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The corridor was quiet aside from the crackling torches. They had long since distanced themselves from the voices of pursuing soldiers yet had also managed to get themselves lost in the process. The tunnels varied in shapes and sizes, always leading in new directions and rarely looking different. The only thing that changed was the heat—it was worse the deeper they traveled—and the rancid smell of decayed flesh hung in the still air.
"This way!" Kitreena whispered, rushing down another hallway.
Arus pursed his lips as he followed. Many times she'd dashed down one tunnel or another, seemingly positive that she was leading him the right way. But it never took long for her pace to slow, and her eyes would begin darting around with an obvious uncertainty. "Do you even have a clue where you're going?" he grumbled.
She didn't bother to look back. "You're free to wander where you like, you know."
Arus had contemplated it, but of the two of them, she was the only to carry a weapon. His chances of being caught were significantly lesser with Kitreena and her whip than if he went off on his own. He was no stranger to hand-to-hand combat—Master Eaisan made all of his students train in such fighting techniques before he even let them look at a sword—but he was no expert, either. "I just don't want to be lost down here for the rest of my life, that's all."
"We're not lost," she replied. "We're being herded."
Arus raised an eyebrow. Herded? Like sheep? "I don't understand."
Kitreena stopped and held a finger of warning to her lips. The uncertainty returned to her face, but this time she appeared to be listening to something. "Don't you hear them?"
He closed his eyes and listened. The beating of his heart was the loudest noise he could make out. Kitreena stared at him as though she'd already branded him a fool for missing sounds he still did not hear. "I don't hear anything."
Her scowl peeked from the blue cloth across her forehead. She looked him over for a moment, studying him, then snorted. "I guess I overestimated huma— . . . your ears."
She continued down the tunnel, leaving Arus frowning. "What's so special about yours?"
"Forget it," she shrugged off the question. "I suppose some of us just have keener senses than others. Whatever the case, the Mages are following us, but they aren't trying to catch us. At least, not yet. They're cutting off paths in certain areas, leaving only one or two options open for us."
"You mean they're trying to get us to go somewhere?"
Kitreena responded with a nod.
"Any idea where?"
The hallway branched in several places like an underground network of traders' paths. Kitreena glanced down each, her eyebrows scrunched. "Into a trap, I'd say. Doesn't much matter. Let Truce set his trap. He thinks we're trying to escape, but I want to find him just as much as he wants to find us. And when I do, I should be able to complete my mission and free your friends at the same time."
Arus wiped the beads of sweat from his brow with his forearm. "What exactly is your mission?"
"It's not your business," she said, her eyes warning him not to prod any further. "Just know that Sartan Truce will not have a breath left in his lungs when this day is done, and he'll lie beside the broken bodies of his heartless thugs."
Despite the heat, a chill ran down Arus' spine. There was a sincerity in the tone of her voice that told him she meant every word of it. They continued on in silence, Kitreena leading the way. Several times, Arus nearly decided it would be better to go off on his own rather than fall into whatever trap Truce might be setting for them. But he dismissed the idea, not wanting to leave Kitreena to fend for herself against the Mages. She claimed she could handle it alone, and she was certainly a skilled fighter, but Arus couldn't accept that this young girl would be able to defeat the army of sorcerers that had waged such a devastating war on Asteria. It wouldn't be right to leave her, he told himself, because it might mean sending her to her death.
Right, because I'm going to be able to help her. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought. There was no sense in inflating his opinion of his own abilities; he knew he still had much to learn. With or without him beside her, if Kitreena intended on attacking Sartan Truce, she would likely perish. And I merely condemn myself to death by following her. But if I could persuade her to reconsider . . .
"I saw you fight Olock the other night," Kitreena's voice broke the silence as they came to an intersection. She headed straight through without glancing at the other paths.
There was no need for Arus to ask who she meant. Until the festival, the only duels he'd ever fought were against friends and Master Eaisan. His battle with the Vermillion Mages at the Festival of Souls had been the first real combat he'd ever experienced. It was the Mages' attack that had stirred his anger and brought out his lust for vengeance. He likened it to a demon lurking within, awakened by his first encounter with the men responsible for the death of Dayne Sheeth, and sooner or later he'd have to confront it. The path of vengeance leads only to the grave, Master Eaisan would say. So how do I rid myself of this bloody anger?
