Читать книгу Dark Deceiver - Pamela Palmer - Страница 9

The King’s Court, Esria

The monster of the court had arrived.

Kaderil the Dark strode into the noisy and jubilant hall, half carrying, half dragging the captive at his side, turning gaiety into chaos with a single glower. Sweat dampened his tunic and rolled between his shoulder blades as he strode beneath the floating candles that lit the open hall. Kaderil demanded fear and knew how to get it. Seven tall feet of hard muscle, skin the color of coarse sand and hair as black as the king’s stallion, his appearance alone was enough to strike terror into the breasts of the fair Esri. But it was the reputation for violence he’d carefully cultivated over the years that sent the court’s finest scurrying for cover and had him nodding with grim satisfaction.

Above his head, yards of silk floated between the high marble columns, ribbons of color against the russet glow of the night sky. He’d traveled hard for seven days to the Banished Lands and back to fetch his captive for the king. Though he longed for a cool bath and a soft bed, both would have to wait. There were greater things afoot this night.

As he crossed the hall, one of the brightly dressed Esri lords—a man whose height reached nearly to Kaderil’s chin—failed to clear his path quickly enough. Kaderil clamped his hand around the man’s stark white neck and, with a flick of his wrist, he tossed him into the fleeing crowd. Frightened squeals filled the air, punctuated by the snap of bones and yells of pain.

The cries died almost as soon as they began, for the only injuries the immortal Esri could not heal within seconds were the scuffs and rips to their jewel-colored tunics or sheer, glimmering gowns.

With a satisfied grunt, Kaderil dragged his hairless and quaking captive across the hall. Furtive looks, sharp with terror, speared him from every direction, filling him with calm satisfaction. Their fear protected his secret. They dared not challenge him and therefore had never discovered that the unknown human ancestor whose blood tainted his veins had cursed him with more than his barbaric human looks. He’d left him with little magic—the true power of the Esri.

Kaderil the Dark, the one most feared, was the weakest of them all.

As he approached the throne, which was surrounded by an arc of guards in silver tunics, King Rith beckoned impatiently. “Come, come, Punisher. Bring me the slave.” The king’s white face was long and lean, the ethereal look at odds with the ambition that shone with a chiseled edge from his eyes. He wore a cloak of pure gold and in his straw-blond curls, a shimmer of emerald beads.

But it was not his king Kaderil watched with careful measure, but Zander, the captain of the royal guard, the only one in all of Esria who had the gift of sensing power…and lack of power…in others. The only one who knew Kaderil’s secret.

Kaderil’s blue gaze clashed with Zander’s hated yellow, then broke away as he tossed the slave onto the low dais before the king. Behind him, he felt the throng of Esri fill the cleared path, pressing forward, their fear already forgotten in their growing excitement over the slave’s arrival. He was tempted to whirl and fling another couple of bodies, but refrained, given the extraordinary nature of the gathering.

Around the hall, whispers darted from person to person like hummingbirds set loose on a garden of flowers. “The lost gate has been found!”

King Rith raised his hand, demanding silence, then speared the small man at his feet with an eager gaze. “Your master is dead.”

It was not a question. All Esri knew the moment one of their own was killed, as well as the identities of both murdered and murderer. A month ago, the court had fallen silent, rocked by the knowledge that after fifteen hundred years, one of their own had been killed by humans.

“Aye, sire.”

“And do you know the location of the lost gate?”

The slave touched the floor with his forehead, then lifted his bald head. “Aye. I have been through it myself.”

Incredible, Kaderil thought, his mind racing even as he stood at attention, his feet spread, his arms at his back. Fifteen hundred years ago the seven stones of power were stolen into the human realm and used to seal the gates from the other side. Rumor had always claimed that a single lost gate had been left unsealed, but it had never been found.

Until now.

The king grabbed the slave by the tunic and dragged him forward. “And what of my seven stones?”

