THE HORSES clawed up the incline at dawn, struggling for breath after the brutal ride through hidden canyonland that rose to the Ba’al Bek plateau. Marie had let Chelise lead but pulled alongside as they approached the huge rim.
Chelise was out of breath, not from riding, but from her own state of unrelenting anxiety. They were too late. Every fiber in her being warned that they’d come too late.
They’d plunged into a deep canyon an hour earlier and lost sight of the Shataiki mass that winged over the plateau like a cloud of giant locusts. When they emerged, the sky was empty of all but stars.
Which could only mean that the reason for their coming was also gone.
But that didn’t mean Thomas was gone. He might still be there, clinging to life, waiting for her to rescue him from certain death, the way he’d rescued her once. Or maybe the challenge hadn’t started yet. The Shataiki could have been drawn by Thomas’s presence on their sacred ground. He could be seated with the others around a campfire, biding his time while Qurong considered his challenge. A dozen scenarios could explain what they’d seen on their approach.
“Careful, Chelise,” Marie breathed. “They might see us if we stumble over the top.”
She was right, but Chelise didn’t let the horse slow until she was nearly over the rim.
The sight that greeted her nearly stopped her heart. Marie was whispering harshly, throwing herself and her horse to the ground, but Chelise couldn’t do the same.
The depression was at least half a mile across, sinking twenty or thirty feet to dusty earth. A large ring of boulders circled the center, where a rectangular cube of stone stood in the graying dawn.
An altar. Wet with fresh blood.
But it was the bodies that struck terror into Chelise’s chest. Hundreds of dead bodies strewn about the altar. The putrid stench of the scabbing disease washed over her, crowding her taxed lungs.
No sign of Thomas. Nor of Samuel. Nor of her father.
“Down! For the love of Elyon—”
“They’re gone,” Chelise said. Then again, as if to convince herself, “They’re gone. We’re too late.”
“It could be a trap. There could be Throaters down there.”
“No.” Few knew the Horde’s ways like she did. None knew Qurong’s ways as well as Chelise. “No, Marie. No, but I see something more disturbing.”
She slapped her mare and rode the beast down the slope, into the depression, picking up speed as she approached the ring of boulders. Marie followed far to the rear. Only when she passed the long stones that reached for the sky did Chelise let the horse slow.
Here the smell was almost too much, a thick fog of invisible scabbing disease that covered her face like a muzzle. She held her breath and pushed on, scanning the scene for any trace of evidence that might give her hope.
The dark priest, Ba’al, dead. Charred stones or burned corpses, anything.
But no sign indicated that Elyon had had his way with these priests, and none of the bodies looked to be dressed in purple, the color that Ba’al would likely be wearing.
And no sign of Thomas or Samuel.
“Elyon have mercy on their souls,” Marie said, pulling her horse into a walk beside her. “They look like they’ve been through a meat grinder.”
Chelise stopped her horse five feet from a corpse and studied the carnage. “Suicide,” she said.
“They did this to themselves?”
“They cut their wrists and bled to appease Teeleh.”
“Their bodies are torn apart!”
“By Shataiki. You can see the claw marks on the flesh.”
Where are you, Thomas?
Chelise sat on the horse, struggling to remain calm in the face of her failure to reach them in time. She lifted her eyes to the far rim.
What have you done, Father?
“Then I would say this is a good sign,” Marie said.
“Good? The only thing good about this is that we don’t know for certain that my lover is dead. Nothing else is good.”
“This is my father we’re talking about,” Marie snapped. “If he’s not here, then he’s alive! And if he’s alive, then he’s doing what he thinks is right.”
“I don’t need you to tell me that he’s safe. The man he’s up against is my father, and you know nothing about him. Qurong may not be the craftiest fox in the forest, but he’s as stubborn as a bull and he follows his heart. I can promise you his heart despises my husband.”
Marie stared at the bloody altar. “Then why don’t you enlighten me? What happened here? Where is my father? And what do we do now?”
“A challenge happened here. Qurong agreed to Thomas’s terms, and Ba’al, that snake of his, brought two hundred priests as a gift for Teeleh. The Shataiki came, and Ba’al no doubt went mad for the beast. He either won the challenge and took Thomas with him, back to Qurongi, or . . .”
“Or he failed, and your father took my father anyway, as you predicted. Or Father won and fled when Qurong refused to keep his end.”
“Thomas would never kill Horde.”
“Did I say kill?”
“If my father planned to betray Thomas, he would have set a trap,” Chelise said. “Without the use of weapons, not even Thomas would be able to escape.”
“Unless there was a distraction.”
“Such as?”
“Such as Elyon.”
“Do you see any sign that Elyon was here?”
“What do we know about what evidence Elyon leaves behind?”
Either way, Thomas was gone. Qurong was gone. Chelise wasn’t eager to debate the comings and goings of Elyon.
She grunted and nudged her horse forward, dug her heels into its flank when it resisted her. She drove the mare over the bodies, slapping its rear hard to urge it closer to the altar. She became sick at the sight of so much blood, enough to feed a thousand of the beasts for a month. The trough around the base was full and overflowing.
At this very moment, Thomas could be in a spirited debate with Qurong, in chains headed for his dungeons. The thought was enough to fray her nerves. Not only was the man she loved more than her own life in terrible danger, but he was in the hands of Qurong, the only other grown man she would move heaven and earth to save.
“Thomas is with my father,” she announced. “And I belong with them. He needs me.”
“Who does, Thomas or Qurong?”
“Both. Johan should look for me in the dungeons if I don’t return in three days.”
“What are you talking about? We can’t go to Qurongi under these circumstances.”
“We’re not going. I am. You’re going back to the Gathering.”
“No. No, that is not acceptable! If you insist on going, I’m coming with you. This whole mission was my idea!”
“They need to know, Marie. The three thousand are gathered, waiting since Thomas dropped this hot coal in their laps. The rest are on the way.”
“Going in alone is suicide.”
“I know the Horde, child. You’re a half-breed who drowned before she knew what it felt like to be Horde. If anyone can get into Qurongi, I can.”
“You haven’t been with them for ten years.”
“Don’t argue with me! Turn your horse around and head back before the Shataiki decide to come back for the rotting flesh!”
They glared at each other for a full ten seconds before Marie broke her line of sight, but her face was still red. The thought of the long trek home alone was no doubt a factor.
“I have to do this, Marie.” Chelise was surprised to feel the strength of the knot that rose in her throat. How could she put this delicately? “Jake. He’s so young, so innocent . . .” Her eyes watered and she looked away. “Promise me.”
Marie didn’t answer immediately, and when she did, her voice was calm. “Don’t worry about Jake. He’s my brother, isn’t he? If anything happens, I’ll take care of him as if he were my own son.”
“Thank you.”
Chelise jerked her horse around and struck its flank with such force that it bolted away from the altar, over the dead carcasses. Headed south.
Headed directly toward Qurongi City.