Kitreena was looking back at him, her glare as sharp as ever. Arus tore himself from his thoughts. "Oh, yeah . . . That was . . ." Another thought hit him. "Wait, how do you know his name?"
"I've tangled with them plenty of times before," her voice was flat. "Olock, Sartan, that weasel F'Ledro,"—her words turned to a snarl at the last name—"I know them all."
Maybe she's from Narleaha, or Lyantisa. Certainly not from Keroko. Not in those clothes. She doesn't sound any older than Katlyn. Certainly no taller, either. He wanted to ask how old she was, but it was not a question that girls particularly enjoyed answering. "How long have you been fighting them?"
"We've had scattered skirmishes over the past seven years," Kitreena told him. "We've been trying to halt their development of—" She caught herself with a shake of her head. When she spoke again, she chose her words carefully. "Their operation endangers more than just the people of this land. They must be stopped."
There were too many questions left unanswered, but Arus could see she wasn't going to share anything more. He instead chose a less sensitive subject. "So you saw me fight—Olock, was it?"
"Yes, I saw it. You're not bad. For a beginner, anyway."
A beginner? He frowned at her. He certainly didn't view himself as a master swordsman, but a beginner? "I may have much to learn, but I'm no beginner. Olock was on the defensive the whole time. He couldn't keep up. If either of us was a beginner, it was—"
"He was toying with you, kid." Her laugh echoed in the hall. "He was testing your abilities. The Mage wanted to know how good you were. If he'd had a chance, he would've tested your friend, too."
"Me? What do they want with me? Or Vultrel, for that matter?"
"Sorry, that's classified information."
Arus grit his teeth in frustration. None of it made sense. She wore clothes like none he'd ever seen before. She spoke with the strength of a queen and fought with the ferocity of a tiger. The leather whip at her side was more like an extension of her body rather than a weapon, and nothing seemed to frighten her. She knew details about the Vermillion Mages that even King Sarathon did not, yet she couldn't have been much older than Arus. "Who are you?" he finally asked.
She stopped and looked at him. Her eyes were soft this time, as though she wished she could explain everything. She began to reach for the blue cloth covering her features, hesitating more than once before sliding down. She eventually let it hang loosely around her neck, exposing her young face. And young it was. Certainly a pretty girl, Arus thought, with a perfectly shaped nose over a sad frown. Her skin was light and smooth, and the sight of her face made Arus' cheeks hot and his knees weak. After a few moments of his staring, she colored and shifted her gaze to the ground. "I know you don't understand, but I can't answer your questions." She rolled clumps of dirt across the ground with her bo
ot. "Things aren't quite as simple as—"
The voices were loud this time; even Arus heard them. They came from the tunnel ahead. Kitreena's head shot up in an instant. "They're ahead of us," she said, sounding surprised. "Probably trying to cut us off."
Arus clenched his fists. He grew tired of fleeing unseen enemies. "But I thought you said they were trying to force us to go in a certain direction."
"They may still be," her lips twisted, "but this leaves the way back to the surface clear."
"We can't leave!" Arus exclaimed, surprised at her suggestion. "Vultrel and Master Eaisan are still being held prisoner!"
"I'm not going anywhere," she said firmly. "I'll take care of your friends and the Mages as well. You get back to the surface where it's safe."
"No!" The word surprised even Arus. Am I ready for this? Ready to take on the Mages in battle? Even my father couldn't survive them. And here I am, lost in their hideout, unarmed. How can I hope to be of any help? It took a moment for him to realize that Kitreena was looking at him with a soft, almost concerned expression. Maybe she thinks I don't believe she could defeat them. I didn't mean anything insulting by it. "It's just that it wouldn't make sense for you to fight them alone when I . . ." But am I really ready for this? I can't even beat Vultrel! "I mean, I . . ." Why is she looking at me like that? I wish she wouldn't do that. Her eyes are mesmerizing. "Pretty" doesn't even begin to describe her. You dolt, she's waiting for you to finish your sentence! Say something! "I want to help," he finally squeaked.