The slave’s arms waved in agitation. “Only the draggon stone was found, sire. ’Twas the smell of the stone’s power that led my master to the gate. But the stone was lost, sire. Lost to the humans who killed him.”

King Rith released the creature with a shove. “How is this possible? Humans cannot kill an immortal without the death chant. Surely no humans exist after all this time who remember that bit of magic.”

The slave prostrated himself, his voice muffled by the floor. “I beg your pardon, sire, but there are a few. They are the descendants of the mixed bloods, the mortal children of both human and Esri. The humans we once called Sitheen.”

Mortals with a drop of Esri blood, Kaderil thought. Just as he was an immortal tainted with human. But the only things they had in common were a lack of true power and the look of the humans. The Sitheen would blend into their world as he never had into his own.

“The Sitheen must die. All of them. They will not thwart us again.” King Rith slapped the carved arm of his throne. “I will have my stones. Zander, come forth.”

As Zander stepped out of the arc of silver tunics and came to stand beside him, Kaderil clenched his jaw. Zander made no secret of his hatred for the human-looking Punisher, yet he had never told Kaderil’s secret. Why? Kaderil had spent centuries waiting, tense and wondering, for the day Zander would bring his world crashing down around him.

The king nodded to the captain of his guard, ambition glittering in his eyes. “You will fetch me the seven stones, Zander.”

“Aye, sire.”

“You will take a team of stone scenters into the human realm at the gate’s next opening to find my power stones. I leave it to you to find and kill the Sitheen.”

“Yes, sire. But if it please your highness, I should like to take one more.” Zander glanced at Kaderil with a gleam that sent a chill of foreboding down his spine. “I would take the Punisher, my lord.”

Kaderil jerked. What was Zander up to? Zander knew, as no one else did, he was unsuited for this task. He had no gifts of power, nothing save his great size and strength.

“’Tis well known Sitheen cannot be fooled by glamour,” Zander continued. “With Kaderil’s barbaric human looks, he has no need for that fine magic.”

Zander’s voice fairly brimmed with unnatural enthusiasm, igniting Kaderil’s wariness, as well as his annoyance.

“Kaderil is the perfect man to infiltrate the Sitheen and retrieve your draggon stone, my king. They will think him one of them, allowing him to infiltrate their band and slaughter them with ease.”

Kaderil opened his mouth to object. There was little to be gained by the time-consuming and dangerous ploy of infiltrating the barbarian’s band when the others could fulfill the mission through the power of their gifts. There was little to be gained and much to be lost. If the Sitheen discovered his ruse, they would sing the death chant for him.

Before the words could escape his lips, he felt Zander’s palm clap him on the shoulder, silencing him with a river of fire that stole his breath and streaked his vision with jagged flares of light.

Fighting the blinding pain with every scrap of strength he possessed, Kaderil snatched the hand off his shoulder. As he sucked air into his burning lungs, he snapped the man’s white forearm with a satisfying crack.

Zander gave a shout and sidestepped Kaderil’s reach with a look of venom. “Kaderil will fetch your draggon stone quickly, sire. Between one full moon and the next.”

One month. Kaderil struggled against the nearly overwhelming urge to snap Zander’s neck and every bone in his body. One month to do a nearly impossible task. He knew now what Zander was about. His enemy was setting him up to fail.

The king nodded greedily. “Aye. Aye, indeed, I will have my stones by the next feast.”

Cold tension wove through Kaderil’s muscles at the full measure of Zander’s treachery. The Esrian king was notoriously unforgiving. Failure resulted in banishment. And banishment, for Kaderil the Dark, would mean complete and total isolation for the rest of his immortal existence, for who would welcome the Punisher?

Fury burned through him, binding his hands into fists. He would not let Zander win.

Slowly, his fists eased, his heart pumping with cold determination. His mission would be difficult in the extreme. But not impossible. Never impossible. And the ultimate revenge against his conniving foe would be utter and brilliant success.