Chapter 15

The Patrol was growing restless. Demetri knew it was true, even though none of them had dared complain to his face. He noticed it in the mutters during the night watches, in the way the men ate their dwindling rations in silence.

“Guarding a pile of rocks,” he had heard one of them say. And it was true; the Deep Mines showed no sign of the Youth Guard, no sign of life at all.

Silent as a tomb.

A few of the Patrol members who had left Mir with Demetri would never return. Two had been crushed in the cave-in that had collapsed the tunnel. Demetri himself had barely gotten out in time. Once the shaking and rumbling stopped, he sent sentries back in to investigate. Past the large main cave with the ruins in it, everything else had collapsed. The Youth Guard members were dead. They could not have survived.

At least, that was what Demetri told himself. But he had seen the three young people survive circumstances just as dangerous back in Da’armos.

That was why he had waited so long, sent out groups of Patrol to check the perimeter, and made sure there were no signs of life. Even if, by some miracle, the three had survived the cave-in, they would be trapped. Nearly three full days had passed. Three days without food or water.

Demetri grimaced. It was a hard way to die.

But I had no choice, he told himself. Aleric and the others would have killed my brother if I had refused this mission.

Aleric had reminded him of this in his last vision the night before. That’s how Demetri was sure the three were dead. “I do not see them at all now,” Aleric told him. “Not even brief glimpses. I have not been able to for nearly two days now. They have fallen.”

Reaching into his cloak, Aleric had pulled out the dragon medallion, decorated with Demetri’s family crest. “Report to the governor’s palace in District Two. A man named Chancellor Doran will record the death of the three in the Book. He will give your crest back to you to replace your Guard medallion. You have done your duty.”

Again, Demetri felt the burning medallion against his chest. It was almost a familiar, warming sensation by now. His hand went to it.

“That is,” Aleric added, “unless you wish to join us for life.”

For life…or for death. He would have to kill more Youth Guard. Demetri was sure of that. Every five years, he would be sent out with the other Guard Riders.

There would be danger involved in the missions. After years in the desert, the idea had a strange appeal for Demetri. He enjoyed traveling, and he appreciated facing opponents more clever than petty thieves and pickpockets.

And there was the matter of the medallion. The nightmares were starting to seem more like visions that gave him power and knowledge. Demetri wasn’t sure he wanted to give that up. He reached into his shirt and traced the A inside the broken circle, the emblem of the king.

“I will think on it,” was all he said.

When he woke up, his determination to join the Guard Riders had faded. The medallion’s influence seemed to die down when he was awake. He didn’t feel quite as powerful or invincible. Just sore and tired of being trapped in this mountain, like the other men.

It was time to make the announcement to the Patrol. They could leave now that Aleric had given him permission.

To Demetri’s right, two Patrol members were sitting beside the fire. Demetri glanced at them briefly, out of the corner of his eye. They were talking about him. He could tell by the looks on their faces. He had heard many rumors about who he was and why he wanted to kill three young people. Patrol members loved gossip more than a village full of old women.

Demetri did not like working with the Patrol. They were strong and good with the sword, of course, but many of them were foolish and self-serving. Perhaps Aleric should consider using the Youth Guard to serve the king, instead of killing them all.

Except, Demetri knew, many would refuse and fight the king to the end, if they knew his true character. That is, after all, why they were chosen. Yes, the Guard Riders who held the musters and chose young people for the Guard looked at their physical and mental strength, as well as other abilities. But they were also trained to notice young people with high moral standards.

Demetri chuckled to himself. I really can’t understand why I was chosen, then. They must have needed one scoundrel among the bunch.

Demetri knew he must be a scoundrel, because he knew normal people would feel remorse after killing three innocent young people. He did not.

He stood and walked over to the Patrol members on watch duty. “It has been three days,” Demetri announced. “The three Youth Guard are dead.”

“Youth Guard?” one of the men said, and Demetri cursed himself inwardly for his mistake. “You said they were young Rebellion leaders.”

Of course, the Patrol member believed the Youth Guard worked for the king. That is what they all believed, except for the few leaders who knew the truth—the Guard Riders.

“They were Youth Guard; then they defected to the Rebellion, after swearing an oath to serve the king—the worst kind of traitors,” he lied.

No, the worst kind of traitors are those who betray their friends for their own gain.

Demetri silenced the thought and the memories that came with it. “You may all go back home to your outposts,” he said. The mountain paths were clearly marked; he did not have to waste his time escorting the Patrol members back to District One.

“What about you?” one of the men asked.

“I go on,” was all Demetri said.

On to Davior, the capital of District Two, to report to the chancellor, the one Aleric had told him would record the death of the three.

Perhaps I can convince him to let me see this Book, Demetri decided. It would give me great pleasure to strike out their names myself.

He glanced back at the mountain one last time. There was an old saying in the desert, which, when translated into Amarian, said, “Even the rocks cry out for justice.” Was justice done here? Did the Youth Guard members deserve to die?

It doesn’t matter, Demetri decided, turning away. He reached for the medallion again, and the way the metal cut into his tight fist made him feel strong and powerful again. Justice is dead. And so are the Youth Guard.