Kitreena let out a long breath and turned her attention back to the direction of the voices. "They're coming," she told him. "Less than a minute until they get here, I'd say. You need to get out of here while you can."
"I'm not going anywhere."
"You'll die if you stay, Arus. You should get—"
Arus cut her off. "What makes you think you can beat them? Truce is a powerful warrior, and you can't be much older than me. What makes you think your chances of—"
He'd struck a nerve—one he immediately wished he hadn't. Her eyes widened under her scowl. "I was taking down soldiers stronger than Truce's punks when you were still learning to lace your boots, boy! I brought in Dexter Amaroth of the Deltorian Pirates and assisted the forces that pushed the Vezulian Armada from the Badlione sector! I've seen more combat than you will probably ever encounter on this rock, and you—"
She never finished the sentence. A train of Vermillion Mages stormed through the tunnel at the far end, shouting orders and raising swords at the sight of the runaways. Kitreena yanked her whip from her belt and gave Arus one more glance. "Do you have parents?"
Arus raised an eyebrow. "My mother is still alive . . . why?" The soldiers grew nearer.
"Do you love her?" Kitreena asked him.
"Of course," he said with a nod. "Why are you asking—"
"Go home and make sure that she knows it, because you never know which conversation with her may be your last." She pushed him back toward the corridor through which they'd entered and ran to confront Sartan's men.
Arus hesitated as the sentence echoed in his ears. What was that supposed to mean? The hairs on his arms were standing on end, and he stood frozen in place, Kitreena's words the only thing holding him from running to her side. Does she know something I don't? Is Mother in danger? Not twenty paces away, Kitreena tore into the Vermillion Mages, their bodies dropping one by one like heavy sacks of grain. The deafening cracks of her whip filled the air, matched only by the screams of the Mages on the receiving end of the weapon's fury. The soldiers poured into the hall steadily, some wielding balls of fire in their palms while others brandished swords and knives, but Kitreena met each of them with the same deadly force. Watching her, Arus began to believe she might be able to carry through with her promise as she intended.
As she rotated her body to swing her heel into the gut of one of them, her eyes caught a glimpse of him. "What are you doing?" she shouted angrily. "Get out of here before—"
The distraction was all the Mages needed. A bolt of lightning burst from the palms of one of the soldiers and crashed into Kitreena's shoulder. Arus was sprinting toward her before she'd even hit the ground. He leapt over her with a furious cry and thrust his foot forward, shattering the nose of the Mage with a powerful blow. His fist connected with another of them. And another. And another. He put every ounce of his remaining energy into fighting off the horde of Vermillion Mages. The burns beneath his bandages screamed with every movement, but desperation and anger kept him going. If I can just get one of their swords away from them . . .
The familiar crack of Kitreena's whip shattered the air, and two more soldiers fell. Arus took the opportunity to shuffle backward to keep the Mages from surrounding him. He was not surprised to find himself standing beside Kitreena again. The bolt of lightning had burned through her shirt, and her shoulder was a charred and bleeding. Still, she held her composure as though she'd merely been scratched. "If we continue to hold here they will overwhelm us. We must retreat."
The foremost Mages raised their hands, and large fireballs formed in their palms. Kitreena whirled and raced toward the end of the tunnel with Arus close behind. The fire crashed into the cavern floor at their heels with such force that the land groaned. Arus followed Kitreena down a different hall—one they'd ignored before. They continued through the caves, weaving and winding through tunnels in hopes of losing their pursuers, but the shouts of the Vermillion Mages were always close behind. Though Arus never saw them, he had little doubt they were just around whatever corner he and Kitreena had last turned. Finally, they came to a halt in the middle of another long tunnel, just outside a darkened cave.
"They're in front of us now as well," she spat, turning an ear to the far end of the tunnel. "We're surrounded."
"What about there?" Arus pointed to the pitch-black cave. "Can you hear them in there?"
She shifted her eyes between the two ends of the corridor several times before gazing into the cave. "I think," she began, "this is exactly where they want us to go."
