and desert floor. Tennech must have noticed her eyes darting back and forth because he moved closer to her, asking, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Ruen,” she answered. “Where is Ruen?”

  Tennech put a hand on Sera’s shoulder, and the blood froze in her veins. She barely registered the next words from the general’s mouth.

  “There was no other way to get you here,” he began. “I had to have one of the Gwarái carry you.”

  “Where is he?” she demanded. “Tell me where my horse is.”

  The words seemed to catch the general off guard, and he moved his hand away from her shoulder. “He’s safe, Sera. Don’t worry.” He was putting his hands up in a calming motion, but it looked to Sera more like a defensive posture. “He was in no shape to make the trip, so I sold him to—”

  “You what?”

  “I sold him,” he said, raising his voice to match hers, “to help offset some of the costs.” He was looking her right in the eye. “We both know that horse was on his last legs. It’s a wonder we got anything for him at all.”

  Sera was seething. “You had no right! He was my only possession.” Her brown-on-blue eyes were awash with rage, and she briefly, very briefly, pictured his death.

  Tennech put a stop to it quickly. “Remember your place, child,” he said coldly. “You came to me with nothing. I took you in, I fed you, I clothed you. I gave you everything.” The words were as sharp as they were true.

  Her anger, a crackling fire, had not been snuffed out—merely redirected. “Fine,” she said, turning back to the blanket on the ground that formed her makeshift bed. She gathered it up, loudly and forcefully sheathed her blades, and made for the two captains. Walking right by them, she said, “Let’s go,” to no one in particular.