“How many?”
“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Fifty. Maybe more. They all wore Urcon’s colors.”
“Big force to commit to catching one girl with uncertain worth, no?” Servius watched her intently, and she was reminded that he wasn’t the third most senior officer of the Thirty-Seventh just because the men liked him. “Especially with two legions camped on Urcon’s doorstep.”
This was where she needed to be careful. No one but her and Marcus knew about the traitor, and as much as she trusted Servius, it was Marcus’s secret to reveal. She shrugged. “They darted me in the neck, and I lost consciousness. When I awoke, I was in the hut where Marcus and Gibzen found me. Their leader—”
“This the Ashok that we’re looking for?”
Teriana forced herself to nod, her skin growing cold as the corrupted’s face rose in her thoughts. “He told me that they intended to use me to negotiate a withdrawal, but that I was dead either way. That they were only buying time for the mercenaries to arrive.”
“It’s always helpful when your enemy is a big talker.” Servius picked up another skewer. “What did he look like? Marcus passed on a few details, but the bastard has proven elusive.”
“Gamdeshian,” she answered. “Skin a bit darker than yours. Chin-length black hair. Silver earrings running up his left ear.” It was easy to provide the details, her memory of Ashok as clear as though he stood in front of her.
“Eye color?”
Black pits encircled with flame. Like staring into the heart of the underworld.
But she couldn’t tell him that—not when she’d kept the knowledge of the corrupted from Marcus. He already knew about healers, and if he learned about the corrupted’s powers, he’d inevitably start to wonder what other secrets she was hiding. “Dark.”
“I’ll pass the details on to Gibzen. It was his men who were killed, so he’s taken the hunt on as a matter of personal interest.”
He wasn’t the only one. Marcus had not taken the news that he’d been betrayed by one of his men well at all, and that the traitor might be his closest friend only made it worse. But as much as it had been Marcus who’d been betrayed, Teriana also wanted vengeance.
“I’m sorry for what happened.” She rubbed at her eyes, her chest tight. “Quintus and Miki were my friends. The last thing I ever wanted was them dead.”
“Well, then, you’re in luck,” Servius said, wiping his hands on the moldy bolt of silk he was sitting on. “Because when I heard this story from them, they were still very much alive.”
6LYDIA
Cleaned up and composed, Lydia walked silently through the temple corridors, following the directions a servant had given her to a level with more lush appointments. Her new boots sank into the deep carpets, the air far warmer than it was in the dormitories. Stopping in front of an ornate wooden door, she knocked once.
“Enter,” a muffled voice responded, and pushing open the door, Lydia stepped inside.
The room was large, the floors covered with thick carpets and the air kept warm by the flames in the large fireplace to her left. The wall opposite to the door was full of windows, the drapes pulled back to allow in the muted sunlight. Quindor sat with his back to the view, bent over a heavy desk that was covered with papers.
“Take a seat, Lydia.” Then he pushed a large box in front of her. “An assortment of spectacles. Hopefully you can find a pair that suits, for I’m afraid there are no lens makers in Mudaire.”
“Where did these all come from?” she asked, trying on a gold-rimmed pair but swiftly discarding them, as they made her vision even more blurry.
Quindor gave a soft cough. “They are from those who no longer need them.”
From the dead. The contents of her stomach threatened to rise, but she swallowed them back down. Now was no time for squeamishness.
“We need to discuss your role in the patrols.”
“Patrols?” she asked, trying on three more pairs of spectacles before settling on a pair that improved her vision satisfactorily.
“The blighters are almost impossible to identify by anyone other than one of Hegeria’s Marked,” Quindor responded. “The trainees join the guard on their patrols in order to identify and put down those who have succumbed.”
“Put down?” She tried and failed to keep the acid from her voice. “They are human beings, not rabid dogs.”
“Were human beings,” the Grand Master corrected. “Now only corpses animated by the Seventh’s power. You must vanquish from your mind any notion that they are otherwise, Lydia, or risk madness.”
“Is this why I’m here, then?” she demanded. “To be used to hunt down people we should be trying to save?” That wasn’t the battle she’d agreed to fight. She had come believing she’d be working to find a cure—a way to save her people. Not … this.
Quindor leaned back in his chair. “They cannot be saved. Do you think we haven’t tried?”
“Clearly not hard enough!” She dug her nails into the arms of her chair. “The blight still mars the land, which means people will continue to fall ill. If the answer is to kill them all, soon Mudamora will be populated by corpses!”
Quindor eyed her for a long moment. “Your passion is commendable, Lydia, if misdirected. The Royal Army is occupied with clearing the kingdom of the remains of the Derin army, but once that task is complete we can begin to discuss what might be done to stop the blight from infecting more people.”
“What about the tenders?” She remembered the conversation she’d once had with Killian. His theory that the blight might be caused by individuals marked by the Seventh. “Why haven’t they been brought to address the problem?”
“Because they are all dead.”
“All?” Her stomach dropped. “How is that possible?”
The Grand Master sighed. “The endless toil of forcing the earth to yield in order to provide food for the Royal Army.