As she took a step forward, Arus took a step back. "You want to just waltz right into Truce's trap?"
Men appeared at either side of the hall simultaneously, brandishing weapons and calling forth spheres of flame. Kitreena grinned and shook her head. "A mouse trap accomplishes little when sprung by a tiger."
It was slightly cooler in the pitch-black cave, and the hard dirt became sand beneath their feet. The flickering torchlight outside provided only a few paces of light before fading into nothingness, leaving Arus with only the dim shadow of Kitreena in front of him. Soon that, too, was gone. Darkness enveloped him, blinding him to the rest of the world. He continued stepping forward, following the sounds of Kitreena's boots in the sand. The muggy air was a tad thinner here, leading Arus to believe that this particular cave had to be quite a bit larger than the others. Still, he kept his hands out in front of him to prevent walking into a wall in the dark.
"Can you see anything?" he whispered. "I don't—"
"Arus?" a faint voice came from the black. "Arus, is that you?"
It sounded like Vultrel, but it had been so quiet that it was hard to discern. "Vultrel?"
"Arus!" Master Eaisan's voice came from the dark. "Go back! It's a trap!"
A burst of orange light came from above, a fire so large that it could've swallowed two men with a single lash of its flames. It stood atop a grand column of wood held together with a great deal of dried mud and clay. The cavern ceiling was double that height, reaching out far into the surrounding darkness. Another torch, standing twenty paces or so to the right of the first, ignited in a burst of blue flame. Two more, green and red, ignited behind Arus and Kitreena, filling the cave with uncomfortable warmth. As Arus' eyes adjusted to the light, his heart skipped a beat. And another.
They stood in what appeared to be a large arena, surrounded by throngs
of Vermillion Mages. The entire expanse of the cavern floor had been covered over with a thick layer of sand, interrupted only by the four large torches that burned at each corner. The Mages sat on either side of the arena in assorted groups, though they rose to their feet when the torches ignited. Some of them wore smiles, others seemed uneasy, and still others looked anxious.
"I see you finally found your way," an arrogant voice boomed from ahead.
A staircase of dirt and rock, climbing nearly as high as the torches, stood at the furthest end of the cave. At the top, dirt and wood had been molded together to create a crude throne between two large bones. They curved inward and narrowed into sharp points—Almost like large fangs, Arus thought—and a sinuous red stripe ran along the inside of each. Three men stood atop the staircase, each of which Arus remembered from their encounter in the forest. The man Arus had dueled, the one Kitreena had identified as Olock, stood on the right with a broad smile on his face. To the left was the large-nosed fellow with the orange shirt. Sweat ran down his forehead as he stared at Kitreena with nervous eyes. His hand rested on the strange device holstered at his side. And in the center, seated in the makeshift throne, was Sartan Truce. His teeth shone through his grin, blond beard glistening in the torchlight.
"These caves once belonged to the sand snakes," he said. "When we began to convert the tunnels into our own, many of my men died trying to exterminate them."
Arus shuddered, remembering the stories of sand snakes he'd heard as a child. Some grew to enormous sizes, their hoods so wide they could block out the sun. It was said that they snacked on desert cougars in the same way that humans snacked on peanuts.
"In this cavern, I single-handedly fought and killed the queen of the lair," Truce continued. He motioned toward the bones on either side of his seat. "I placed the creature's great fangs here as a reminder to my people of our strength and perseverance. Let them also serve as a warning to you, young ones, of what becomes of those who oppose us."
"F'Ledro," Kitreena hissed. Her fists were clenched and her eyes narrow. She twitched her wrist back and forth, swirling the leather whip from side to side. "It all ends here!"
Truce glanced at the large-nosed Mage with a look of amusement. "It appears she remembers you."
"Arus," Vultrel's voice came from behind. He was chained beside his father against the rear wall. Heavy iron links wrapped around their wrists and across their chests and legs before latching to a pair of sturdy brackets bolted into the floor on either side. They appeared to be unharmed, much to Arus' relief. "Run, Arus," Vultrel was saying, almost pleading. "Get out of here."
