“You can’t keep this child,” Heanua said softly.
“I don’t want it,” Lannosea said. “The devil take it, I never wanted it. I tried to kill it, early on, but the potion failed. Now I don’t know what to do. I still have five more months before delivery, and I’m only going to get bigger. I’ve sent away all my servants so no one would know, but that won’t last much longer. Soon I will be stuck in this tent, or worse, hiding somewhere like a criminal.”
“How are you going to hide this from mother?” Heanua asked. “She’s waiting for us to lead the attack on Londinium.”
“I don’t know,” Lannosea replied. “I tried to strap on my leathers, but they don’t fit anymore.” At this, Lannosea fell into another round of sobbing. Heanua looked at her shoes, a small twinge of remorse worming its way into her breast. She should have known better. Her sister wasn’t a coward. She had never been afraid to fight. But she was afraid of what the Queen would say.
“Stay here,” Heanua said. “And stay hidden. I have to get back to the front line. We’ll figure out what to do about this when I return.”
“What about mother?”
“I’ll handle mother. You just make sure no one sees you like this. Dress in something loose and flowing, and don’t leave this tent.”
“People will think I’m a coward.”
“People will think what mother tells them to think.”
“And what will that be?”
“I don’t know yet,” Heanua said, turning to leave. “But I hope I can think of something by the time I reach her.”
Ramah returned from hunting. Over his shoulder he carried the body of an elk, recently killed and waiting to be cleaned. His talk with his mother hadn’t gone as well as he had hoped.
“She’s bewitched you,” she had said when he told her of his plans to marry her. “The filthy Chalika has cast her spell on you.”
Ramah had struck her then. His own mother. His hand sent her to the floor. If he lived a thousand years, he would never forget the shocked look on her face. He’d left her sitting on the floor, rubbing her face with her hand, to go hunting. He’d needed something to calm his nerves.
How could he strike her? His mother!
He would apologize when he saw her next. But he would not relent. He would marry Neeya with or without his mother’s permission.
I’m sorry, mother, he thought, but you can’t make this decision for me. I won’t let you.
The village was quiet. Much too quiet. And empty. No children played in the streets. No men stood and talked of the day, and no women walked through the camp carrying sticks or water or blankets. As far as he could tell, he was the only one in the village. Ramah stood at the entrance to his mother’s hut and listened.
Voices came to him, quiet and distant. They seemed to come from the eastern edge of the village, where the fertile lands gave way to the Living Sands.
“No,” Ramah said. He dropped the elk and ran. There was only one reason the entire village would gather at the edge of the Living Sands. They meant to banish someone to the Wastes.
And he had a pretty good idea who.
“Mother!” he shouted as he ran. “Don’t do this!”
But as he neared the edge of his village, he saw his people gathered in a group. Several men spotted him and came out to meet him. He tried to shout a greeting, but they grabbed him by his arms and dragged him forward. As the crowd parted in front of them, he saw his mother standing on the edge of the Living Sands. The red mark of his hand was still plainly visible on her cheek.
Neeya was nowhere to be seen.
“Mother, what have you done?” he asked when he reached her. In response, she spat at his feet and slapped his face.
Ramah woke with a start, bolting upright on his makeshift bed of dried straw. The small bundle of cloth he’d used as a pillow was wet with blood. He picked it up and wiped away the tiny red trails from his cheeks. It had become a ritual of late. Every evening he woke with blood leaking from his eyes.
The dream. Every day this week it had come to him. Why? It was bad enough when he only dreamed once a month, but every damned day? What was the reason? He took the cloth away from his face, surprised to note the tremors that rocked his normally steady hands. Maybe he should see Lannis, after all.
He rose from the bed, shaking the memory from his head. The Living Sands had burned, like walking on coals…
No!
He had things to do tonight. Theron and Taras waited. He would have liked to kill them the night before, but by the time the Lost One finished with the Roman, the weakling had lost consciousness. Ramah needed to ask him a few questions before he allowed the bastard to die, and the sun was almost up, so he’d left him there, hanging from the chains in the wall.
But not tonight.
Ramah stood, shaking the last wisps of the dream from his mind as he set himself to the task at hand. Tonight Taras and Theron would both die, and he could return to the Halls of the Bachiyr and pay Lannis a visit. She might be able to cure him of the dreams, but she would want something in return.
Lannis always did.
15
“Goodbye, Theron,” Taras said, his claws sprouting from his fingertips. “I’d stay longer but I want to be gone by the time Ramah returns.” Taras stuck the tip of one claw under Theron’s jaw. Smart, Theron thought. He doesn’t dare get too close to my teeth.
A soft flicker of movement caught Theron’s eye just as the claw pierced his flesh. There was a brief flash of light, then Taras fell to the floor. Standing behind him was…
“Baella.” Theron said. “I might have known.”
“Hello, Theron,” Baella said. Her deep, husky tone igniting memories of Alexandria. “Have you been well?”
“I was fine until you walked in.”
“Ramah will return soon.”
“Then have a seat. I’m sure he will be pleased to see you.”
“You’re in no position, Ex-Enforcer, to be an ass.” Baella winked at him and tossed back her ebony hair. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. “Will you come with me or should I leave you to the Councilor?”
Theron chuckled. “Just kill me here. “That will anger Ramah almost as much as me escaping.”
“Why would I kill you?“ Baella asked. “I went to a lot of trouble to get you here, you know. You could at least be grateful.”
“I came here on my own. Looking for that one,” Theron nodded toward Taras’s prone form. “You had nothing to do with it.”
“And how did you know he was here?”
“I learned it from a drunken human, just before I killed him.”
“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” Baella winked. “That a drunken human with knowledge of Taras’s whereabouts would just happen to fall into your lap in Spain.”
“Not really. I keep my ears open, and…” Theron eyed her, taking in the confident smirk and arrogant stance. “How did you know I found him in Spain?”
Baella smiled even wider. “Several months ago I sent out twenty humans to different areas of the world.
