LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

that is why you are afraid to be here.”

      Without meaning to, Demetri glanced over at the incense.

      Chancellor Doran followed his gaze. “A tribute to the Great One,” he intoned. “Perhaps you would like to join me in my worship?”

      The thought nearly made Demetri sick. “No, thank you,” he managed.

      “Yes, I sensed as much.” Chancellor Doran again pierced Demetri with his gaze. “You do not believe in the Enemy either, do you?”

      “I only believe in what I can see with my eyes,” Demetri said, trying to put his usual firmness back into his voice. “The only enemy I fight can be cut apart with a sword.”

      “Yes,” Chancellor Doran said slowly. “You continue to think that, Captain. It is better that way. That is, if you are continuing this fight with us.”

      This was the moment Demetri knew would come. He had a choice. He could walk away, return to life in the flat, dry desert. Or he could join the Guard Riders for life…to have that kind of power….

      Chancellor Doran picked something up. It was a medallion, one with Demetri’s family crest—a red dragon—on it. “An interesting choice for a crest, the dragon. The symbol of the Great One.” He shrugged. “You see? You and your family were destined to serve him.”

      Maybe he’s right, Demetri thought. So much had gone wrong in his life. Perhaps he had been fighting destiny, fighting on the wrong side for all those years.

      Chancellor Doran held out the medallion. “It’s yours if you want it. You can give me the emblem of the Guard Riders and go back to your old life.”

      Demetri almost reached for it. Almost.

      In the pause, Chancellor Doran set the medallion down, spinning it like a coin. “Guess. On which side will it fall?”

      “I don’t know,” Demetri said, turning away. “Not yet. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow with my decision.”

      With one last bow, Demetri hurried from the room. He knew it was rude to leave before being dismissed, but he didn’t care. Not anymore.

      The fresh air outside the chamber was welcome. What I need is a good night’s rest. He hadn’t had one of those since he had left Nalatid to pursue the three Youth Guard members. After collecting his weapons at the palace gate, he stopped at the nearest inn.

      It was sparsely furnished, but Demetri had never needed many comforts. Just a place to lay my head, he thought, pulling the thin blanket over his shivering body.

      He took off the Guard Rider medallion and laid it on the table beside him. Aleric had warned him not to, but Demetri had fulfilled his duty. He didn’t want to be contacted by Aleric. Tonight, he wanted to be the only person wandering around in his dreams.

      The moment Demetri closed his eyes he got the strange feeling of being trapped in a nightmare, although he didn’t know why. The setting was cheery enough: a small, warm fire, lighting up a peaceful desert night.

      “And you’re sure that the king seeks to have us killed?” The voice was familiar, and one glance at the hard-featured, boxy face told Demetri that it was Uric.

      “Yes,” a familiar voice answered. Demetri realized that he was the one talking. And yet, it wasn’t really him. “But we can negotiate with them. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

      Demetri felt his heart sink. Now he knew. The voice speaking was his…five years ago. Not again. He had seen fragments of this night many times before, in every waking memory and every sleeping nightmare.

      “If the king is trying to kill us, there will be no agreement.” It was Benjamin, seated across the fire from him. Sure of himself, as always.

      “He’s right.” Uric this time, arms crossed in defiance. “All we can do is try to escape.”

      “And spend the rest of our lives in this desert? Not me.” Demetri laughed—a cocky laugh, he realized now. “We can outsmart them, I know it. Just listen to me. I’ll go to the captain of the Youth Guard and bargain for our lives….”

      “He’ll kill you,” Uric said “then all of us.”

      Demetri shook his head. “I’ll tell him that if he doesn’t let me go free, the rest of you will tell all of Amarias the real purpose of the Youth Guard.”

      “Foolish,” Benjamin said. “You’ll get us all killed. Don’t you know anything?”

      The sixteen-year-old Demetri gritted his teeth. “I know plenty, and I know this will work!”

      “Justis….”

      It was Desma, sitting beside him. She was calling Demetri by his real name, the one he had used before he had joined the Patrol. She put her hand on his arm, but he jerked away.

      “It would be suicide to talk to the captain,” Benjamin said. “Our only chance is to run. Tonight, before they realize that you overheard their plans to kill us all.”

      “And I say that our only choice is to bargain with them for our lives,” Demetri—Justis said. For a moment, he and Benjamin glared at each other across the fire.

      “If you go to them,” Benjamin growled, “you go alone.”

      No, the real Demetri cried inwardly. Justis, don’t go! But the sixteen-year-old Demetri, the one they called Justis, did not slow down. He stood and walked out of the circle into the darkness. Alone.

      Then everything faded, and Demetri found himself inside a dark tent, made of heavy, embroidered cloth. It was the tent of the captain of the Youth Guard. The air was thick with choking incense. Demetri saw the source: a burning reed placed on an altar in the shadows of the tent.

      “You promised me,” he heard himself shouting. “You promised they would go free!”

      The man in front of him just smiled. He was dressed in a dark gray cloak with an A inside a broken circle on his medallion. “You bargained for your own life, not the lives of the others.”

      “No!” The cry was full of anguish, and the real Demetri echoed it in his mind, feeling the pain all over again.

      “If you leave this tent,” the man warned, “I cannot guarantee your safety.”

      Demetri did not care. The thick cloth of the tent flap rushed into his vision, and then the cool of the desert night as he ran outside. There were soldiers outside, Da’armon soldiers, marching silently toward the Youth Guard’s camp, toward Benjamin and Uric and Desma.

      And there was nothing he could do about it.

      Suddenly, he was there, among the soldiers who were attacking the camp. To his left, Benjamin had pulled out his sword and was holding off two of the soldiers. He couldn’t see any of the others. “Stop!” Demetri—Justis—shouted over and over again. But no one listened. No one heard.

      Beside him, Benjamin gave a cry and fell to the ground. He did not move again.

      Then Desma stumbled out of a nearby tent, her sword drawn. For a moment, their eyes met, and it was then that Demetri knew. He had betrayed her. He had betrayed all of them.

      He tried to run, tried to run to her, but the thick arm of a soldier knocked him down. A spear drove him to the ground, slicing into his upper arm. Demetri heard himself cry out in pain.

      Suddenly, everything began to blur. The clamor of battle mixed with the beating of Demetri’s heart. He dodged blows and horses’ hooves, tried to stand, to draw his sword, to run away.

      Above it all, Demetri heard the scream that echoed endlessly in his mind. Desma’s scream. And then…blackness.

Скачать книгу