"He has nowhere to go, boy," Sartan's voice boomed. "The halls outside have been sealed off. You all belong to me."
The audience of Mages roared in laugher and cheers. Swords pierced the air as others thrust clenched fists over their heads in excitement. Truce's grin widened, his pride shining as brightly as the torches.
A single crack of Kitreena's whip quieted the crowd.
"If you wish to see what's left of your precious kyrosen exterminated at my hands, then so be it!" she shouted. Her boots crunched through the sand as she dashed toward the stairs. "You," she pointed a finger at the one she called F'Ledro, "took everything from me, and I'm here to return the favor!"
The soldier shifted nervously, positioning himself partially behind Sartan's throne before Truce himself rose to his feet. "So much anger," he muttered, casual as ever. "What has happened to the children of the galaxy?"
Kitreena's eyes bulged, and she came sliding to a stop. Her hands moved to her temples momentarily before returning to her sides, fists clenched tighter than ever. Sartan took a few steps down the stairs. "Let's see if we can find the source of your anger."
"Resist him!" Eaisan shouted, pulling at his chains. "Push the thoughts from your mind!"
Arus' face went pale. He's toying with her emotions as he did mine! And her anger is greater than mine ever could be! His feet carried him toward her before he even realized he was moving.
Kitreena looked back at him, her movements blurring in Arus' vision. She connected with his eyes for only a moment, but what he saw brought him stumbling to his knees.
Her eyes were glowing.
They rolled with a deep purple light, like liquid amethyst. She only looked at him for an instant before returning her attention to Truce, but it was enough to send a chill through his body so cold he expected to see his breath. Above, F'Ledro called to Sartan.
"Are you sure that's . . . wise, Boss? She is a Morpher, after all. They channel their abilities through emotion, don't they?"
"Relax, F'Ledro," Truce waved a dismissive hand. "She's just a child. She's been away from Lavinia for many years now, and no one outside of her homeworld has the wisdom to train her. Despite what she'd have you believe, she's just a little girl with far too big of an ego."
A flash of light streaked around Kitreena's left hand. For a moment, Arus thought he'd imagined it, but the light blinked again, this time on her right. The flashes grew in frequency and intensity, forming streaks of electricity that slithered around her fists. When a puff of steam lifted from Arus' breath, he realized that his chills weren't simply formed from fear. The cavern had filled with a bitter cold like that of the harshest winter nights in Keroko.
"Sir!" F'Ledro's voice was more anxious, and his hand gripped the device at his side. "This is not a good idea! Look at her!"
Truce's grin was gone, replaced with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Still, he refused to release his hold on Kitreena's emotions. "She is a child," he said again, "and she cannot possibly wield such power. What you see is her dormant strength manifesting itself because of my interaction with her mind, but she cannot control it. Trust me, F'Ledro. She'll lose her composure in the same way Arus did, and when she does, I'll be ready."
Kitreena was seething, lips curled into a sneer, heavy breaths hissing through her teeth as those blazing purple eyes shimmered. A cold mist encircled her body, yet thin tendrils of smoke rose from her skin. Arus was torn between running to her aid and fleeing to Master Eaisan and Vultrel, but his limbs wouldn't budge either way. Fear and wonder held him where he was, and Kitreena—whatever she was—certainly wouldn't respond well to his interference.
Olock looked frightened, though he was working hard to cover it. He moved to Truce's side and said something quietly. After a moment, Sartan nodded and followed him back to the throne. As soon as his back was turned, Kitreena let out a shriek that pierced the air and collapsed to the ground in a motionless heap. The heat returned to the cave within seconds. Arus wanted to crawl to her side, but the image of her purple eyes was burned into his own, and if anything, he almost wanted to move away from her.
"And what of you, Arus?" Truce was sitting once more. "Shall I probe your anger once again?"
A thousand thoughts and ideas rolled through him, most of which he dismissed as juvenile. He wanted to respond like a man, not a child. Truce was obviously not intimidated by him, regardless of his bloodline, and Master Eaisan had always taught him that an opponent's arrogance was his greatest weakness. Arus returned to his feet and drew himself up as best he could, refusing to allow his fear to show any longer. "What is it you want from us, Truce? Why have you led us down here?" He fought to keep his voice steady and managed.
