On Fire's Wings - Christie Golden [140]
“It’s stopping me, somehow,” said the Emperor, glaring at the ki-lyn. “It hates me. It wants me to fail.” The creature shrank back from the loathing in that gaze.
“Why must you keep it?” asked the advisor. “If you just had it killed—”
The look the Emperor gave him made his legs quiver. “If you suggest that again,” the Emperor said with deceptive calm, “I’ll cut off your head myself and stick it on a pike.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” stammered the advisor.
The Emperor sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I imagine you had a reason for coming here?”
“Yes, of course. We have had several desertions.”
“That’s to be expected, this close to their homes.”
“It’s not helping morale, Your Excellency. Should I make an example of the ones who remain?”
“Did they try to desert?”
The advisor was flustered. “Well, no, but they are Arukani and—”
“And we need every one of them right now. We don’t know what’s going to greet us on the other side of the mountains.”
The advisor swallowed hard. “Speaking of that, Your Excellency….the scouts have not yet returned.”
The Emperor stared at him. “No, of course they haven’t,” he said softly. “He’s gotten to them. That’s how I knew he was here—he attacked.” Harshly, he jerked the golden chain and the ki-lyn made a strangled sound. “Why won’t you let me see him?”
The advisor eyed the creature with distaste. “Your powers will grow with time, Your Excellency. Surely, even that creature will not be able to hold you back much longer.”
“That is true,” said the Emperor thoughtfully. “Go to bed. We will march in the morning. I still have the advantage of numbers, even if my magic is stifled. We will hurt the Arukani badly and take their country. If one of them is there, I will deal with him when I see him, this pathetic thing be damned.”
Kevla kept her face as calm as possible when she told the khashims about the attack on the scouts. They were alarmed that the enemy had gotten this far, but praised her and the Dragon for their quick thinking in destroying the threat.
“There is more,” she said, trying not to curl protectively in on herself. On the way back, something had brushed her thoughts that still made her quail. Something that was angry, and dark, and powerful.
“I do not think we are dealing with an ordinary army. I sense…I sense that there is magic here as well. Abilities that haven’t shown themselves yet.”
“We cannot fight magic,” protested young Raka.
Kevla turned to him. “Yes, we can,” she insisted. “There are many toiling up the sides of these mountains now who eat, sleep, sweat, and bleed just like you do.” Just like the scouts did. “If you deal them a lethal blow, they will most certainly die.”
The words came easily out of her mouth, but inwardly she grieved their utterance. It was so strange, to be talking so comfortably about killing. Only a few weeks ago, she was merely a servant in a great house, her only concern when she would next see Jashemi. Now, she rode the Great Dragon of story and song as comfortably as she had ridden a sa’abah, and had used her fire skills to take lives. The love and light of her life was dead by the same magic that now needed to be turned against the advancing army, and all the leaders of all the clans were looking to her to save them.
Her power was great. Startling, wondrous, amazing, and she knew she had not begun to probe its limits. But she would have traded it all for one more conversation with Jashemi, alone in the cavern at the House of Four Waters, ignorant of the blood bond between them and feeling only a deep and profound connection.
She blinked and came out of her reverie as one of the khashims was speaking and, blushing, had to ask him to repeat his question.
“When will they arrive?”
She and the Dragon had discussed this. “Judging by the progress they have made so far, we have until the day after tomorrow.”
“Then we must make haste,