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“What?”

“Come see. You too, Rachel.”

Jason moved closer to where Jasher stood inspecting the horse’s shoulder. He had pulled back a small flap of fur to reveal a glazed human eye embedded in the horseflesh. Jason stared at the eye, disgusted and fascinated.

“Can you guess who this belongs to?” Jasher asked.

Jason shrugged. “It looks dead.”

“Your displacer friend didn’t teach you much. This eye belongs to the displacer I just killed—Turnip, or whoever he was.”

“Ew,” Rachel said. “How?”

“Displacers can graft parts of their bodies onto other living creatures,” Jasher explained. “This talent more than any other makes them such potent spies. With his eye on the horse, he knew every move you made. Be wary of gifts from your adversaries.”

Jasher swatted the horse gently and it trotted off.

“Unbelievable,” Jason muttered. Now he understood why Tad had been so generous.

Jasher swung up onto one of the warhorses. “This ravine ends at an unscalable wall. We need to loop around to get my horse. Rachel can ride with me. Come.”

Jasher helped Rachel mount behind him. Jason climbed onto the other horse, which proved a little tricky, since it was taller than the previous horses he had ridden. The powerful steed stamped restively.

“Ride with confidence,” Jasher advised. “Your new mount is trained for battle. She can sense your uncertainty.”

Jason followed Jasher out of the ravine. Jasher’s hair trailed behind him like a banner as he cantered along. Once out of the ravine they curved around to the north and east. A small trail led up a slope to a third horse, which Jasher claimed. As he led them deeper into the forest, twilight deepened to darkness.

Eventually Jasher ordered a dismount and secured the horses. “Go to sleep quickly,” he warned. “I will awaken you early.”

Jason felt so fatigued from the day’s activities that he needed no admonition.

CHAPTER 18

THE SUNKEN LANDS

The next evening Jason rested against a fallen log, his body sore from a long day riding. Jasher had led them on a winding route deep into the hills, often walking the horses up shallow streams or forging paths through heavy foliage.

Having been up since before dawn, Jason felt ready to sleep. The meal of gutplug and jerky settling in his stomach did not help his wakefulness. But Jasher had kept watch the previous night, and he had to be exhausted. “I’ll take first watch,” Jason offered.

“No need,” Jasher said. “My kind never truly sleep. We recuperate from the day with a type of lucid dreaming. It’s a trancelike state not far from full consciousness. No adversaries will surprise us while I rest.”

These were more words than Jasher had spoken all day. Jason wanted to keep the conversation alive.

“Why do you keep your hair rolled up at the back of your neck?” he asked. He noticed Rachel paying attention.

“It is the way of my people, the Amar Kabal. It protects the amar.”

“The amar?” Rachel repeated.

Jasher paused, regarding them with icy blue eyes. “‘Amar’ means ‘seed.’ The Amar Kabal are the People of the Seed.” He turned his head and lifted the roll of hair. At the base of his skull was a raised portion of flesh the size of a walnut.

Jason winced. It looked like a huge cyst. “What’s it for?”

“The amar is the vehicle of our immortality. It dislodges at our death, granting new life when planted in the earth.”

“You mean you grow?” Rachel asked in amazement. “Like a plant?”

“Buried in fertile soil, the man grows from the seed within a few months. Less fertile soil requires more time. If my seed dislodged in extremely arid terrain, I might never be reborn.”

Jason leaned forward. “So you’ve died before?”

Jasher gave a small, grim smile. “Many times.”

“And then you come back to life,” Rachel murmured.

“Yes. The miracle of the amar preserves my memories until a new body germinates.”

“You remember all of your lives,” Jason said.

“Every moment until every seed has dislodged and become separated from my senses. Nine times I have perished in combat. Five times I have allowed my life