"To the point, I see," Sartan nodded once. "I was hoping you'd assist me in testing an experiment of mine. Please bear in mind that this is just a prototype, but the technology opens the door to a vast range of possibilities."
From the crowd to his left came a man, cloaked in brown, face shrouded by hood. He moved with a firm walk, almost like a soldier, toward the center of the arena. The cloak reached only to his waist, leaving his dark pants and boots exposed. The black sheath of a broadsword dangled at his side, attached to a silver-studded belt. Unlike the Vermillion Mages' garb, Arus recognized these clothes. They were the
work of Tom Marchin, Keroko's most respected tailor.
"You may or may not know this young man," Sartan said, "but he has graciously dedicated himself to the future of the Vermillion Mages."
The hooded swordsman stopped, facing Arus only ten paces away. What little of his face that caught the light seemed familiar, but what drew Arus' attention was a glint of steel deep within the stranger's hood. It came from just beside his left eye, only appearing when the torches flickered just so. "Who . . ." He paused to take reign of his fear. "Who are you?"
The fighter's black-gloved hand rose, holding the red leather sheath of Arus' weapon. The golden handguard glimmered as he lifted it, and the Sheeth family crest shined in silver against the golden pommel. The swordsman tossed the weapon to him with a casual thrust. Arus looked over his weapon with a degree of uncertainty. What is Truce doing?
The shrouded man's eyes shimmered like a wolf's at twilight. He tore the cloak from his shoulders as Truce shouted, "Mayachi en dichen kyrosen!"
The audience responded with an emphatic, "Mayachi!" as Arus' eyes came to rest on the uncovered face before him. Curls of brown hair, matted by sweat, clung to the swordsman's thick brow. His bony cheeks put lumps in the side of his long face, his nose nearly as big as F'Ledro's. His chest was uncovered, glistening with sweat in the heat of the cavern, but it was the thin plates of steel along the side of his head that drew Arus' stare. They were embedded into his flesh, reaching from his left temple to just above the ear. Two small lights, one blinking occasionally while the other remained steady, sat below what was left of his hairline on that side. Most chilling was the fact was that Arus knew this young man very well.
"Anton," he managed to murmur. "What have they done to you?"
Eaisan, audibly yanking at his chains, shouted, "Draw your weapon, Arus! Anton or not, he comes for blood!"
Anton's wide broadsword was already in his hands. Steel flashed as Arus drew his blade, bringing it up barely in time to meet his opponent's weapon. Anton towered over him, pressing his sword down with frightening strength. "Anton, it's me!" Arus growled, pushing back with all his might. "Don't you recognize me? It's Arus!"
The young man's vacant eyes stared back indifferently, his furrowed brow and bared teeth showing more emotion. Arus shoved against Anton's blade once more and leapt back to give himself room to maneuver. Vultrel had always told him he'd be able to defeat Anton easily, but Anton had never displayed such power before. They exchanged a furious series of blows, shuffling back and forth through the sand. Whatever Truce had done, he'd managed to scramble Anton's perception of right and wrong. And Arus knew that the steel device was the center of it all.
He blocked another swipe and brought his weapon around for a wide slice. "Try to remember." He spoke calmly to counteract Anton's anger. Their swords clashed again beside Arus' waist. "Do you remember anything? Do you remember where you're from? Who you are?"
Anton drew himself back and paused for a moment as though contemplating his next move. Arus accepted it as a sign of recognition, though he knew that probably wasn't true. Maybe if I lower my sword. If I show him I'm not hostile, will he continue to attack? He began to straighten his back when Anton struck again, the gleaming steel of his broadsword pointed directly at Arus' heart. Arus stepped back, a bit too quickly, setting himself off-balance with an unsure foot at an awkward angle in the sand. His sword barely knocked Anton's to the side before he fell to the ground. Anton stood over him, blade held ready. Arus hesitated for a moment, caught by fear, before scrambling backward to regain his footing.