Jade Fire Gold(74)

It’s late into the night when the barn door creaks open and an Altan-shaped figure creeps in. He tries to be as quiet as possible, but in the slivers of moonlight that slide through the barn’s windows, I see him taking some things from the corner.

His weapons.

I remember that wild look in his eyes when we were heading back to the tavern after the encounter with the soldiers. It was like he was trapped in some nightmare of a memory. He didn’t just see a boy being torn from his mother at the marketplace.

He saw himself.

I whisper into the semidarkness. “Where are you going?”

“Go back to sleep.” He sounds angry.

“I wasn’t asleep. You’re going to find the boy, aren’t you?” I take his silence as confirmation. “Do you know where to go?”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t.

“What are you going to do? Wander aimlessly around in the dark?” I get up and go to him.

“I don’t know.” The anguish in his voice is raw. He punches the wooden strut and the roof of the barn shakes.

I place a firm hand on his arm. He flinches.

“I’m coming with you,” I declare.

“No, you’re not,” he growls.

“Yes, I am. You’re not thinking straight, you need me around.”

“Since when did you become the sensible one?”

“I’ve always been the sensible one, and I eavesdropped on a conversation earlier.”

“So?”

He tries to shrug me off, but I keep my hand on him, my mind made up.

“I know where the soldiers’ camp is, and I’m not telling you unless you let me come with you.” I grin, heart beating fast. “We’re going to get that boy back to his mother.”





29


Altan


The wind howls in my ears as we ride toward the camp. This is reckless, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t get the image of the soldier kicking the boy’s mother out of my head. Can’t rid my mind of memories of my own mother bleeding out on the sand.

We tie our horses a cautious distance away and go on foot. A couple of campfires are lit, but by the looks of it, no one is tending to the dying flames.

Ahn peeks through the bushes at the cluster of tents in the field. “Where are the recruits?”

I point at two tents with soldiers at their entrances. “In one of those.”

There are always runners on the first night, men or boys who get scared. And who can blame them? War tests the mettle of men and even the steeliest spine can be broken on the battlefield.

“What do we do?” asks Ahn, a little too eager for my liking.

“You? Nothing. You’re staying right here.” I shouldn’t have let her come.

She starts to argue, but I put my finger on her lips to quiet her. Her eyes widen.

“If you lose control, you’re going to kill everyone,” I say, vaguely aware of how warm and soft her lips are. “You can be backup. If I don’t return in an hour, leave.”

She smacks my hand away. “That’s not what backups do.”

“Come save me if I scream then.” I don’t wait for her response. There is no time to waste, and she talks too much.

With the moon behind clouds, I melt into the shadows in my black robes. Swiftly, I move closer to the tents. The camp is silent. Everyone else besides the sentries must have turned in for the night. Shi troops are known for their discipline. No drunken revelry here.

One of the guarded tents is dark, the other has a faint light shining from within. One for the men and boys drafted, the other for the garrison commander. On a hunch, I make a loop and approach the darkened tent from the back. I slice the fabric with a blade, pull the flaps apart and peek in.

Empty.

A soldier walks out of a different tent and approaches the sentries in front. I drop flat on the ground, the tall grass acting as my cover.

“Go back to your barracks,” the soldier tells one of the sentries.

“I was wondering when you’d come to get us,” the guard gripes. “Ten Hells. We were standing outside the tent for over an hour for no reason.”

“They marched the recruits out early. Everybody left,” chimes in the other. “What a waste of time. I could’ve gone to bed.”

“Shut up. Do you want him to hear you?” warns the first soldier as the three of them saunter off.

I curse to myself. I’m too late. The boy is gone.

Light flickers near the other guarded tent. The sentries bow low to a figure walking out from it. I should leave before anyone sees me, but the sentries step back to reveal a man clad in robes of deep rust. The sight of a priest in a military camp stops me in my tracks. As far as I know, the two entities operate separately. There is no reason for a priest to be here. But there he is, orange robes, with a red sash running through them.

Not just any priest. It’s the head priest. What is he doing here?

He strides forward and raises his hands. A jet of fire shoots out at one of the waning campfires. In that moment, the light reveals his face.

Waxen scars ripple down one side, giving the illusion that his face is melting. I see a hawk nose. And even from a distance I know his eyes will be dark and terrifying.

My mother’s murderer.